The morning sunlight streamed through the window of Rosemary’s small studio. She sat at her worktable, her fingers tracing over a sketch she had started the night before. The lines were trembling, uncertain—much like her heart.

Her phone buzzed beside her. Another email. Another rejection.

Rosemary sighed deeply and whispered to herself, “They still don’t trust me... even after everything.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. She froze for a moment, hesitant, before finally walking to the door. When she opened it, Adrian was standing there, holding two cups of coffee and a bag of pastries.

He smiled softly. “You didn’t have breakfast yet, did you?”

Rosemary crossed her arms. “You...