"Ms. Cross, your coffee, and the Morrison follow-up with updated projections."
Rachel's voice cuts through the fog in my head, and I force myself to look up from the contract I haven't actually been reading for the past twenty minutes.
Seven-oh-three.
The time registers again somewhere distant, painful—a phantom limb where warmth used to live.
"Thank you, Rachel." I reach for the ceramic mug without meeting her eyes. "That will be all."
She nods and retreats, efficient and forgettable, and I take a sip of coffee that lands on my tongue like lukewarm disappointment.
Wrong temperature. Wrong everything.
The office offers no refuge today.
I bury myself in contracts, acquisitions, quarterly projections—anything to stop replaying that kiss behind my eyes.
The Harrington merger demands attention. The Berlin expansion requires strategic review.
Three board members have requested private meetings about succession planning, and Grandmother's shadow looms over every item on my calendar.
None of it works.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel Elowen's lips against mine.
The soft sound she made when my fingers tangled in her hair. The devastating certainty that nothing will ever be the same.
I pull another file from the stack on my desk, forcing my attention toward numbers that blur together like watercolors in rain.
The city sprawls beyond my window—Manhattan in all its relentless momentum—but it feels hollow without the possibility of seeing her.
Vermont might as well be another continent, and the four hours between us stretch like an ocean I cannot cross without drowning.
My phone buzzes against the desk, and Leander's name illuminates the screen.
I answer on the third ring, schooling my voice into something that resembles sisterly interest rather than raw desperation.
"Leander. I wasn't expecting to hear from you until Sunday dinner."
"I know, I know, but I had to call because something amazing just happened, and I needed to tell someone who would actually understand why it matters."
His words tumble over each other, bright with an enthusiasm I haven't heard from him in years.
"I just had the best video call with Elowen. Like, genuinely great, not just polite small talk while we both count down the minutes until we can hang up."
My grip tightens on the phone until my knuckles ache.
"That's wonderful, Leander. I'm glad the arrangement is progressing smoothly."
"It's more than smooth, Ves. She's actually incredible. We talked for almost two hours about everything—her time abroad, her interest in organizational strategy, the way she sees patterns in complex systems that other people miss entirely."
I know. I've watched her do it for four years.
"She sounds impressive," I manage, and the words taste like betrayal on my tongue.
"She really is. And the best part?"
He pauses for effect, clearly savoring the moment.
"She laughs at my jokes. Not the polite laugh that people give because they know who my family is, but actual genuine laughter, like she actually finds me funny."
"Everyone laughs at your jokes, Leander. You're an Armitage."
"This felt different."
His voice softens into something vulnerable, hopeful.
"Like she actually sees me as a person instead of a portfolio merger. Do you know how rare that is? How long I've wanted someone to look at me without calculating my net worth first?"
The irony cuts so deep I nearly choke on it.
Four years. Four years of Elowen looking at me without calculating anything except how to make my days more bearable. Four years of warmth I didn't deserve and attention I couldn't acknowledge and devotion I was too afraid to name.
And now my brother is discovering the same magic, calling me to share his joy like I'm supposed to celebrate watching her slip further from my reach.
"I'm happy for you," I say.
The lie burns in my throat.
"Truly, Leander. You deserve someone who appreciates you for who you are rather than what you represent."
"You really think so?"
The hope in his voice makes guilt coil tighter in my chest.
"I was worried you'd think I was being naive, getting attached too quickly. You're always so careful about emotions, so controlled. Sometimes I forget you actually have feelings underneath all that corporate armor."
"I have feelings."
The admission escapes before I can stop it, raw and honest in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
"I simply choose not to let them interfere with strategic decision-making."
"Well, maybe that's the problem, Ves. Maybe some decisions shouldn't be strategic."
He laughs softly.
"Grandmother would have a stroke if she heard me say that, but I'm starting to think she's wrong about the whole love-doesn't-matter thing. What's the point of building a dynasty if everyone in it is miserable?"
What indeed.
"The point is legacy," I say, reciting Grandmother's doctrine like scripture I no longer believe. "The point is ensuring future generations have opportunities we couldn't dream of. The point is sacrifice."
"Sacrifice for what, though? I used to think I understood, but now I'm not sure anymore."
His voice grows thoughtful, introspective in a way that makes him sound older than twenty-six.
"Talking to Elowen made me realize how much I've been sleepwalking through my own life, just doing what was expected without ever asking whether I actually wanted any of it."
"And do you want this marriage?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I cannot afford to examine.
"I think I might," he says slowly. "For the first time in my life, I think I might actually want something Grandmother arranged. Is that weird? That the one thing she forced on me might be the thing that finally makes me happy?"
My throat closes around words I cannot speak.
She makes me happy too. She made me happy for four years, and I was too afraid to tell her.
"It's not weird, Leander. It's human."
I force my voice to remain steady, neutral, supportive.
"If this arrangement brings you joy, then perhaps Grandmother was right about the match, even if her reasoning was entirely mercenary."
"You're being suspiciously encouraging, Ves. Usually you'd be warning me about emotional entanglements and strategic vulnerabilities by now."
"Perhaps I'm evolving."
He laughs again, warm and genuine, and the sound carves another piece from my already fractured heart.
"I should let you get back to work. I know you have the Harrington thing happening, and I've already monopolized more of your evening than I should have. But thank you for listening. It means more than you know."
"Anytime, Leander. That's what family is for."
The call ends, and I let the phone fall to my desk like it weighs a thousand pounds.
The office settles into silence around me—forty-two floors of glass and steel and emptiness pressing down from every direction.
I should review the Harrington documents. I should prepare for tomorrow's board meeting. I should do anything except sit here replaying my brother's joy while my own heart slowly tears itself apart.
Instead, I stare at the Manhattan skyline until the lights blur together, until the city becomes nothing but smeared gold against black, until midnight creeps past without my noticing.
My phone buzzes.
A text from a number I shouldn't have memorized, but did anyway—every digit burned into my memory from years of watching her fill out emergency contact forms.
I can't stop thinking about the garden.
My thumb hovers over the screen, trembling with everything I want to say and cannot risk speaking aloud.
I delete the message.