The hospital air still clung to Talia — sterile, faintly medicinal — as she slid into the backseat of the Wolfe & Co. car. The driver barely spoke, his hands fixed on the wheel, wipers sweeping away last night's lingering rain.
Her chest felt heavy. Not from the illness she claimed, but from the weight of the truth she was determined not to tell.
The narrow streets of her parents' neighborhood came into view, familiar and comforting in a way she didn't realize she'd missed. Laundry hung limp in the damp air, and the scent of wood smoke curled from a neighbor's stove.
But the moment the car turned into her family's small yard, her mother burst out of the doorway like she'd been holding her breath for days.
"Talia!" Mama's voice cracked, and her hands went straight to Talia's face, searching, touching, confirming she was real.
Her father stood in the doorway, not moving, just staring — his lips pressed in a way that told her how deep his worry had gone.
"We've been trying to reach you for days," Mama said, tears gathering. "Your phone— no one could tell us anything."
Talia's throat tightened. "I… I fell ill," she murmured, forcing a faint, sheepish smile. "Just exhaustion. Nothing serious."
Her mother's eyes darted to the black car in the yard — polished, with the Wolfe & Co. crest gleaming on the door. "They brought you home? From work?" The unspoken question lingered: What happened there?
Talia's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "They… they just made sure I got back safe."
Because if her parents knew the truth — that she'd been left in the rain, alone, that danger had almost swallowed her whole — they would forbid her from stepping foot in that building again. And she couldn't lose this job. Not now.
So she let her mother pull her inside, her father closing the door behind them with a solid, final thud.
The lies sat like stones on her tongue, but she swallowed them down
The morning broke soft and pale, a thin mist curling over the street outside. Talia stood before the small mirror in her room, tying the knot of her headscarf with deliberate care. Her uniform — freshly washed, pressed in the quiet hours before dawn — hung neatly on her frame. Every crease, every button, was a small act of defiance against the weakness her body still carried.
Her mother lingered in the doorway, arms folded tightly.
"You're really going back today?" Mama's voice trembled between concern and disbelief. "After… after what happened?"
Talia forced a smile, tucking in the last stray strand of hair. "Mama, I'm fine now. It was just a little sickness."
Her mother's brow furrowed. "You were in the hospital for days."
"I can't stay home forever," Talia replied softly, slipping her feet into her worn shoes. "You know how it is… jobs like this don't wait. If I don't show up, they'll replace me before the week is over."
Mama stepped closer, touching her daughter's cheek as if feeling for fever. "It's not worth your health, Talia. You can find something else—"
"There isn't something else," Talia said, her voice firmer now. "Not that pays. Not that lets us breathe a little easier each month." She softened her tone, lowering her gaze. "I'll be careful. I promise."
Her mother's silence said she didn't believe a word, but she let her daughter go.
As Talia stepped out into the misty morning, her bag slung over her shoulder, her back was straight, her pace steady. She would walk into Wolfe & Co. as if nothing had happened — because she couldn't afford for anyone, least of all Adrian Wolfe, to see her as fragile.
Talia was the first to arrive. The corridors of Wolfe & Co. were still and hushed, the kind of silence where every soft footstep felt amplified. She worked with quiet precision — polishing the glass walls of Adrian Wolfe's office until they gleamed, dusting every shelf, arranging his files into perfect order.
By the time the coffee machine hissed and the warm scent of fresh croissants filled the air, his office was immaculate. She placed his breakfast — eggs perfectly scrambled, toast cut in clean diagonals — on the small table near the window, then stepped back.
When Adrian walked in, he paused for just a moment. She was there, sunlight touching her face, her expression calm and focused. A flicker of guilt pressed against him — that gnawing reminder of leaving her in the rain, alone, vulnerable.
"Talia," his voice was lower than usual.
"Good morning, Mr. Wolfe," she replied, keeping her eyes on the cloth in her hand.
"You've been here long," he said, glancing over the room — spotless, orderly, ready.
"I wanted everything done before the others came in."
He hesitated. Words of apology sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them. Instead, he offered the only amends he knew how to make — power, comfort, and control.
"There's an unused apartment in this building," he said smoothly. "It's quiet. Secure. I'll have it prepared for you. You can stay there from now on."
She froze, and then looked up at him — searching his face. "That's… very kind of you. Thank you, Mr. Wolfe."
"It's not kindness," he said, his tone sharpening slightly. "It's practicality. It will save you the trouble of going home late. And…" his eyes flickered briefly with something unspoken, "…it's safer."
She nodded softly. "Still… thank you."
He reached for the phone on his desk without looking at her. "I'll have my drivers go to your parents' house this afternoon. They'll pack your things and bring them here."
Her eyes widened a little. "Oh—there's no need, I can—"
"That wasn't a suggestion," he cut in gently but firmly.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, giving the smallest nod before stepping out of his office.
Adrian sat back in his chair, watching her go. His breakfast remained untouched.
Because the apartment wasn't just for her safety.
It was for his peace of mind.