Rosaline barely noticed the rain until it streaked down the window beside her desk, faint and silvery against the city's gray sprawl. The day had dragged on in blurred hours of meetings and emails. , and deadlines, yet her mind hadn't stayed in one place since morning.
Nora's text still sat open on her phone.
Nora: We met. He thinks it was me all along.
Rosaline had stared at it for nearly a full minute before replying.
Rosaline: And what did you tell him?
No response. Just silence the kind of silence that hummed with implication.
Rosaline leaned back in her chair now, rubbing a hand over her face. The office around her buzzed with the low hum of printers, muffled footsteps, and the steady tapping of Claire's keyboard outside her glass wall, faintly, ordinary sounds. Safe sounds. But inside her chest, nothing felt ordinary.
She had known this moment would come, that Nora and Conrad would eventually meet again. But knowing didn't prepare her for the sharp, twisting ache that came with it. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. It was the memory of something she wasn't supposed to want, the taste of a secret she could never confess.
"Rosaline?" Claire's soft knock cut through her thoughts.
She straightened. "Yes?"
"Mr. Reid just arrived for the afternoon review." Claire stepped in, tablet in hand. "Eleanor's running late and asked you to start without her."
Of course she did. Eleanor Harvey thrived on appearances, even if it meant throwing Rosaline straight into the fire.
"Send him in," Rosaline said, forcing calm into her voice.
Claire nodded and disappeared. A moment later, the door opened again, and Conrad walked in like he owned the air itself.
He wore dark gray today, tailored, immaculate, confident in a way that irritated her precisely because it still affected her. His expression was professional and polite, but there was always something about the way he looked at people at her that felt personal.
"Ms. Clarke," he greeted, his voice smooth, businesslike.
"Mr. Reid," she returned evenly, gesturing toward the seat opposite her desk. "We'll begin as soon as Eleanor joins."
He sat down without hesitation, his movements precise. "No problem. I could use a quiet start. It's been a long morning."
Rosaline forced a faint smile. "That makes two of us."
He glanced up, catching something in her tone, maybe weariness, maybe something more, but said nothing. He leaned back in the chair, studying her for a moment longer than necessary.
She kept her eyes on the screen before her, scrolling through notes. But she could feel his gaze, like a slow pull at the edge of her composure.
"Did you manage to go over the projections I sent?" she asked finally.
"I did," he said. "Though I'll admit, I was more curious about your revisions."
That earned him a faint raise of her brow. "Curious?"
He gave a small shrug, almost teasing. "You're thorough. Even when you disagree, you find a way to make it sound like an improvement. I admire that."
She glanced up then, caught between annoyance and something softer. "You make it sound like diplomacy is a flaw."
"Not a flaw," he said quietly. "A defense."
Rosaline froze for half a beat. "Excuse me?"
Conrad smiled faintly, eyes steady. "You were never diplomatic before. Not four years ago."
The air thickened. Of all the things he could have said, that the reminder of their past was the one she hadn't expected.
"People change," she said, her voice sharper than intended.
He tilted his head. "Some do."
Her pulse fluttered in her wrist. She needed to redirect. "Let's stay on task," she said briskly, reaching for her pen. "Eleanor wants this wrapped before the board meets tomorrow."
He didn't argue, but she could feel his amusement. It wasn't smug just quietly observant, the kind of look that said he saw through more than she wanted him to.
For the next half hour, they went through reports, projections, and schedules. Their conversation stayed perfectly professional, though every time his hand brushed hers when exchanging a document, her focus wavered.
It wasn't attraction not exactly. It was tension layered with memory. A residue that refused to fade.
When Eleanor finally joined, the energy shifted. Rosaline straightened, shoulders squared. Conrad slipped back into his executive rhythm composed, articulate, unshakably confident. Together, they discussed strategies and timelines, their words polished and impersonal. And yet, underneath, Rosaline could feel something unspoken threading through an awareness that neither of them dared name.
When the meeting adjourned, Conrad gathered his files, nodded politely to Eleanor, and turned back to Rosaline. "Good work today," he said. "Your precision's impressive as always."
"Thank you," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We aim for consistency here."
He hesitated just a second too long. "Consistency," he echoed, his tone low. "I suppose that's one way to stay in control."
Her gaze flicked up, startled. But before she could respond, he gave a courteous nod and left.
The door closed behind him, and for a long moment, Rosaline just sat there heartbeat steadying, fingers gripping the edge of her desk. He didn't know. He couldn't know.
And yet, every word from him seemed to press too close to truth.
Claire reappeared a few minutes later, notebook in hand. "Do you want me to forward the final minutes to Mr. Reid?"
"Yes," Rosaline said, voice steadier now. "And Claire?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Hold all calls for the next half hour."
Claire nodded and slipped out again.
As soon as the door shut, Rosaline exhaled and leaned back, letting her head fall against the chair. She reached for her phone, hesitated, then opened her messages.
Still nothing from Nora.
She typed a new message slowly.
Rosaline: Did you have dinner with him?
The typing bubbles appeared… disappeared… reappeared.
Then finally:
Nora: Yes. And you need to tell me exactly what happened that night, Rosie. Because whatever it was, he remembers every second of it.
Rosaline's fingers went still.
Outside, thunder rolled softly across the skyline, and the rain began again, slow, deliberate, endless.
She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of what was coming settle over her like the storm.
No more pretending.
At least, not for much longer.