Claire took a step toward the door.
Then she hesitated.
Something at the edge of her vision caught her attention.
Slowly, she turned her head.
The inner office door stood slightly ajar.
Through the narrow gap, she caught sight of Isobel.
The young woman sat quietly on a sofa, her blazer draped beside her. An electric breast pump rested against her chest as she expressed milk, her attention fixed on the task rather than the world around her.
For a moment, Claire forgot to breathe.
Of all places, Morgan had allowed her into his private lounge.
The room was practically an extension of his personal space. Few employees were ever invited inside. Even senior executives rarely entered without permission.
Yet there sat Isobel. Looking so comfortable and protected.
Hidden from public view.
"Claire."
Morgan’s cold voice cut through her thoughts.
"I told you to get out."
Claire immediately turned back.
Her features softened into a wounded disappointment, her eyes shimmering with carefully measured hurt. It was an expression she had perfected over the years—one that could make most men want to gather her in their arms and protect her.
"Alright," she said softly.
Morgan’s expression never changed.
The smile on her face became difficult to maintain. She lowered her gaze and quietly left the office.
The moment the door closed behind her, the sweetness vanished.
Her jaw tightened. Her hands curled into fists so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.
Why?
Why would Morgan allow Isobel inside his private lounge?
There was a perfectly functional lactation room on the executive floor.
There had been no reason to bring her into his office.
Unless Morgan had a reason.
Unless Isobel was somehow different.
The thought settled heavily in Claire’s chest.
She needed answers.
And there was only one person likely to have them.
Katherine.
Claire straightened her shoulders and headed down the corridor, her mind already calculating how to extract the information she wanted.
...
A few minutes earlier, Morgan had stepped out of a nearby elevator at almost the exact moment Isobel emerged from another.
They nearly collided.
Isobel immediately stopped and took a hurried step back.
"I’m sorry, Sir."
Morgan barely registered the apology.
Something else had already caught his attention.
A faint scent lingered in the air.
Milk.
The familiar smell instantly brought to mind his infant twins. He had encountered it countless times during visits to the nursery.
His gaze shifted instinctively toward Isobel.
She stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face flushed with embarrassment. The way she held herself told him everything he needed to know.
Understanding dawned immediately.
Without a hint of judgment crossing his features, Morgan said, "Come with me."
Isobel blinked in surprise.
Before she could protest, he had already turned and begun walking.
Morgan deliberately maintained a respectful distance as he led her toward his office. He neither looked at her nor asked uncomfortable questions.
His calm professionalism eased some of the panic knotting her stomach.
Once inside, he opened the door to his private lounge.
A few weeks earlier, after the birth of his twins, he had instructed the household staff to keep certain necessities stocked there for emergencies. It was a decision he had barely thought about since.
Now it proved useful.
One of the maids had already prepared breast milk storage bags, fresh towels, and a change of clothes.
As Isobel stepped inside, she found herself momentarily distracted from her embarrassment.
The lounge was more spacious than some apartments.
A comfortable sofa occupied one corner. A compact refrigerator stood against the wall beside a cabinet stocked with refreshments. There was a daybed, a wardrobe, and even a private bathroom.
The room felt less like an office lounge and more like a small living suite.
Morgan gestured toward the wardrobe.
"There are spare clothes inside. You can change if you need to."
For a moment, Isobel simply stared at him. Most people would have ignored her discomfort. Others might have been awkward about it.
Morgan had quietly solved the problem without making her feel ashamed.
"Thank you, Sir," she said softly.
Morgan merely nodded before turning toward the door.
"I’ll give you some privacy."
As the door closed behind him, Isobel looked around the room once more.
A warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
She found herself admiring Morgan more and more.
Not because of his wealth or position.
But because of the consideration he showed when no one was watching.
...
Claire stormed into her office, her heels striking the floor with enough force to announce her mood before she said a single word.
Inside, Resty and Katherine were seated at a mini conference table, reviewing storyboards for the company’s next advertising campaign.
The conversation died instantly.
Both looked up.
Katherine took one glance at Claire’s expression and immediately knew something—or someone—had ruined her day.
"Leave us," Claire said curtly, directing the order at Resty.
Resty leaned back in his chair and released a long, dramatic sigh worthy of an award-winning actor.
Slowly, he rose to his feet.
"Fine."
He placed a hand over his heart as if deeply wounded.
Then he straightened an imaginary crown on his head and locked eyes with Claire.
"I see how it is."
Without waiting for a response, he snapped his fingers in the air and pivoted smoothly on one heel.
The man proceeded to strut toward the door as though he were closing a Paris Fashion Week runway show.
Halfway to the door, he even paused to throw an imaginary glance at an invisible audience.
Then he disappeared into the hallway.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Katherine blinked.
"What the heck was that?" she asked. A laugh escaped her despite herself.
"He acts like every hallway is a runway."
For once, Claire didn’t smile. Katherine’s amusement faded. Now she was certain something was wrong.
"What happened?" she asked. "Why do you look ready to strangle someone?"
Claire remained silent for a moment.
Then she fixed Katherine with an intense stare.
"Katie."
The seriousness in her voice immediately caught Katherine’s attention.
"Tell me honestly." Claire leaned forward slightly. "Does Morgan like Isobel?"
Katherine’s eyebrows shot upward.
"What?"
"Answer me."
The question lingered between them.
Katherine studied Claire carefully before shaking her head.
"Of course not."
"Then why is he treating her differently?"
Claire’s voice sharpened.
"There’s a lactation room on the sixtieth floor."
Katherine frowned.
"So?"
"I saw Isobel inside Morgan’s private lounge."
The words landed like a bomb.
Katherine froze.
For a second, she wondered if she had heard correctly. Then she shot to her feet so quickly that her chair rolled backward.
"What did you just say?"
Her eyes widened. Morgan’s private lounge? The room attached to his office that he barely allowed anyone to enter?
Even senior executives rarely set foot inside.
And Isobel had been there?
Suddenly, Katherine understood why Claire was upset.
Because that wasn’t merely unusual.
It was unprecedented.