The private elevator shot upward so fast Jasmine’s ears popped, but the buzzing in her head wasn’t from pressure—it was nerves. When the polished doors opened on the fortieth floor, she stepped into a silent lobby decorated with art that probably cost more than her entire neighborhood.
“Go right in—Mr. Caldwell is expecting you,” a secretary said, her smile far kinder than yesterday’s.
Inside the office, the sheer scale hit Jasmine like a wave. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed downtown Chicago far below—a sea of steel and light.
And there he was.
Ethan Caldwell stood near his desk, taller than he looked in photos, with a magnetic presence that filled the room. He turned slowly, and his dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“Good morning, Ms. Carter,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Thank you for coming back.”
“Good morning, Mr. Caldwell,” Jasmine replied, surprised by how steady her voice sounded. “Thank you for the opportunity. But honestly… I don’t understand why I’m here after yesterday.”
Ethan’s mouth curved into a small, enigmatic smile that softened his severe features.