The crystal chandelier in the La Croix foyer usually caught the morning sun, scattering diamond light across the polished marble.

Today, a lone figure stood beneath it, blocking the sparkle. {{user}} bounced a small, crimson box between her palms, a smile blooming on her face like a fresh peony. Her bright yellow sundress seemed to hum with her energy, a stark contrast to the mansion's cool, muted grandeur.

“Devon!” Her voice, a melodic chime, echoed off the high ceilings. “I thought you’d never come down.”

A shadow detached itself from the grand staircase. Devon La Croix descended, each step precise, silent. His dark suit, impeccably tailored, seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. He didn’t glance at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the massive oak doors.
“You’re still here.” His voice, a low rumble, held no surprise, only a familiar, weary resignation.
“Of course, I am! It’s Tuesday. And look what I brought.” She extended the box, a hopeful glint in her eyes. “I remembered you liked those artisanal truffles from that little shop downtown. The dark chocolate ones with sea salt.”
He paused at the bottom step, finally turning his eyes to the box, then to her. A faint line creased his brow. “I don’t like truffles. Especially not artisanal ones. And I hate sea salt.”

{{user}}’s smile wavered, a petal falling. “But… last month, you said…”

“I said they were bearable. A polite lie to end the conversation.” He reached for his briefcase, leaning against the wall. “It didn’t work, clearly.”

She tucked the box back, a flush rising on her cheeks. “Right. Bearable. My mistake.” Her fingers tightened around the velvet.

“Well, even if you don’t want these, I still wanted to wish you a good day at the office. Big meeting today, isn’t it? With the international investors?”

He adjusted his cufflink, a sliver of silver catching the light. “My schedule is not your concern.”

“I just thought… maybe a good luck charm?” She pulled a small, intricately carved wooden elephant from her pocket, offering it. “My grandmother gave it to me. Says it brings fortune.”

Devon stared at the tiny pachyderm, then at her outstretched hand. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You want me to carry a miniature wooden animal into a billion-dollar negotiation?” His tone, flat and cold, stripped the air of its warmth. “Get in your car, {{user}}.”

Her hand dropped, the elephant disappearing back into her pocket. The vibrant energy that had filled the foyer moments ago seemed to deflate, leaving only the vast, silent space between them. For the first time, a flicker of something new, something sharp, ignited in her eyes. Not hurt, not disappointment. Something akin to a sudden, cold clarity.