Violette used to think she was the same with everyone. But hearing Emma’s take on it, she seemed to reserve a specific, quiet softness for Roman.

Was that true? She knew Roman occupied a different space in her heart, but when it came to the outward expression of that, she was blinded by her own proximity.

After work, she headed over to Bauhinia Bay to fill her parents in on her upcoming business trip. It wasn’t often her station sent her out of Deepwater; when they did, it was usually for intensive seminars or industry tours.

"Where are you heading?" Charles asked.

"Just to an outlying town on the outskirts of the city," Violette replied, explaining the new project Arthur had greenlit. "There are some rural development initiatives we need to document. Since the commute would eat up half the day, I’m compressing the work into a few days rather than dragging it out for weeks."

"Did you tell Roman?"

Violette paused. "I did. He travels for work constantly—how come you never ask if he checks in with me before he takes off?"

Charles shot her a look, his tone drifting into that elliptical, knowing cadence. "Roman is a steady man, Violette. He keeps his house in order."

Fine. Apparently, she was the reckless one.

Violette decided not to press the point, choosing instead to focus on Sunny, the cat, dangling a teaser toy. "Has Sunny been a good boy?"

Catherine emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of fruit. "Don't even get me started. Hasn't that cat been neutered yet? Now that the weather’s turning, he’s been yowling at the garden below every single night."

Violette scooped the cat up, confirming the feline was indeed past his prime. "Maybe I should take him back with me."

"You’re leaving for your trip," Catherine countered. "Roman won't be able to handle him alone. Keep him here."

Violette didn’t have the heart to say that at home, Roman was the one doing all the heavy lifting with Sunny. She barely had to touch a grooming brush.

Later that evening, when Roman arrived at Bauhinia Bay to pick her up, she mentioned the cat’s dilemma. He acknowledged it with a nod, then asked, "Should I take him in after you get back, or handle it while you're away?"

As a veteran "virtual cat parent," Violette knew the subtle art of the neutering negotiation. "Do it while I'm away. Otherwise, the moment he gets home and sees me, he’ll hold a grudge and ignore me for weeks." She offered a conspiratorial tip. "You know, right? I’ve seen people put on a full theatrical performance with the vet—make it look like the doctor is the villain so the cat thinks you’re the one saving him."

Roman hadn't heard of such a thing. The exhaustion of his day’s meetings seemed to evaporate into the air, chased away by her mundane, rambling observations. He curled his lips into a smirk and nodded. "I’ll find a friend with some acting chops, then."

The friend with the best acting skills was currently in exile. Of the remaining candidates, Dax Murphy was the best fit—he’d been to the house enough that Sunny wouldn't be on high alert. Roman mentally locked in the choice. "When do you leave?"

"Monday morning," Violette said, scrolling through her phone to verify her calendar. "I'm taking Emma and a producer from the unit."

Monday came fast. Violette and the team left the station in a company car. It took a three-hour drive to reach their destination. Traffic out of the city was sluggish, and a detour near their destination forced them onto narrow, winding backroads that hugged the mountainside, dragging out the travel time.

A local coordinator was waiting. Macy Wright, the guide, checked them into a newly built resort.

"This tourist town was a government-backed project launched last year," Macy explained. "Aside from public funding, several local entrepreneurs chipped in. What you’re seeing now is just Phase One. Once the final phase is finished, this will be a massive draw." She gestured around. "People from the metro area are craving a quiet, meditative escape. Ms. Ellis, what do you think?"

She was fishing for a plug, hoping the local business leaders they were interviewing would get their moment in the spotlight. The town desperately needed this tourism boost to revitalize the local economy.

Violette, having done her research, cut to the chase. "Are Phases Two and Three relying on this same local funding model?"

"Phase One was the pilot," Macy said, rubbing her hands together. "We’re looking for outside investors for the rest. If the station can feature us, it’ll be a massive help for our pitch." Her posture was deferential, desperate to secure a favorable segment. "Ms. Ellis, if you need anything at all during your stay, just say the word."

After a tour of the grounds—which featured a mountain-view hotel, an equestrian center, a gym, and a medical station—Violette declined the offer of a formal banquet. She grabbed a light dinner with Emma and the producer, then retreated to their hotel room to prep for the following day.

The room had a long desk; they claimed opposite ends to avoid stepping on each other's toes. By late afternoon, Violette had finished the summary and uploaded it to their group chat. She stood up, stretching her stiff back, and asked, "Want to grab dinner here or head out?"

"Anything works," Emma said, clicking her pen and jotting down final notes.

Violette walked behind her, and she caught a flicker of movement—Emma had suddenly slammed her laptop screen shut, looking for all the world like she was hiding a state secret.

She *was* hiding something. On the laptop screen, one window was open to their work document; the other was her own personal Twitter feed. Emma wasn't about to let Violette see her cataloging the intimate details of her life like some kind of obsessive stalker.

The thought made Emma flush. She shook her head, closing the laptop. She’d figure out how to frame the next post later.

Violette was already pulling on a windbreaker. "My neck is killing me. I’m going to take a walk by the lake. I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat."

"Right. Got it," Emma stammered.

Her eyes followed Violette’s hands as she pulled the zipper, then drifted to her chin. Violette had such clean features—a perfect oval face, high forehead. She looked elegant even without makeup, wearing nothing but a touch of lip balm.

Violette tied her hair into a ponytail. "See you."

"Right, see you later, boss."

As Violette stepped out, Emma’s gaze drifted to the open suitcase on the luggage rack. One side held the laptop and headsets, the other was organized with her daily clothing. Every bundle was sorted into pouches, each one marked with a small, neat label.

Emma, a devotee of professional organization videos, couldn't help but admire the orderly system. She leaned in for a closer look.

The pouch that had held the windbreaker was empty, but the label remained. The handwriting was sharp, authoritative—the kind of script only a man would have.

*Big temperature shifts—wear this when you head out.*

The left-hand pouch—*Forecast says rain, wear this.*

The right-hand pouch—*Lots of bugs, spray this on your skin, reapply every four hours.*

Emma didn't dare pry further. She couldn't very well go rummaging through someone's luggage. But at the bottom, peeking out from the corner of a pouch, she saw two words: *Undergarments.*

Who put labels on everything in their suitcase? The realization hit her like a lightning bolt: someone had packed this for her.

As for who that someone was—the thought made her heart skip a beat.

Heaven rewards the persistent. Her Twitter followers were going to have a field day with this update.