Evan Lee's —POV
I sit silently, leaning back against the leather of the car's back seat. My eyes are closed, but my mind refuses to rest. My fingers tap lightly against my lap—once, twice—an unconscious rhythm betraying the storm inside me.
Arem still hasn't come to the office.
The thought circles endlessly, sharp and persistent.
"Sir… should we go to the hospital?"
The voice cuts through my thoughts.
I slowly open my eyes and look toward the front. The temporary secretary sits in the passenger seat, twisting slightly to face me. His expression is gentle, worried. Too gentle.
I'm not used to that. I'm used to Arem's cold, emotionless gaze—eyes that never soften, voice that never trembles.
"I'm fine,"
I cut in before he can say more.
I turn my face toward the window.
Outside, the city glows under warm streetlights, the night calm and indifferent. Then snow begins to fall—soft, quiet flakes drifting down like secrets the sky doesn't want to keep.
