The office was unusually quiet that morning — too quiet, as if every sound held its breath. Ethan stood behind his desk, staring at the tablet in his hand, his jaw locked, his brows drawn in a tight line.

Emails.

Messages.

Timestamps.

All seemingly showing Alyssa communicating privately with Rafael.

It felt like a blade sliding slowly between his ribs — not deadly, but deep enough to wound.

Maya had delivered them so casually, almost innocently.

She had walked into his office, laid the tablet on the desk, and said with a gentle smile:

“Ethan… I thought you should see this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Then she...