The challenge

The hallway of the 17th floor was dimmer, quieter—like it knew secrets and kept them well. The plush carpet muted Olivia's footsteps, but it couldn't quite the racing of her heart. Her fingers were cold, and she wiped her clammy palms against her skirt before balling them into fists.

She stopped in front of the frosted glass door: SEAN HARTLEY, GENERAL MANAGER. Her chest tightened.

With more force than intended, she knocked.

A pause, then a voice from inside—steady but distracted:

"Come in."

She pushed the door open and stepped in, breath shallow and uneven. Sean looked up from a stack of documents, a pen still in his hand. The second his eyes landed on her, his brow knitted in confusion. He stood slowly.

"Miss Olivia?" His tone was cautious. "What are you doing here—are you okay?"

She looked like a storm had passed through her. Chest rising and falling too quickly. Eyes wide with barely concealed panic.