Chapter Text
The air on the rooftop was thinner, cooler, and infinitely better than the suffocating atmosphere of the boardroom or the lingering, cloying scent of expensive cologne from the exes who still thought they had a claim on her.
Milk leaned against the rusted railing of her tiny apartment, the only square inch of the world her family hadn't bought for her. To the world, she was the stoic CEO, a ruthless asset groomed from birth to be a weapon of industry. To the leeches downstairs and the ghosts of her past, she was nothing more than a golden goose to be plucked.
The wind whipped around her, but it couldn't drown out the echoes of the day.
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The afternoon sun cut across Milk's mahogany desk like a blade, but the heat coming from her phone was far more volatile. Her father's voicem smooth, entitled, and thick with the arrogance of the Vosbein legacy, pulsed through the speaker.
M: Father. I have no interest in another arranged marriage. I am married.
MF: Married to god-knows-who! You haven't had contact with this man for seven years. You might as well be a widow. Divorce him and return to your senses.
M: (Her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calm) And what is it to you? You can't marry me off anyway. Legally, I belong to someone else. I am wedded.
MF: Then I will send men to win your heart until you divorce that husband of yours of your own free will. If you don't let them in, Milk... I will ensure your company vanishes overnight.
M: Asshole.
MF: Language, please. I am still your father.
M: You stopped being my father the day Mae died.
MF: (A cold chuckle) And you, my child, have all the power given to you by her. It is time you contributed back to the family.
M: I told you specifically: I will not touch the Vosbein shares until you tick me off. Don't test me.
Milk hung up, her chest heaving. She knew the game. She held 35% of her family's empire, a gift from her mother that her father was desperately trying to dilute. She had been working in the shadows, quietly acquiring every new share that hit the market, building a fortress he couldn't breach, but her plans weren't finished yet.
She had to play along. She had to let the pursuers in, even if every fibre of her being wanted to burn them alive. The door to her office swung open without a knock. K'Nan walked in, radiating the kind of hollow narcissism that only comes from a lifetime of being told yes.
M: K'Nan. I have no intention of marrying you. Get out.
N: (Leaning over her desk, a smug grin plastered on his face) Why? I am more handsome, more talented, and wealthier than any man you've ever met. Every woman in the world wants me, Milk.
M: (She doesn't even look up from her papers) I don't.
N: You're still delusional about that husband? I heard you haven't even seen him in seven years. He's a ghost, Milk.
M: So? Even if he weren't in the picture, I wouldn't look at you. The only difference is that now, you can't legally force me into anything.
Milk's lips curled into a sharp, predatory smirk.
N: (His eyes darken, tracing her silhouette) You're incredibly sexy when you're angry. And make no mistake... I have every intention of claiming you as mine.
M: A word of advice for you: F**k off. Don't ever think you will claim me. You aren't capable of handling me.
N: (Chuckling, stepping closer) Feisty. But I'm a man who doesn't take 'no' for an answer.
M: And I am a woman currently in a perfect position to ruin you. Get out of my office before I start with your bank accounts.
After Nan swaggered out, the air in the office felt oily, tainted by his ego. Milk felt a wave of nausea roll over her. She hated them, all of them. To men like Nan and her father, she was a paradox: a high-value asset to be acquired and a body to be sexualised. They managed to degrade her and desire her in the same breath, viewing her beauty not as a trait, but as a flaw that made her too emotional for business or a prize that proved their own status.
She leaned back, her skin crawling. Every romantic gesture she had ever received felt like a transaction. In the beginning, before she learned how to sharpen her voice into a blade, she hadn't known how to say no. She had dated because it was expected, because it was a groomed asset's duty, until one of them had pushed too far, shattering her patience and leaving her with a permanent, icy loathing for the touch of a man.
To Milk, men were a monolith of entitlement. Except for him.
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Milk sat on the edge of the rooftop, the city lights below blurring into a distant hum. In her hand, she held a single, slightly faded photo, a relic from seven years ago. It was a shot she had captured in a moment of rare impulsivity: a back view of a man dressed as Zhongli from Genshin Impact.
A soft, genuine chuckle escaped her lips, a sound that would have shocked her board of directors. The man in the photo was short and petite, a stark contrast to the towering, stoic character he was portraying. The costume was elaborate, but on his smaller frame, it possessed a strange, endearing charm that the polished suits of her world could never replicate.
As she traced the edges of the photo, she tried to piece together the fragments of that day.
He had possessed strikingly feminine features, a delicate grace that had the girls in the crowd swarming around him, captivated. But Milk hadn't been looking at the crowd. She remembered the way her heart had unexpectedly skipped a beat when he turned. It wasn't just the costume; it was the depth in his eyes and the softness of his expression.
Her thumb brushing over the image, and suddenly, she remembered about his lips, they had been strangely plump, almost like a woman's. For a split second, the memory felt so vivid it confused her, making her wonder if her mind was playing tricks after years of isolation. She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Her memory had to be failing her; seven years was a long time to hold onto the ghost of a stranger.
She closed her eyes, letting the cold rooftop wind pull the memory back into the shadows. She tried to drown out the noise of her own success, the "Vosbein Power," the leeches, and the ruthless CEO persona she wore like armour.
In the silence of the night, she wasn't a weapon of industry. She was just a woman. A normal human being is drinking her pain away.
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The next morning, the air in Milk's office was sharp enough to draw blood. She had just finished cleaning house, firing her secretary for leaking Milk's activities, internal data and attempting to sabotage the company. To Milk, it was just another Tuesday; the world was a revolving door of traitors, liars, and corporate spies.
She was rubbing her temples when Film sauntered in, stepping over the metaphorical corpse of the previous secretary's career.
F: Tough break... she betrayed you too?
M: (Coldly) Yes. What are you doing here, Film?
F: Just checking if my favourite workaholic wants a drink.
M: Not today. I'll pass.
F: (Shrugging with a sympathetic pout) Fair enough. Life's a bitch, isn't it?
M: (Leaning back in her chair) And how is your company?
F: As usual, it crashed and burned!
Film said it with the widest, most radiant smile imaginable, as if bankruptcy were a luxury spa treatment she'd just enjoyed.
M: And you're smiling about it?
F: It's called a positive mindset, Milk! You should try it sometime. It helps with the forehead wrinkles.
Milk paused, her lips twitching into a sharp, curated fake smile that didn't reach her eyes with mocking intentions before she immediately let it drop back into her signature mask of indifference.
M: (Deadpan) Wait until your parents have something to say about that positive mindset. They'll probably frame your liquidation papers and hang them in the foyer as a warning.
F: (Waving a hand dismissively) Oh, they've already run out of wall space for my failures. Besides, I'm an artist of the Pivot.
In Milk's world of hyper-competence and calculated risks, Film was the beautiful anomaly. She was a spoiled princess who had been a whirlwind of chaos since their school days, failing at every business venture she touched with a spectacular, glittering lack of grace.
F: (Leaning over the desk) So, are you looking to hire?
M: I am not hiring you, Film. You are far too incompetent to even manage my coffee order, let alone my schedule.
F: Rude! And painful!
She clutched her chest in mock agony, though the pout on her face was purely for show. She knew Milk better than anyone. Film wasn't offended; she was well aware of her own limitations. After all, she still remembered the time Milk had tried to give her a simple project, only for Film to nearly trigger a bankruptcy filing for the entire firm.
F: But anyway... your work is far too much for me. I like my naps, and I like my sanity. I'm talking about hiring other people, actual professionals.
M: Yes, I have to. My work is piling up because I'm forced to replace my "loyal" staff every three months when they decide my father's payroll is more attractive than mine.
Milk's voice was like dry ice, cold and smoking with irritation. It was the same cycle: hire someone brilliant, watch them work for ninety days, and then find them whispering into a burner phone to her father's associates.
F: Can I make a suggestion?
M: (Sighing) Yes, What!
F: (Pouting) Oh, come on... be nice.
M: Sorry. Yes, please. What is it?
Film slid a business card across the mahogany desk. It looked ancient, dog-eared, slightly dirty, and painfully old-school.
F: Since my latest venture folded, I had to let her go. She's desperate for money, Milk. Give her a high salary, and she'll do anything. She's a machine, standby 24/7. The only catch is that if she gets an urgent call, she leaves immediately. It only happened twice with me, but otherwise, she's perfect.
M: (Eyeing the card skeptically) Desperate for money is a liability, Film. My father will just bribe her, and I'll be back to square one with another traitor.
F: Not this one. I'll vouch for her.
M: Why are you so invested in this?
F: (Her expression softening) I like her. But... she's married.
M: And you're planning to be the homewrecker?
F: No! I just want to be her friend. She's attractive, capable, and get this, she's married to a woman. She's so cool, Milk. I could never come out to my parents like that.
M: (Pausing) They're still setting you up?
F: Every weekend. At least they respect the fact that I've hated every candidate so far, unlike yours.
M: (A beat of silence) How does that even work? Dating a woman... I mean, technically, how does the sex even work?
F: (Laughing) Wow, someone is being very direct today! Well, it explains why you've been such a straight-laced ice queen.
M: (A flicker of a smirk) Don't tell me you want me to swing that way just so I'll finally kiss you.
F: (Sighing dramatically) You already rejected me in the harshest way possible years ago. At least back then, you were gentle and kind. Now? You're just scary.
M: Then stop being my friend.
F: And leave you with nobody? Not a chance. You'd be bored to death without me.
Film shifted her posture, her voice dropping into a dramatic, velvet tone, the kind of alluring cadence she usually reserved for getting out of speeding tickets or charming her way into VIP lounges.
M: God, you are annoying.
F: (Instantly dropping the act and beaming) So... since you're officially between secretaries and have nothing but time, can you treat me to lunch?
M: (Raising an eyebrow) Let me guess. Your parents cut off your allowance again?
F: Yes! Exactly! Because—
Film stopped, her smile widening into a look of sheer, unadulterated pride. She looked like a cat that had just successfully sabotaged a very expensive vase.
M: (Sighing) Let me guess. You chased away another suitor in a way that actively damaged the family's quarterly projections.
F: (Gasping, genuinely shocked) What?! How did you know?
M: Your expression. You look far too satisfied for it to be anything else.
F: (Pouting and tugging at Milk's sleeve) Fine, detective. Now, feed this poor, starving child.
M: (Standing up and grabbing her blazer) It's ironic, considering I'm supposed to be the poor one in this dynamic. Fine. Four hundred baht ($16) worth of sushi. Take it or leave it.
F: (Horrified) Four hundred? That's barely a snack! That's... that's practically a budget meal!
M: Take it or leave it, Film.
F: I'll take it! But I'm ordering the expensive tea to make up for the lack of sashimi!
Milk finally escaped the office, with Film trailing behind like a persistent, high-fashion shadow. Despite the annoyance, Milk felt a rare spark of warmth. Film was a disaster, yes, but she was a transparent disaster. In a world of vipers and corporate masks, Film's inability to tell a convincing lie was the only thing Milk truly treasured.
But by the end of the day, that warmth had been extinguished by a marathon of interviews. Each candidate was worse than the last; their ethics were as flimsy as tissue paper, and their work styles were corporate carbon copies. Even the one Milk had tentatively put on probation had been caught five minutes later texting a status report to her father's head of security.
Exhausted after work, Milk retreated to her rooftop. She stripped off the expensive, suffocating blazer, trading it for worn-out, non-lavish clothes that would have made her father disapprove of the fashion. She sat on the cold concrete, cracking open a beer to drown the day's stress.
She pulled out the dog-eared business card Film had given her.
Scanning the cute QR code on the back, Milk expected another shallow socialite profile. Instead, she found an extensive, bizarrely impressive resume. This woman had done everything: hard labour in construction, tutoring, high-level administration, and even professional repairs. She was a survivalist.
Milk dialled the number, her finger hovering over the screen for a second longer than usual. When the woman picked up, the answers that followed were... unique. They lacked the polished, rehearsed scripts Milk had endured in a hundred boardrooms. There was a raw directness to her, a sharp twist to every response that made Milk's intuition hum with an unfamiliar energy.
As the call ended, Milk found herself staring at the darkened screen, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She was surprised by her own reaction; it was just a voice, yet it resonated with a haunting sense of familiarity. It was a frequency she hadn't heard in years, one that felt less like a stranger and more like a half-forgotten memory.
Milk brushed the feeling off, shaking her head as if to dislodge the ghost of the memory. It was just a voice, she told herself, likely just the exhaustion of the day playing tricks on her ears. She wasn't the type to believe in fate or lingering echoes; she was a woman of logic, numbers, and cold, hard facts.
She set her phone down, continued to rest and look at the stars and enjoyed her beer before retreating to her bed
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Milk's departure from her family hadn't been a quiet exit; it was a rebellion forged in a single, impulsive act. She had walked away from the Vosbein legacy the moment she married a total stranger, a man who, to her surprise, had agreed to her sudden proposal without hesitation.
In those few chaotic hours, that random stranger had become her shield. He played the part of the devoted husband perfectly, protecting her from the man she feared most in her father's web of arranged marriages. He didn't just stand by her; he gave her the courage to face her past and taught her how to defend herself when the world tried to close in.
But before she could even learn his name, he was gone. A frantic phone call about his mother being hospitalised had pulled him away. Milk had given him a card with all her allowance over the years, which was enough money to cover the bills for life, a gesture she expected to be the end of their story. To her shock, the money didn't just save a life; it began a cycle of quiet integrity.
Over the years, small deposits appeared in her account, returning the funds bit by bit. Milk knew he was likely still struggling, yet he was determined to pay her back. While that money was a drop in the ocean compared to her plans to dismantle her father, she couldn't bring herself to touch those specific funds. At the end of the day, it was sacred; it was the price of a life saved.
For years, Milk lived on nothing. To stay off her father's radar, she worked in the shadows, distributing flyers and taking on gritty part-time jobs. She refused to start any business that could be tied back to the Vosbein name, knowing her father would use any corporate leverage to destroy her in minutes and force her back into his cage.
Thankfully, there was Film. Her chaotic best friend had casually funnelled her own allowance to Milk, masking the financial gap and allowing Milk to stay afloat. Using the vast network of people she met during her time in the trenches of part-time labour, Milk eventually founded her own events management company. It was a business built from the ground up, fueled by her own sweat and her memory, far away from the polished poison of her family's empire.
For five years, Milk had worked herself to the bone, building her events empire from nothing but grit and the network she'd forged in the trenches. By all accounts, she was a success, a rising titan whose name carried weight in circles her father couldn't touch. Yet, she remained a refugee in her own city.
She refused the luxury cars and the glass-walled penthouses that her status could now afford. Instead, she continued to inhabit her run-down, tiny apartment, where the walls were thin, and the air smelled of the city's exhaust. It was her sanctuary, the only place the Vosbein influence couldn't reach. Every morning, she blended into the grey mass of the morning commute, taking public transport alongside the very people her father viewed as invisible.
For Milk, these five years weren't just about building a business; they were about staying hidden in plain sight. Every bus ride and every night in that cramped room served as a reminder: she would rather live on nothing and be free than live in a palace as a prisoner. She was a CEO by day, but by night, she was still the woman waiting for a ghost, clinging to a life that was entirely, stubbornly hers.
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The new day began with the usual humid press of the morning commute. Milk sat near the crowded aisle, her AirPods in, eyes fixed on an e-book chapter and she caught up on the morning's financial news. She had mastered the art of being invisible in plain sight, but a sudden scent cut through the stale air, a sweet, tangy floral fragrance. It was a smell so familiar it felt like a physical tug on her memory.
She looked up.
Standing just a few feet away was a young woman, so tired she was sleeping on her own arm while clinging to the overhead handle. Milk found herself staring, struck by the peacefulness of her face amidst the chaos of the bus. Just as Milk reached out, intending to tap her shoulder and offer her a seat, the peace was shattered. A group of high school boys, trying to reenact a stunt, miscalculated and collided with an elderly lady, sending her and her lunch containers sprawling across the floor.
The young woman jolted awake. Without a second of hesitation, she knelt to help.
Passenger: You know you don't need to help her. She's a scammer. Be careful, or she'll pin it on you.
The little woman was flashing a smile so bright it seemed to light up the dingy bus.
LW: I'll be careful. Thank you for the warning.
That smile hit Milk like a physical force. Unconsciously, her own lips quirked upward. Driven by an impulse she couldn't name, Milk stepped in, her expensive-looking poise forgotten as she knelt in the dirt to help gather the fallen containers.
Then, the world tilted.
A pedestrian darted into the lane. The driver slammed the brakes, and the screech of tyres screamed through the cabin. The force was violent, sending bodies flying forward like ragdolls. Milk saw the little woman being launched toward a jagged metal pole.
Without thinking, Milk lunged. She wrapped her hand around the woman's head, shielding the impact with her own limb, and pulled her tight against her chest to anchor them both. The bus hissed to a violent stop, the air thick with the stench of burnt rubber and panicked gasps.
M: (Her voice low, strained) Are you okay?
LW: (Breathless, leaning into Milk's chest) I think so...
The little woman pulled back slightly, her eyes widening as they landed on Milk's hand.
LW: Khun Phi! Your hand!
Milk looked down. The impact against the pole had been hard. Her hand was already beginning to swell, a jagged scrape blooming red against her skin. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a sharp, pulsing throb that made her hiss through her teeth.
In the wreckage of the commute, Milk felt the sharp pulse in her hand, but it was nothing compared to the sudden, rhythmic thrumming in her chest. Their eyes locked, and for a terrifying second, Milk felt her heart stall; it was the exact same skip she had felt seven years ago. Her gaze involuntarily shifted, tracing the line of the woman's plump, soft lips, a memory tugging at her with such gravity that she almost leaned in.
Milk snapped back to reality, her icy walls slamming shut, though they felt thinner than usual.
M: It's okay. I'm fine.
LW: It is not fine. Look, it's already swelling.
The little woman glanced at her watch, then out the window. The bus driver was ushering everyone off as the sirens of approaching police cars wailed in the distance. The bus driver was ushering everyone out into the humid morning air.
LW: I'll get you to a clinic. But first, this grandmother needs her lunch replaced.
Milk watched, fascinated, as the woman settled the old lady on a bench and sprinted to a nearby street stall. When she returned, breathless and holding a fresh meal. Once the elderly lady's lunch was settled.
The little woman attempted to guide Milk toward a clinic, her pace hurried and determined. But within minutes, she slowed, her head tilting as she scanned the unfamiliar storefronts.
M: You're lost, aren't you?
LW: I... I'm so sorry.
She pursed her lips, a wave of visible guilt washing over her face.
LW: I remembered there being a clinic right around here, but I think I've completely lost my way.
Milk looked up at the street sign, then scanned the intersection. She knew exactly where they were; this was her territory in one of her part-time jobs.
M: This place... I know where it is. Follow me.
Milk took the lead, but the little woman suddenly darted into a nearby drink stall. She emerged seconds later with a small bag of ice, and before Milk could protest, she gently wrapped it against Milk's swelling hand using her own handkerchief. The cold was a shock, but the tenderness of the gesture was what truly caught Milk off guard.
At the clinic, Milk was ushered in for an X-ray. While Milk was in the X-ray room, she could hear the muffled, frantic tone of the little woman's voice through the door as she made a call. When Milk finally emerged, she found the woman vibrating with anxiety, her eyes darting between her watch and the clinic exit.
M: You have work, don't you?
LW: Yes, but it's fine! I called in. I just... I really need to be there in thirty minutes.
Milk looked at the woman's panicked expression. Usually, Milk had no patience for people who couldn't manage their own schedules, but looking at her, the sharp words she usually used on her staff died in her throat.
M: I'll get you a GrabBike.
LW: No, Khun Phi, you really don't have to do that—
M: (Cutting her off, her voice low and steady) Considering your navigation skills, it's best if I'm the one directing the driver. Unless you're planning to accidentally hike to the next city?
The little woman bit her lip, her teeth clenching as she desperately searched for a polite way to decline. But she was clearly incapable of lying; her internal struggle was written all over her face.
LW: (Dejectedly) It's that bad... I'll have to rely on you. I'm so sorry.
Milk stepped closer and patting the little woman's shoulder in reassurance, her tone direct but uncharacteristically soft.
M: It's fine. Thank you for getting me this far. Technically, I had to bring myself to the door anyway, but I'll accept the help.
After the X-ray, the doctor confirmed that Milk had a hairline fracture in her hand from the impact. As she was handed a bag of medication and a bill, the little woman immediately reached for her wallet, her fingers fumbling with a worn-out coin purse.
Milk didn't hesitate. She stepped in and tapped her own payment before the little woman could even count her bills.
LW: Khun Phi, please. This injury happened because you were protecting me. I should be the one paying.
M: (Voice flat and matter-of-fact) You look poor. Let me handle it.
The little woman froze, her eyes widening as the word "poor" hung in the air of the pharmacy.
LW: (A bit stung) Khun Phi... do you really have to use that word? It's a bit... blunt.
Milk then looked at the little girl up and down, her CEO eyes involuntarily performing a forensic audit
M: I'm just stating the obvious. Your shoes are worn at the soles, your shirt has been mended twice, and your third button replacement is a mismatch.
LW: (Biting her lip, her face flushing) I know. But it's still a little rude. I'm sorry if I've offended you somehow.
Milk stopped. She saw the way her shoulders slumped, and for the first time in years, she felt a genuine pang of guilt. Her sharp tongue was a weapon she usually used on boardmembers and leeches; she hadn't meant to cut someone so fragile. Milk softened her voice, her eyes searching the little woman.
M: I... I'm sorry. I have a habit of being too direct. But please, let me pay. I can see you're in a difficult situation, and I'd rather you use that money for something else.
The little woman looked at Milk, seeing the rare flicker of softness behind the icy exterior. She let out a small, defeated sigh and nodded.
LW: Okay, Khun Phi. Thank you.
Milk pulled out her phone and tapped a ride-hailing app, selecting the fastest premium option available. She didn't mind the cost; it was a small price to pay to keep this familiar person by her side for just a few minutes longer.
M: Where am I sending you?
The address the little woman gave was the exact same building where Milk's office was located. Milk's eyes flickered with a brief moment of surprise, but she dismissed it. The skyscraper housed dozens of firms; the chances of their paths crossing again in a professional capacity felt slim.
M: I've called a bike. It'll weave through the traffic faster, so you aren't late.
The little woman was blinking as she checked the app confirmation on Milk's screen.
LW: Thank you. How much was it? I'll transfer it to you now.
M: Don't worry about it. Consider it a thank you for staying with me until the end.
LW: Khun Phi, please. At least let me pay for the ride.
M: Accept it.
Milk's voice dropped into the low, frigid register she used to end board meetings. She gave a cold, unwavering look, the CEO glare that usually made grown men tremble. It worked; the little woman shrank back slightly, her protest dying in her throat.
LW: (Quietly) Okay. I understand.
After the little woman left, Milk took a moment to breathe, the silence of the clinic a jarring contrast to the heat of the woman's presence. She had the nurse fit her with a stabilising brace, the stiff fabric a physical reminder of the morning's chaos. On her way to the office, she stopped for a black coffee, strong and bitter, trying to force her routine back into its usual, rigid grooves. Her schedule was compromised, her hand was throbbing, and her mind was uncharacteristically cluttered.
She reached her building and headed straight to her floor, burying herself in a mountain of overdue reports. She worked with a frantic, one-handed efficiency, using the pain in her wrist to ground her focus and drown out the familiar scent that still seemed to cling to her blazer.
A sharp knock at the door interrupted her.
M: (Without looking up, her voice a cold blade) Enter.
The Head of Human Resources stepped in, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
HHR: K'Milk, I'm sorry to disturb your work, but we've finalised the emergency hire recommended. She just arrived, and since you wanted to vet her personally...
The HR staff stepped aside, and the little woman walked in. She was still wearing the mended shirt with the mismatched button, her hair a bit windblown from the bike ride, and her eyes wide with a mix of exhaustion and hope.
Milk's pen stopped mid-sentence. The cold, calculated air of the office seemed to vanish, replaced by the sudden, deafening beat of her own heart.
M: (Her voice a low, stunned whisper) You.
Milk's pen hovered over her desk, the ink bleeding into a dark blotch on the paper as the HR staff laid out the new hire's file.
HRS: This is Love, your new secretary. I've already conducted the preliminary training, and company structure, vision, and internal procedures are all covered. She's scheduled for the full corporate induction next Wednesday, so please keep her morning block free.
Milk barely heard the logistics. Her eyes were locked on the top line of the folder. There it was, in crisp, black print: Pattranite Limpatiyakorn.
M's Mind: Pattranite Limpatiyakorn... why is that name so... familiar?
The name didn't just ring a bell; it felt like a vibration from a past life, from seven years ago. Milk looked up, her gaze transitioning from the paper to the woman standing before her. Milk spoke with her voice regaining its authority, yet carrying a weight of hidden recognition.
M: K'Love.
The office, usually a place of sterile efficiency, suddenly felt too small. Milk took the moment to truly look at her as the woman now standing in the centre of her office.
Love stood her ground, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her sleeve, but her eyes remained steady. They locked onto Milk's with an intensity that defied the hierarchy of the room. It was a silent standoff: the Lion and the Sheep. To the HR staff, it was a standard introduction. To Milk and Love, it was the realisation that the fate they had both tried to brush off ended up standing right in front of them.