The headquarters of Carter Corp rose above the city like a monolith of glass and steel, reflecting the cold blue of the morning sky. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of expensive coffee and the silent pressure of deadlines. For Alicia, this building had always been a sanctuary of logic—a place where blueprints followed rules that life ignored.
She stood in the elevator, her reflection in the polished metal doors looking tired but determined. She had spent the night in a plastic chair at the hospital, whispering promises to Léo until he fell asleep. Now, her eyes were slightly sunken, hidden behind a light layer of makeup.
"Alicia, you're late for the briefing," her supervisor, Gabriel—who was also her closest friend—whispered as she stepped into the architecture department.
"I'm sorry, Gabe. The doctors... they had to run more tests," she murmured, her voice thin.
Gabriel's expression softened instantly. He knew. He was the only one who knew about the mountain Alicia was climbing alone. "Don't worry. But straighten your blazer. We're presenting the 'Everglow Plaza' project to the CEO today. Not the vice president. The CEO. Arthur Carter himself is attending."
Alicia's heart skipped. Arthur Carter was a ghost in his own building. He was a name on the paycheck, a legend of ruthlessness who rarely descended to the lower floors.
The boardroom was freezing. A long mahogany table stretched across the room, surrounded by executives in charcoal suits. Alicia sat at the far end, her hands trembling slightly as she organized her sketches.
Then, the heavy double doors opened.
The air in the room seemed to vanish. A tall figure entered, his presence so commanding that the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock seemed to stop. It was him.
The man from the restaurant.
Arthur Carter didn't look at the room; he looked at the files in his hand. He sat at the head of the table, his movements precise and feline. He wore a black suit that looked like armor, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.
"Begin," Arthur commanded. His voice was the same deep, melodic baritone that had whispered 'Cuidado' in the dark corridor of the restaurant.
Alicia felt the blood drain from her face. Her breath hitched. It was him. The man who had held her by the waist, whose scent of sandalwood had lingered in her senses for days.
"Alicia? The floor is yours," Gabriel prompted, nudging her.
She stood up, her legs feeling like lead. She walked toward the digital screen, her eyes briefly meeting Arthur's.
Arthur's pen stopped mid-air. His gray eyes, usually as cold as a winter sea, widened for a fraction of a second. He recognized her. The woman with the dog. The woman weeping in the hospital hallway. The woman who had felt so fragile—and yet so right—in his arms.
A heavy silence stretched across the boardroom. The executives traded confused glances. Arthur didn't speak; he simply stared at her, his gaze intense, searching the "fragments" of her tired face.
"I... I will be presenting the structural integrity of the west wing," Alicia started, her voice shaking.
Arthur leaned back, crossing his arms. A faint, almost invisible glint appeared in his eyes. "Take your time, Miss Mendes," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that only she could understand. "I am very interested in what you have to build."