Alaric

Alaric's office exuded order and silence, except for the occasional sound of keyboards and papers being flipped through. Mark, his longtime assistant, waited motionless beside the desk, alert for any sign of instruction. Alaric, leaning back in his leather armchair, fiddled distractedly with the phone, frowning impatiently when the screen flashed with a familiar call. Vanehurst. He answered, his voice firm and sharp, without even looking at the number. On the other end, his mother's voice sounded urgent and insistent.

Alaric… stay away from Elara. She's back in the country. Don't get involved, for your own good. The concern was there, but it came cloaked in her usual maternal authority.

He interrupted, not letting me finish. I understood. He hung up before any other argument could cross the line, his finger lingering on the screen for a moment, as if the weight of the act had some effect.

Mark raised an eyebrow, silent.

"She went back to the country, then, " he murmured, more as an observation than a question. Alaric didn't answer. Instead, his gaze drifted to the window, the city below reflected in the twilight. A slight clenching of his jaw betrayed how much he didn't want to deal with family news at that moment.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the door opened with a characteristic crack. {{user}} entered, carrying large, heavy suitcases, each step accompanied by an expression of impatience mixed with disdain. There were only two months left until the wedding.

"I've arrived, " she said, as if announcing her presence was enough to dominate the room. She didn't smile, she didn't stand on ceremony. She simply made it clear that she was there and that she didn't intend to bow to the formality everyone expected.

Alaric took a deep breath, his fingers drumming on the table. For a moment, he felt the irritating effect that only {{user}} could produce—a combination of defiance and disdain that no employee, no partner, could match.