tant buzzing of his phone was a phantom limb, a reminder of a connection he

uietly repurposed into a "collaborative space." He now had a small desk in the open-plan area, tucked away in a corner. It was a subtl

ll cardboard box. A few design books, a personalized mug, a photo of his mother

still hear

Noah Peterson got marri

? Weren't they t

ve. Probably drove her away. He was alw

in with her crowd. Noah's from

iscarded. The injustice of it was a bitter pill. He was the one who had developed the core design philosophy of the company in the early days, the on

nd was a home-wrecker, someone who interfered in a committed relationship. The irony was suffocating. In the eyes of

ia

from directly behind him. He didn't turn around.

lease lo

he looked tired. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she

g?" she asked, ges

my desk," he sai

is out." She reached out to touch his arm, a fa

m. "There's nothing to work out, Olivia. This is

. "Liam, I have the divorce papers. I told you I would handle it

e play. It meant nothing. Not now. It was too late.

r anymore," he sa

the desk beside her purse. The scre

ex. "I have to take this," she said, her voice already distant. She turned away from him, walking a few feet to

the middle of this supposed crisis, with him standing right there, Noah came

ed it up and walked toward the HR office, le

en slavishly devoted to Olivia, looked at

looking up from her screen when

's ri

were just here for the ride. Guess you'll have to find

e was beyond feeling the sting of such petty jabs. He was

his hand steady. As he walked o

around her shoulders, whispering something in her ear that made her smile, a faint, ti

t, his voice echoing in the polished lobby.

o say something, but no words came out. She just stood there, pinn

the complete and utter emptiness in his eyes. Then he turned and walked out the