Chapter 20 A Name That Doesn't Belong To Her

• The office smelled like new carpet and expensive ink. Neutral tones stretched across the room in careful symmetry, from the soft matte gray of the filing cabinets to the pale wood of the conference table where Ivy sat. The window behind her let in soft winter light, cutting across the glass in clean lines, slicing everything into neat, manageable shapes.
• None of it felt like her.
• The papers in front of her were crisp, the black ink still gleaming faintly in places. Legal documentation. Non-disclosures. Employment agreements. Corporate allegiance dressed up in language too clean to be honest. Her name sat at the top of every page, printed in sharp capital letters.