Two months had passed.
Sixty-one days, to be exact, Merlina had counted them once. Late at night, in bed when sleep just wouldn't come, when her mind kept circling back to that office.
Sixty-one days of pretending she didn't remember the heat of his hand, the way his breath had brushed her ear, the look in his eyes when he wanted to reach for her and she'd said no.
Sixty-one days of silence.
And between them—nothing. No messages. No accidental run-ins. No conference meetings that needed their presence. No late-night text that began with "Hey, can we talk?"
The last time she'd heard him say her name, his voice had broken, sharp and raw, like a sudden crack in the earth. She could still feel it all, the trace of his fingers circling her wrist when she wanted to leave, the heat of his palm holding her to the moment.
When he'd walked out of that office and the door clicked shut behind him, the silence began then: clean, absolute and final.
