The entire executive floor felt it.

Damian Cross arrived earlier than usual, suit immaculate, expression carved from stone. No greetings. No nods. No patience. Phones rang softer. Assistants whispered. Even the air felt cautious.

By the time Aria stepped in, tablet tucked under her arm, the mood had already curdled.

She paused at his office door, knocked once, then walked in.

“Good morning,” she said calmly, placing the documents neatly on his desk. “These need your signature. The logistics approval and—”

He didn’t look up.

“Why is this printed?” Damian snapped.

Aria blinked. “Because you asked for hard copies yesterday.”

“I asked for a summary,” he corrected coldly. “Not a...