Chapter 82 A Secret Handshake?

• The door clicked shut behind Rosie with all the subtlety of a polite cough in a funeral home. Quiet, sure. But wildly out of place. Like even the building knew she'd just walked into something she wasn’t meant to hear.
• The room didn’t breathe. It sat still, too still, like it had just seen something unseeable and was pretending it hadn't. The sleek office—the one that always smelled faintly of ambition, varnished wood, and maybe Liam’s cologne—felt colder today. Not in temperature. In tone.
• Alistair stood by the window like he was trying to blend into the skyline. Arms crossed, jaw set, expression tight in that rare way where even he had nothing to joke about. Liam, behind his desk, was a portrait of calm—at first glance. But up close? The little cracks showed. Not in his suit, which was immaculate, obviously. But in his eyes. They looked… exhausted. Not in a sleep-deprived way, but in a soul-stretched-too-thin way. Still, they stayed pinned on Alistair like the man might explode if he blinked.