His mind had drifted back to Carver's recent departure, an exit charged with a unique kind of emotional gravity. Over the years, they had shared so much—some of it spoken, some unspoken. Peyton understood the defensive walls Carver had constructed around his heart, walls that had often made him an emotional fortress, which Peyton had been more than willing to guard. But as they ventured into emotionally uncharted waters, he wondered about the resilience of those walls. His thoughts were broken by a soft, almost hesitant knock on the door. Before he could answer, the door cracked open and Ava peeked in. Her eyes met his, probing, as if she was searching for something she wasn't certain she'd find. "Hey," she murmured, pushing the door wider and stepping inside. "Mind if I join you? Needed a change of scenery." Caught off guard, Peyton hesitated before turning his gaze away from the screen and rotating his chair to face her. "Of course not. Come on in." Ava moved farther into the ro

Carver dropped the phone on the hotel bed, the weight of all the conversations he had had suddenly caught up with him. The sterile environment around him, which had seemed alien and hostile since he walked in, seemed to close in. He glanced at his reflection in the hotel room's mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back at him. Dark circles framed his bloodshot eyes, his skin was sallow, and his clothes looked as defeated as he felt.In that moment, the weight of his loneliness overcame him. The idea of battling this calamity alone, alongside police investigations and media scrutiny, felt like drowning. He picked up his phone again, found Ava and Peyton's contact, and initiated a video call. The ringtone seemed to reverberate in the air, each tone amplifying his sense of urgency.As the call connected and their faces popped up on the screen, he found himself momentarily choked up. "I just needed to see your faces," Carver blurted out, his voice tinged with an emotion he hadn't pl

Respite in the makeshift office was fleeting, barely two hours of shallow, uneasy sleep. Carver had just drifted off into a fleeting moment of oblivion when a sharp knock at the door pulled him back to reality. He rose from the mattress with heavy limbs, fatigue wrapping around him like a heavy coat. Ava and Peyton stirred as well, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. "Police are wrappin' it up," Vincent reported when Carver swung the door open, the puffy bags under his eyes betraying his level of exhaustion. "We can reopen the hotel now sir." Back in the room, Peyton weighed in. "Why not keep it closed for a bit longer? Seems right, considering what happened to those people." Carver took a deep breath. "No, we’re going to shut down the entire building. At least for a month. We need to dissect every inch of what happened here, get to the root cause of it all." He ran his hand through his already messy hair. He turned back to Vincent. “Take the month off, fully paid, including regula

In the aftermath of an intimate morning, stepping back into the real world felt surreal. The rawness of emotions lingered in the air, as the trio prepared to head into work. The shadows cast by the Manhattan skyscrapers seemed sharper, the cacophony of the city more piercing. Everything felt heightened, their senses amplified by the events of the night and the looming weight of a new day. Ava, dressed in her usually reserved business attire, felt the weight of both Carver and Peyton's gazes as they approached the elevator. Before the doors slid closed, Carver spoke with an authority that was not just of a CEO, but of someone claiming his space, "I’m moving both your offices to my floor." Peyton’s eyebrows rose, and Ava was ready with a retort. But before a word slipped out, Carver interjected, "It's not up for debate." She tried another approach, determination painting her features. "Carver, I need items from my desk to work. My reports, my--" His finger pressed against her lips

They sat in the silence, heavy with raw emotion, the palpable tension thickening with each passing second. It was a silence punctuated only by muted sounds—a sigh, a slight shuffle of clothing, or a steadying exhale. Each noise echoed the myriad feelings that had been shared, suppressed, and exposed in their shared space.The soft, deep timbre of Carver's voice sliced through the weight of it all, "Let's go home." The words felt both like a retreat and a call to regroup. Within them lay Carver's need for sanctuary—a place where he could reclaim control, even as his world spun unpredictably.Peyton's swift movement into the closet and his return with Carver's clothing hinted at the familiar routines they'd formed when things like this happens. Carver's act of changing in front of Ava was more than just practicality; it was vulnerability, trust, and intimacy. As Ava's eyes discreetly took in the view, she registered the bruises and scratches that crisscrossed his skin. Each mark seemed