“A rainforest? Now they want a rainforest?” Leo mutters, thumbing through the itinerary like it’s a tabloid headline.

It’s morning at the mansion. The entire house smells like toasted sourdough and cold contracts. Papers are scattered across the dining table, and sunlight slices through the curtains, catching the glint of Jennie’s travel bag already propped by the door.

Marcus Lane’s name is stamped bold and ugly on the top corner of the eco-retreat press release. Apparently, this “Cuss Corporate Reconnection Weekend” is now the newest PR stunt to save face.

Reo leans against the wall with his arms folded, saying nothing. He’s dressed down—dark jeans, open collar—but nothing about him...