Evening settled over London, casting long shadows across the executive suite. The rain had intensified, streaking the floor-to-ceiling windows with silver trails as the city pulsed below. Inside Isabella's office, the atmosphere remained taut with unresolved energy, the ghost of Sarah Bennett's blood still clinging to the paperweight on her desk.
Christina and Marcus stood near the door, watching Isabella warily. They were waiting for an order, but Isabella was in no rush to give one. She sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, staring at the cityscape as if willing it to provide answers.
"Go home," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Both of you."
Marcus frowned. "Are you sure? You don't—"
"I need space," Isabella interrupted, shifting her gaze to them. "I won't ask twice."
Christina hesitated but exchanged a glance with Marcus before nodding. "Call if you need anything."
