The Royce Tower was colder than she'd expected.
Glass and steel cut through the morning clouds, impersonal and sterile. Amelia stood in the lobby, purse clutched shield-like as executives strode by in crisp suits and rush-ing heels. They all fit. She didn't.
"Mrs. Cross?"
The receptionist's voice drew her back. "Mr. Royce will see you."
She followed behind the assistant down glass-glittering corridors until they were standing in front of a door that hummed with coiled strength. The assistant pushed it open, and Amelia stepped into another world.
Julian Royce was by the window, his back turned, city unfolding below him like a chessboard.
He turned when she entered — serene, unhurried, the slightest suggestion of a greeting smile on his lips.
"Mrs. Cross," he told her. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course." She sounded more fluid than she was. "You called it an opportunity?"
He waved toward the chair in front of his desk. "Please. Sit."
The room was quiet, other than the soft hum of the city outside the windows. He waited a while before he spoke, and the silence wasn't tense — just waiting, like he was letting her catch her breath.
"You majored in business before your marriage, I think," Julian interjected at last.
She opened her eyes in amazement. "I did. How did you—?"
"Your husband told me once," he said, his eyes on a file on the desk. "He said you were the one who got his initial proposal accepted by the company. I have the tendency to recall what matters."
Amelia's eyes dropped. "That was long ago."
Julian leaned back, watching her. "You still think the same. You listen before you speak. You notice what other individuals don't. That doesn't occur too frequently."
Her neck muscles tightened on the sweet praise. She couldn't remember when someone had spoken to her with kindness without an ulterior motive.
"I'm not certain I'd be of use to your company," she said softly.
"I think you would." His voice was level, not argumentative but resolute. "We're restructuring several departments. I need someone with your eye for detail and your people skills."
He stopped. "And, quite honestly, I'd like to see how well you could do when you weren't laboring under someone else's shadow."
The words hit her like the sun bursting through cloud -- too harsh, too sudden.
She tried to speak, but the knot in her chest was too tight. Finally she managed, "Daniel won't—"
"This has nothing to do with Daniel," Julian interrupted gently. "This is about you."
For a long moment, she said nothing. The city glowed behind him, sunlight catching in the glass. Her reflection looked smaller, but somehow steadier.
"I'll think about it," she whispered.
Julian nodded once, as though that was the only reaction he expected. "Good. My assistant will send you the information."
When she was ready to go, he didn't offer a hand — just a silent attention, one that was almost respectful. It was disquieting in its fierceness.
She stood in the doorway, turned back. "Why me?" she asked. "There must be dozens more qualified."
Julian's expression did not change, but his eyes softened ever so slightly. "Because I know what it's like to watch strength wait too long. And I will not squander it."
Amelia left the office with her heart racing.
For the first time in years, she wasn't leaving something behind — she was moving toward it.