(Yvette POV)
Morning light spills across my desk in thin, golden lines, catching on the edges of folders and the polished surface of my laptop. The office smells faintly of coffee and paper—an oddly comforting scent that has slowly become familiar over the past weeks.
I hadn't expected that.
When I first stepped into this building, everything felt too big. Too heavy. Too serious for someone like me, who had once measured her world in teaspoons and oven timers, in the delicate balance between sugar and butter. Back then, contracts and boardrooms were foreign languages.
Now, they are… manageable.
I skim through a report, pen tapping softly against the desk as I underline figures and jot down notes in the margins. My handwriting is still slightly messy—old habits die hard—but my thoughts are clearer now. I know what I'm looking at. I know what questions to ask.
"Good morning, Ms. Hamilton," an assistant greets as she steps in briefly to hand me another file.
