The journey to sub-level three was a royal procession of terror.
Because the private elevator to the gym was currently undergoing routine maintenance, Ken had to lead Aria down to the lower executive mezzanine to use the secondary lift.
The moment the doors slid open on the bustling corporate floor, the atmosphere underwent a violent shift.
Aria stepped out, her posture impeccably straight, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her. The sharp click-clack, click-clack of her pointed-toe Louboutins echoed across the marble floor like a metronome of doom.
The staff's reaction was visceral. It was as if Moses had just walked into the room and ordered the Red Sea to part. Junior executives flattened themselves against glass partitions. Interns scrambled out of the central walkway, clutching their tablets to their chests.
"G-Good afternoon, Mrs. Sinclair," a nervous woman stuttered from her desk, bowing her head slightly as Aria passed by.
