ROOSEVELT’S POV

The weekend was torture.

I didn't sleep, I sat on my sofa in the dark, staring at my phone. I kept picturing Zyran in Paris. I imagined him walking down the streets, holding another woman’s hand.

By Monday morning, my chest ached.

I walked into the office. I felt sick, but I held my head high.

"Good morning, Ms. Evans," Bianca said with a bright smile from her desk. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was very quiet, Bianca," I replied softly. "Is Mr. King in?"

"Yes, ma'am," Bianca nodded. "He flew back from Paris very early this morning. He is in his office."

I took a...