Thursday evening found me practically pacing the floor of my apartment.
The workweek was almost over, but the quiet tension that had been building between William and me since Monday was starting to feel like a living, breathing thing. We had survived three weeks of digital distance, only to be trapped by the physical barriers of the office and Julian's constant, hovering presence.
A sharp knock at my door shattered the silence, making me jump.
I frowned, checking the time on my phone as I hurried into the small hallway.
It was just past seven.
When I pulled the door open, I didn't find William—instead, a young man in a crisp, unmarked black uniform stood there, holding a massive, structured garment bag that stretched nearly to the floor.
"Madelyn Clarke?" He asked politely.
"Yes?"
