Victor left without a word, a faint smile softening his face.
A week later, Marco the baker was still telling the story, flour dusting his hands. Small neighborhoods carried stories fast. Soon, the anonymous act grew into a rumor—and then a curiosity. People liked believing powerful men were heartless. Discovering one who wasn’t made for warmer gossip.
Victor expected nothing more to come of it.
He was wrong.
Two days later, Elena stood in the lobby of Hale Capital, looking as though she might disappear into the marble floors. Lucy waited in the car, knees bouncing with hope.
Elena carried a small cardboard box—Lucy’s lunch.
Victor rose as she entered. There was no protocol for moments like this.
“Mr. Hale,” she said softly. “Thank you for the cake. It lasted longer than we expected.”
He nodded. “I’m glad.”
After a pause, she asked the question she’d carried since that day.
“You lost someone… didn’t you? Your daughter?”
The truth settled heavily between them.
“Yes,” he said.
Something opened.