The next morning, she went straight to Chris's office with the resignation letter in her hand.
The building was still quiet, the halls touched by the usual rush of voices and ringing phones. She walked through them with measured steps, a sealed envelope clutched tightly in her hand.
His door was open.
Chris stood behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, scanning through documents with the same sharp focus he gave everything. He looked untouched by the night before—composed, controlled, immaculate.
As though she had never held him together while he unraveled.
He looked up when she entered.
"You're early."
"I needed to speak with you."
Something in her tone made him set the papers down.
She stepped forward and placed the envelope on his desk.
His eyes moved to it. "What is this?"
"My resignation letter."
The room went still.
Chris looked from the envelope to her face, reading something there that made his expression shift. Not softer.
Sharper.
He didn't touch the letter immediately.
Instead, he walked around the desk slowly, stopping a few feet in front of her.
"You're resigning the morning after what happened at the party."
She said nothing.
His gaze stayed fixed on her, more intense than she had ever seen it. Like pieces of a puzzle were sliding into place.
Then he asked quietly—
"Were you the woman in my suite last night?"
Her breath caught.
He continued, voice lower now.
"The one who… helped me."
Silence flooded the room.
For six years she had imagined him seeing her.
This was not how she imagined it.
She kept her face calm, though her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
"You were drugged," she said evenly.
"That's not what I asked."
His eyes searched hers. "Was it you?"
A thousand answers rose inside her.
Yes.
Yes, when you could barely stand.
Yes, when you called another woman's name while I broke beside you.
Yes, when I gave you everything and you still didn't know it was me.
But what came out was colder.
"Does it matter now?"
His jaw tightened.
"It matters if I'm speaking to the person who left blood on the bed and disappeared before dawn."
Her heart lurched.
So he had noticed.
Of course he noticed the stain.
Just not the woman.
She let out a small, humorless laugh. "Interesting."
"What is?"
"You remember the blood."
Something unreadable crossed his face.
He stepped closer. "Answer me."
She met his gaze fully now, years of silence hardening into something he could finally feel.
"Yes."
The word landed between them like glass.
For the first time since she had known him, Chris looked unsettled.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Why didn't you stay?"
That nearly broke her all over again.
"Stay?" she repeated softly. "For what, Chris?"
He frowned. "So we could talk."
"You were asleep."
"I'm awake now."
"Yes," she said, voice trembling only slightly. "Now that it concerns you."
He stared at her.
The envelope remained untouched on the desk.
She pushed it closer to him.
"I didn't come here for answers," she said. "I came here to leave."
His hand closed over the letter before she could turn away.
"You can't drop this and walk out."
A sad smile touched her lips.
"I've been walking out since last night."
Then she gently pulled the envelope from beneath his hand, placed it back down with finality, and moved toward the door.
"Clara—"
She paused.
It was the first time he had said her name like it meant something.
But she didn't turn around.
"You should have learned it sooner."
And then she left.