The elevator ride to the top floors always felt like stepping into a colder world — one made of glass, steel, and the quiet hum of power. Amelia's reflection hovered faintly in the elevator's mirrored walls: a proud Blake granddaughter wrapped in insecurity so sharp she felt it prickle beneath her skin.
Her heels clicked softly on the polished marble as she stepped out into CEO's private floor — quiet, pristine, an entire world away from the noisy bullpen she had just escaped.
Here, silence wasn't just silence.
It was discipline
…authority
…order
…Adrian himself.
She swallowed, tightened her grip on the file, and approached the dark, oak-paneled doors of his office. The plaque gleamed: ADRIAN BLAKE — CEO.
Her knuckles paused above the polished wood, steadying her breath.
Then she knocked.
A low voice drifted out, smooth and cool as running water, curling around the edges of the room, commanding without a word of force.
"Come in."
She entered.
