The next morning arrived with a quiet heaviness that settled over the building long before Senna stepped inside. The air had that pale, early light that made everything look slightly blurred, as if the day itself was unsure how gently it ought to begin.
Senna walked across the marble lobby, her coat draped over one arm, her hair pulled back loosely because she'd been too distracted to care about precision. She told herself it was the usual morning rush, the noise of people hurrying to be important, but she could feel something different in the atmosphere—something more watchful than usual.
It wasn't until she reached the elevator that she realized people were glancing at her longer than they had the day before.
A quick flick of eyes.
A whisper that faded as soon as she turned.
A look exchanged between two assistants.
She felt their curiosity, even though she didn't yet know its shape.
The elevator chimed, and she stepped inside. The doors closed softly, sealing her into a brief island of quiet.
She let out a breath she hadn't meant to hold.
Last night replayed in her mind with an unnerving clarity—the rain streaking the windows, the softness in his voice when he said goodnight, the way Calder had looked at her as if he were learning something about himself in real time. It had unsettled her, then warmed her, then kept her awake far longer than she intended.
She shook her head lightly, trying to ease the memory into something manageable. She was not here to get pulled into the orbit of a man who had built his life out of walls. She was here to fix a problem, nothing more.
But even as she reminded herself of that, her chest tightened with an uncomfortable truth:
She hadn't felt this aware of someone in a very long time.
The elevator slid open onto the top floor. Mara stood waiting, holding a tablet against her chest.
"Good morning," she said, her tone polite but more clipped than usual.
"Morning," Senna replied.
"You're expected in the conference room for the continuation session."
Senna nodded, but the way Mara looked at her was new—measured, uncertain, as though she were trying to figure out something she didn't want to say aloud.
"Is there something wrong?" Senna asked gently.
Mara hesitated, her eyes flicking down the hallway, then back to Senna. "Just… be prepared. People talk."
"About what?"
Mara didn't answer. She cleared her throat. "Let's go."
The conference room was already half full. Dr. Layla Nwosu sat near the window, flipping through her notes with tight fingers. Mark Belton was on the opposite end, pacing with a restless tension that sent little echoes across the polished floor.
Senna set her bag down, preparing her materials as calmly as she could. But she sensed the shift almost immediately. Conversations quieted when she entered. Eyes flicked to her, then away. A few barely disguised whispers reached her.
"…the CEO…"
"…late evening…"
"…car waiting outside…"
Senna's spine straightened.
Rumors.
Already.
She shouldn't have been surprised—corporate buildings were glass in more ways than one. Every shadow became a story. Every pause became an assumption. Even kindness, if performed by the wrong person, became gossip.
Still, she hadn't expected it this quickly.
Layla approached her quietly. "If you ever want to deny it, now's a good time."
"Deny what?" Senna asked.
Layla tilted her head. "That the CEO personally drove you home last night."
Senna stilled. "Someone saw?"
"This building sees everything. Walls have eyes. The lobby has a soul. And assistants have excellent hearing." Layla's voice dropped to a whisper. "Be careful. People like Mark? They'll use anything to blame someone else."
Senna drew in a steadying breath. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Layla replied, retreating to her seat. "I'm only telling you because I think you're actually trying to help."
Senna sat, letting the weight of Layla's words settle. She had known stepping into Calder's car might complicate things, but the moment had been so quiet, so human—she hadn't imagined it would grow legs and run.
And then the door opened.
Calder Voss stepped into the room.
He wasn't supposed to be here—not for this part of the mediation. His presence shifted the temperature instantly. Conversations tightened. Backbones straightened. Even the air seemed to hold itself differently.
His gaze went first to the department heads, then to legal, then—briefly—to Senna.
Not long enough to be inappropriate.
Not fast enough to be unnoticed.
It was a glance layered with quiet intention, as if he were checking if she was all right without asking aloud.
And that was enough for the room to exhale a single, sharp suspicion.
Senna felt it.
So did he.
Calder spoke with controlled calm. "I'll be observing the first twenty minutes today."
Mark's expression flickered with something unpleasant. "Of course, sir. We're… happy to have you."
Senna felt Mark's eyes slide toward her and then away again. That was the moment she realized the rumor wasn't just circulating—
it had already chosen a direction.
Calder took a seat in the corner, slightly angled toward her. His posture was measured, neutral, but Senna felt the weight of his attention like a warm line across her skin.
She cleared her throat and opened the session.
"All right. Since yesterday helped us uncover the emotional root of the dispute, today we'll focus on the structural issues…"
Her voice remained steady, her movements calm, but she felt the shift in every pair of eyes.
They weren't just watching the conflict.
They were watching her.
And watching him.
She guided the discussion as best she could, redirecting heated comments, clarifying misinterpretations, drawing honesty from reluctant throats. But beneath the surface of every sentence, she sensed the undercurrent:
Why is he here?
Why her?
What happened last night?
Calder remained silent throughout, listening with a depth that made his stillness feel almost intimate. Once, when Mark raised his voice in frustration, Calder straightened in his seat—not in anger, but in a quiet, protective shift that didn't go unnoticed.
The room felt it.
Senna felt it.
And Mark definitely felt it.
By the time the twenty minutes ended—or perhaps a few minutes after—Calder rose quietly.
"I'll leave you to continue," he said. And then, his eyes found hers again—steady, unreadable, but undeniably aware.
"Ms. Reeves," he said softly, "a moment when you're free."
Her heart tightened. Not with fear. With something that felt too close to longing.
He left the room without waiting for questions.
Mark's voice broke the silence. "Well," he muttered, "isn't that interesting."
Senna didn't respond, but her pulse beat once, hard, beneath her skin.
The rumor had officially become a shadow in the room.
And the closer Calder stepped toward her, the darker that shadow would grow.
She set her pen down, lifted her gaze, and prepared herself for a battle she hadn't meant to join.
Because the truth was becoming harder to ignore:
Whatever existed between her and Calder—whatever unnamed thing had begun to form—had already started to cost something.
And it was only the beginning.