A soft knock broke the late morning stillness.
"Come in," Stacy called without lifting her eyes from the screen, fingers still paused over the keyboard.
Zoe stepped inside, her presence measured but unmistakable. In one hand, she carried a sleek garment bag—neat, pressed, deliberate. She looked more polished than she had at the summit, yet that flicker of uncertainty lingered at the edge of her posture.
"I brought this back," she said, approaching the desk. "Your blazer. I took it to a place that handles designer pieces. They were... very gentle."
Stacy finally looked up, one brow arching. "You didn't need to go to that much trouble."
Zoe gave a faint smile. "I tore my sleeve trying to make it on time. Felt like I owed you more than dry cleaning."
Stacy stood, stepping over to the bag. She unzipped it halfway, exposing a familiar swath of dark, rich fabric—flawless, restored. Her hand hovered over it, then lowered.
She turned to Zoe. Eyes unreadable. Voice quiet.
"Keep it."
Zoe blinked. "Sorry—what?"
"It suits you," Stacy replied, her tone clipped but not cold. Her gaze lingered, then shifted to the bag.
Zoe hesitated, searching her face. "Ms. Holloway, this thing probably costs more than my rent."
Stacy shrugged one shoulder, effortlessly composed. "Consider it an investment. You represent us. Better the room sees confidence before you open your mouth."
Zoe tilted her head. "And who exactly does the blazer say I am?"
Stacy's lips quirked—barely a smile, more suggestion than confirmation. "Someone who didn't flinch. Even with torn sleeves and half a minute to spare."
Zoe's laugh slipped out—quiet, sincere, not forced. "Thank you. Really."
Stacy nodded, already halfway turned. "Don't make a habit of this," she said lightly. "Or I'll have to dock your bonus for excess sentiment."
Zoe grinned, backing toward the door. "Too late. Sentiment's practically branded on the lining."
She slipped out, the door closing behind her with a gentle click.
Stacy remained standing for a moment longer. Then she returned to her desk, her gaze drifting to the place where Zoe had stood just moments ago. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, slowly, a faint smile touched the corner of her mouth—barely there, but real.
And just like that, she got back to work.
Zoe stepped out of Stacy's office with the blazer draped elegantly over her shoulders. It fit like it had been tailored for her—sharp lines, understated power. She tugged lightly at the lapel, smoothing it into place, unable to hide the small smile teasing the edge of her lips.
The hallway felt different—brighter somehow. As she crossed into the shared workspace, conversation dipped, heads turned.
Jenny leaned back in her chair, eyebrows lifted like punctuation. "Whoa. Someone's giving VP energy."
"Is that—" Noah squinted, leaning forward. "Hold up... isn't that Ms. Holloway's blazer?"
Zoe rolled her eyes, playing it cool. "It was. She told me to keep it."
Jenny's jaw dropped theatrically. "Ms. Holloway said that? Like, out loud? In English?"
Zoe shrugged, warmth coloring her cheeks. "I tore my blouse at the summit. She gave it to me. I had it cleaned and tried to return it… but she said it suits me."
Steven let out a low whistle. "That's basically the CEO version of a soulmate bracelet."
Zoe snorted. "You people are impossible."
Jenny leaned closer, voice hushed but amused. "You know she's never even lent a pen to anyone, right? She speaks in bullet points and deadlines."
Zoe adjusted the cuff again, her smile softer now. "Well… maybe she's human after all."
They exchanged glances—curious, surprised, maybe even impressed. But Zoe moved past them without slowing, walking to her desk with quiet resolve. The blazer shifted with each step, commanding attention not just through design—but presence.
For the rest of the afternoon, no one mentioned it again. But they didn't need to.
The way Zoe sat taller. The way her fingers moved with purpose. The way the energy in the room recalibrated itself around her.
Something had changed.
And everyone knew it—including her.
Hours passed in a blur of focused silence and low murmurs. The sun had long since set when the office clock blinked 8:15 PM.
Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as Zoe's team slumped around her desk, surrounded by a mess of papers, half-empty coffee cups, and glowing screens—a battlefield of branding mockups and revisions for the big client.
Jenny rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. "Okay, officially done for tonight."
Steven stretched, spine cracking like punctuation. "Same here. I'll finish that logo draft in the morning."
Zoe smiled, tired but genuine. "Thanks for pushing through. Go get sleep—tomorrow's another beast."
Noah packed up her laptop. "You too, Zoe. Don't martyr yourself."
"We'll catch up tomorrow," Jenny added, as she and the others disappeared down the hall.
As their footsteps faded, the office fell into a hush—too quiet for how alive it had been minutes ago.
Zoe stood for a beat, then turned toward Stacy's office.
The door was slightly ajar, golden lamplight spilling into the corridor. She knocked softly. "Ms. Holloway? You still here?"
Inside, Stacy sat amid a spread of papers, posture taut. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose before she looked up.
"Still working. You?"
Zoe held up a thin folder. "Just wanted your eyes on these before I call it."
Stacy gestured her in without a word. Zoe stepped inside.
They spoke for a few minutes—quietly, efficiently—until the sky outside shifted.
Then—crack.
A burst of thunder rolled across the windows like a war drum, followed by a surge of rain hammering the glass.
The lights flickered once.
Then went out.
Darkness swallowed the office.
Stacy's breath hitched so sharply it sounded like a gasp she couldn't swallow. Her chair scraped violently against the floor as she shot to her feet, panic flashing across her face with raw, unguarded intensity.
"Stop—" Her voice broke. "No… no, please—no thunder."
Another rumble cracked outside, and Stacy flinched hard—shoulders tightening, hands clenching the edge of the table as if bracing for impact.
"The dark—" she choked out, barely audible. "I can't— I don't—"
Her composure—usually ironclad—was gone. She looked like someone trapped in a memory she hadn't meant to revisit, breath shallow, eyes wide, fighting an instinct older than logic.
Zoe was already on her feet, her voice low, steady. "Hey. You're okay. I'm right here."
She fumbled for her phone, thumb trembling slightly as she turned on the flashlight. A narrow beam cut through the dark—and landed on Stacy's face, pale and vulnerable.
Then Stacy moved.
No hesitation. No defenses. She stepped into the light—and into Zoe's arms, holding on like she didn't care who saw.
Zoe froze, just for a second. Her breath hitched as Stacy's warmth pressed against her, raw and unguarded. Then slowly, carefully, she wrapped her arms around her, one hand finding the small of Stacy's back.
"It's just a storm," she whispered, her lips close to Stacy's ear. "It'll pass. You're safe with me."
Stacy didn't speak. Her grip stayed firm, desperate but steady. Her breath trembled—but she didn't let go.
And neither did Zoe.
Then—
Click.
The lights buzzed back to life, flooding the room in sterile white.
They both froze.
Zoe's hands hovered at Stacy's back. Stacy's arms remained lightly in place for one beat too long.
Their eyes met—wide, startled. Something unspoken hung between them.
Then, slowly, Stacy pulled back, adjusting her blouse like armor re-fastening itself.
"I..." she started, then cleared her throat. "Storms. I don't—handle them well."
Zoe nodded gently. "You don't have to explain."
The silence that followed was thick—not awkward, just real.
Stacy turned back to her desk, posture reassembling.
"You had documents?"
Zoe swallowed. "Yes. Just some revised key visuals. It won't take long."
Stacy gave a clipped nod, but didn't look up. "Let's get through it."
The moment passed—but its echo stayed.
Neither spoke of the hug. Not that night.
But both of them carried it.
And whether either would admit it or not—something had shifted.