The late April light filtered softly through the tall office windows, glinting off glass and steel, washing the room in a quiet brightness. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still mid-morning air. Somewhere below, London's heartbeat continued — cars sighing at traffic lights, footsteps on wet pavements, a bus engine humming against the slow rhythm of the city.
Inside, the world was gentler now.
Richard sat behind his desk, framed by the skyline, a faint crease between his brows as he scrolled through an email. The months since his birthday — since Eleanor's betrayal and their subsequent divorce — had reshaped him. He still carried the same deliberate grace, the same air of control, but there was something quieter beneath it now. A steadiness born from accepting what couldn't be fixed.
Isabelle sat opposite, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The rounded swell of her pregnancy was now unmistakable beneath her pale blue blouse. Three months until her due date. It felt impossible how time had slipped by so quickly — how much had changed in so little time.
Four years. She'd been Richard's assistant for four years. In that time, she'd watched entire projects rise and fall, seen empires built from sheer will alone. She'd seen Richard at his most brilliant and his most broken. And somehow, she'd built a life of her own in the quiet spaces between — one that waited for her now, steady and full, beyond these office walls.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Robert.
Robert: How's your morning going, my love?
Robert: Remember to eat something. No skipping meals — doctor's orders.
She smiled faintly and typed a quick reply.
Isabelle: Fine. Richard's being kind, I promise. And yes — I had toast.
When she looked up, Richard was watching her, a trace of amusement softening his face.
"Robert?"
She nodded, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. "He worries too much."
"Good," Richard said simply. "You deserve it — being looked after."
Isabelle smiled, touched. "It's still new to me."
He leaned back, studying her for a moment. "You're worried about getting someone in for maternity cover, aren't you?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "I want someone competent. Someone who won't need constant supervision. I want to train them properly so your office doesn't suffer while I… step back for a while."
Richard tilted his head, that familiar spark of dry humour in his eyes. "You make it sound like you're abandoning me to chaos."
"I'm not," she said softly. "But I do want to make sure you'll be all right."
He smiled — a small, genuine curve of the mouth. "Isabelle, I trust you to pick the right person. You've always had impeccable judgement."
A breath of relief escaped her. "I appreciate that, Richard. It's important to me that I leave things in good hands. Robert and I… we're preparing for the baby, and I can't be split in two. But I don't want the company to suffer either."
He nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You've done more than anyone could ask of you for this company. For me." He paused, the faintest trace of emotion catching in his throat. "You've earned this time. And you'll have a full year, paid, when the baby comes. No arguments."
Her eyes widened. "Richard, I don't want special —"
He held up a hand. "No. You've earned it. All the late nights, the weekends, the school events you missed… you've carried far more than your share. I owe you that much."
Her throat tightened. She blinked quickly, swallowing down the rush of feeling. "Thank you," she whispered. "Truly."
The office was quiet for a moment. The faint hum of the city seeped through the glass. Then Richard exhaled, leaning forward, elbows resting lightly on the desk.
"There's something else," he said. "Something I should have told you sooner."
She frowned slightly. "What is it?"
"Did Robert ever tell you about Sienna Marks?"
Her stomach dropped. "Yes," she said quietly.
"I didn't want to admit how blind I'd been," Richard continued. "She wasn't acting alone."
Isabelle nodded. "Eleanor."
His eyes darkened. "Eleanor wanted to prove there was… something between you I. An affair. She couldn't stand the thought that I respected you more than I ever admired her. She pushed Sienna to dig for dirt, and when she found none… she went after you anyway."
For a moment, the air seemed to thicken. Isabelle's breath caught — the memory of those cruel months flaring up again: the interference, the whispers, the accusations.
Richard's voice softened. "You did nothing wrong. You should be angry at me — for trusting the wrong people. For believing Eleanor was still the same person I married. I'm sorry, Isabelle. For everything she ever said or did to you. For Sienna. For Julian Becker."
Isabelle looked down at her hands, then back at him. Her voice trembled, but her gaze was steady. "Richard… you're the reason I met Robert. Everything else pales in comparison. So, really… all is forgiven."
He studied her, something like relief flickering across his face. "You've always been far too generous."
"Or maybe," she said softly, "I've just learned that holding on to anger doesn't heal anything."
The line of his mouth eased. "You've grown; and you're stronger than you know."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe. Or maybe I've just had a lot of practice."
He laughed — quietly, the sound more genuine than it had been in months. "Either way, I'm really glad you stayed. All of that would've pushed a lesser person to leave."
She hesitated before saying, "I heard something else about Sienna… about what she's doing now."
Richard arched a brow. "Oh?"
"Well, I'm not one for gossip, but... between you and me —she's made quite a name for herself on that website… Fanhub." Isabelle bit back a laugh, unable to meet his eyes as she said it.
Richard burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained. "That's made my week!"
She giggled with him, nodding — until a soft chime cut through the moment. Isabelle glanced down. Another message from Robert;
Robert: Don't forget lunch. And tell Richard he still owes me a round of golf.
She smiled, showing Richard the screen.
Richard chuckled. "He's persistent."
"I think he learnt that from me," she said, teasing.
He grinned, and just like that, the office felt lighter.
Later that afternoon, they stepped into the corridor together. The office beyond was humming with quiet industry — keyboards clattering, printers whirring, sunlight falling across neat desks and half-drunk mugs of tea.
Isabelle slowed, looking out through the glass partition. "It's strange," she murmured. "Four years I've been here. Feels like an entire lifetime."
Richard followed her gaze. "You've certainly kept the place running."
She smiled. "Do you remember Carla? She left just after your birthday party."
He nodded. "Right — what is it she's doing now?"
"Well, she went on that TV show The Protégée, but she was out by the second week. However... " Isabelle let out a soft laugh. "She's got hundreds of thousands of followers now. Makes more money doing lipstick reviews than I do running your office."
Richard raised an eyebrow. "You're joking."
"I'm not," Isabelle said, shaking her head in amusement. "Robert says the world's gone mad, "
Just then, her phone buzzed again — another message.
Robert: Meeting ran long. Dinner on me tonight — whatever you're craving.
She smiled, typing back:
Isabelle: Pasta. And maybe lemon tart.
When she looked up again, Richard was watching her — not with the cool distance of a boss, but with something closer to quiet pride.
"It makes me happy to see you like this," he said softly. "You and Robert — you remind me there's still good in the world."
She hesitated, her throat tightening again. "I wasn't always good at balance. You saw that."
"I saw a woman who gave everything she had," he said simply. "And kept going, even when it nearly broke her."
They stood for a moment, side by side, the city stretching out beyond the glass.
Finally, Isabelle touched his arm. "You'll be all right, Richard."
He smiled faintly. "Yes. I think so too."
When Isabelle left the office later that day, the sun had softened into late-afternoon gold. The street below shimmered with warmth, the Thames glinting in the distance. She paused by the window at the end of the corridor, one hand resting lightly on the curve of her stomach.
The baby shifted beneath her palm — a fluttering reminder of everything still to come.
She smiled as she thought of the long road that had led her here: the loneliness, the work, the resilience it had demanded. And she thought of Richard — finally finding his footing again, seeing the world with clearer eyes.
There had been a time when she'd measured her worth in tasks completed and mistakes avoided. Now she measured it in smaller, quieter ways — in the steadiness of her heart, the warmth of Robert's hand at her back, the life stirring gently within her.
Behind her, the office carried on with the soft murmur of voices and the rhythm of keyboards. Ahead of her, London unfolded — vast, messy, alive.
For the first time in a very long time, Isabelle didn't feel like she was chasing anything.
She was exactly where she wanted to be.