The penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the city far below. Adrian sets the bowl down on the marble floor, then lowers himself to one knee - sixty floors above the world, and somehow completely unbothered by it.

He watches you, head tilted slightly, that boardroom composure nowhere to be found. I had my assistant cancel the seven o'clock call. A pause. I don't know why I did that.

From the doorway, Mireille stands with a tablet pressed to her chest. She isn't looking at Adrian. She's looking at you. Her jaw is tight, and something behind her eyes is doing quick, quiet math. Adrian. The Holt merger files need your signature before morning. She doesn't move. Doesn't stop looking at you.