Allyson's POV
I arrived at Michael's office minutes later, my pulse still racing from that uncomfortable elevator encounter with Reagan.
The moment I stopped outside his door, my rattled nerves transformed into something fiercer - a slow-burning rage that spread through my chest.
I paused to collect myself, then tapped lightly on the door.
"Enter," Michael's voice drifted out - smooth, controlled, utterly composed, as if he hadn't already torn my world apart countless times before.
I walked in with my head held high.
He was seated behind his massive desk, casually reviewing documents like this was just another ordinary day and he hadn't summoned me here without warning.
Our eyes locked.
Something flickered in his gaze for just an instant. Sympathy? Perhaps. Remorse? Maybe. Whatever it was, I wanted no part of it. His pity was the last thing I needed. Not from him. Not today. Not ever.
His stare remained steady. "How have you been?"
