The moment the door swung open, my chest tightened, and I had to steady my breathing. Ezekiel stood there, perfectly composed, the kind of controlled calm that made it impossible to read what he was truly feeling. His suit was neat, his hair perfectly combed back, and there was a faint scent of cologne that reminded me of the hospital—the day he had yelled at me, the day I had almost lost myself under the weight of his anger.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his tone professional, measured. ...