Julian had integrated running into his daily ritual. Initially, it was for his health, but he soon discovered it was a more effective way to outrun the noise in his head. When the burnout threatened to pull him under, he ran until the mental fog cleared.

Every mile increased the mastery over his own limbs, providing a physical certainty that he lacked in the glass towers of Apex Capital.

He finished his morning miles, showered, and walked to the office.

Sleep had been elusive the night before, and the delay cost him. He reached the lobby just as the elevator doors began to slide shut. Julian sprinted, his laptop bag thumping against his hip, but he was too far. Then, a hand intercepted the sensor. The doors retreated.

"Thank you," Julian panted, stepping inside.

"You're welcome."

The voice was a low, familiar chord. Samuel stood by the panel in a heavy charcoal overcoat. Asher stood behind him, offering a bright, knowing grin.

Julian's pulse, already elevated from the run, doubled its tempo. "Morning, Asher. Samuel."

Samuel's gaze swept over him. His expression was a wall of granite, his jaw set tight. The cabin was crowded; Julian shifted closer to Asher to avoid brushing against Samuel's sleeve.

"Breakfast?" Asher asked.

Julian shook his head. "I was planning on hitting the breakroom."

"Come with us," Asher insisted.

Julian agreed, assuming it would just be the two of them. He realized his mistake when he found himself sitting directly across from Samuel in the executive lounge. Julian focused on his tray, moving through his eggs with a clinical efficiency, desperate to be invisible.

"Another blind date yesterday?" Asher asked Samuel, leaning back in his chair. "How did it go?"

Julian's fingers tightened around his fork. He tried to tune out the world, but Samuel's voice cut through the static.

"It didn't."

Asher let out a long sigh. "Again? What exactly is the criteria? You're going to give the Old Boss a heart attack at this rate."

Samuel didn't answer. He just stared at his coffee.

"How is Harold doing, anyway?" Asher continued, undeterred by the silence. "He seemed fine last quarter."

"Underlying issues," Samuel said. "High blood pressure. He had a few too many drinks with his old comrades and had a flare-up. My grandmother has him on a strict regimen now. No cigars, no scotch."

"Good," Asher said, nodding. "The way the media was talking, I thought it was a terminal diagnosis."

"Competitors planted those stories," Samuel replied. "They wanted to tank the stock price."

Harold Frost wasn't just Samuel's grandfather; he was the chairman of a global empire. A health crisis meant a tremor in the markets—a reality no one in the Frost family was prepared for.

"The man is getting older, Samuel," Asher noted. "He values legacy. You're his golden boy. No wonder he's breathing down your neck to get married."

Samuel's eyes flickered to Julian. Julian didn't look up. He set his cutlery down and stood abruptly.

"I'm full," Julian said, his voice flat. "I'll head back to work."

Samuel looked like he wanted to offer an explanation, but he realized he had no standing. He watched in silence as Julian walked away.

"Asher," Samuel said, his voice low after Julian was gone. "What would happen if I just... didn't get married?"

Asher's eyes went wide. "Are you insane? You'd give up the inheritance?"

Samuel looked at the floor. "I didn't say that."

Julian knew the depth of the canyon between them better than anyone. He had no intention of trying to bridge it. Samuel's kindness was a debt he couldn't repay, and he worked to push the relationship back to a "safe" distance.

It was easier than he expected. Work consumed eighty hours of his week, and his runs took care of the rest. He stopped thinking about Samuel.

He even started to socialize. A week before New Year's Eve, Leo sent out an invite for his birthday. For once, Julian wasn't buried in a deadline.

Leo came from money; he'd rented out an entire dive bar and hired a live band. By the time Julian arrived, the room was a haze of neon and loud chords. He spotted Emma waving from a corner table and slid in next to her.

Leo approached with a bottle, grinning. "The man of the hour! Glad Samuel let you off the leash tonight."

Julian clinked his glass against Leo's. "Don't mock me. An analyst's life is hard."

"Is Samuel coming?" someone asked.

Leo shook his head. "No word. He's probably closing a merger in his sleep."

Julian felt a knot of tension untie in his chest. Samuel wouldn't be here. This was safe ground.

They played a deduction game later in the night. Julian's "pure" face was the perfect cover for a lie; he swept three rounds before anyone realized he was playing them.

"Unbelievable!" "The quiet ones are always the most dangerous." "Three wins? You're drinking for that."

Julian took a sip of a low-alcohol cocktail. He was actually having a good time. He didn't mind the buzz.

A girl approached him during the next round, asking for his WeChat. Julian was used to being approached on campus, but rarely at a work function. He didn't want to make a scene in front of his colleagues, so he scanned her code, planning to decline her later.

He excused himself for the restroom ten minutes later. She was waiting for him in the hallway.

She was leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette tucked behind her ear and a tattoo winding up her forearm. She had a sharp, cool elegance—the kind of girl who played bass in a post-punk band. Julian tried to pass with a polite nod, but she stepped into his path.

"Got a minute?"

Julian stopped. Up close, he realized she was tall—a hair taller than him. He felt the familiar sting to his pride. "Sure."

"I'm Tracy," she said. Julian introduced himself. She narrowed her eyes, scanning his frame. "Are you 'that'?"

Julian blinked. "What?"

"Are you one of those?" she asked.

Julian had no idea what she was talking about. "I'm not."

"A waste," she muttered.

Julian assumed she was done, but she leaned in closer, her voice a low murmur.

"Do you want to try?"

Julian froze. "Try what?"

Tracy didn't answer. She just stood there, looking down at him with an inscrutable, heavy gaze.