"She pleaded on Rose's behalf," Raymond said. "After what she did. I didn't expect that."
Alfred's tone was neutral but steady. "That is… unusual in today's corporate climate."
Raymond leant back in the chair. "She's… different. There's something about her. Not just talent. Poise. Warmth. It's… rare."
Alfred gave a small nod. "You may have found someone with more than just business potential."
Raymond gave a wry smile. "You think so?"
"I only think, but you decide."
Raymond chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You always have a way of saying a lot without saying much."
Alfred bowed slightly. "It's a gift. One that keeps me employed."
Raymond laughed quietly. "Fair enough."
He sipped his water and glanced towards the window. The night outside was quiet, the sky clear.
"She said something when she was leaving the office," he said softly. "'You have a kind heart too.' I don't know why… but that stayed with me."
Alfred didn't respond at first. Then he said, "Perhaps it stayed because it's true."
Raymond looked at him, then nodded slowly. "Maybe."
Alfred adjusted his cuffs. "Shall I serve dinner now?"
"Yes," Raymond replied. "And Alfred… thank you."
The older man inclined his head. "Always a pleasure."
As Alfred disappeared towards the kitchen, Raymond remained seated for a moment, staring out into the night.
Somehow, her voice still echoed in his mind—warm, sincere, unexpected.
"You have a kind heart too."
Later that evening, somewhere off Piedmont Road, Atlanta, tucked behind a line of neon-lit buildings, sat The Whispering Oak Bar, a sleek, moody bar known for its dim lighting, mellow jazz, and strong cocktails.
Rose sat in a booth near the far end of the lounge, her blazer folded besides her, two empty glasses in front of her, and a third halfway gone.
She wasn't drunk yet, but her eyes had that glassy shine, and her lipstick had faded. Her phone kept slipping out of her hand as she scrolled through her contacts with the grace of a sleepy toddler.
She muttered under her breath, "Suspended. For one week. Just one stupid mistake. A misunderstanding…"
Her voice slurred slightly as she tapped on her screen. The screen blinked, and she let out a frustrated breath. "Come on… pick up…"
When the call finally connected, she pressed the phone to her ear with both hands, like she needed it to stay steady.
"Hello?" came a man's voice on the line.
"Tony," she said, blinking slowly. "Tony… come pick me up… I'm at… at The Whispering Oak Bar…"
There was a pause.
"You called me?" Tony asked, surprised.
"Yeah," she whispered. "Please. I just want to go home. I… I don't want to be alone tonight."
Tony was already standing by the time she hung up.
Twenty minutes later at The Whispering Oak Bar, Tony stepped out of his car, scanning the low-lit lounge.
His fitted navy shirt was slightly wrinkled from the drive, and his hair was mussed by the wind, but his face was calm—alert, but concerned.
Inside, he found Rose still at the booth, now leaning back against the cushion, legs crossed, phone lying on the table like a surrendered weapon.
"Rose," he said, gently.
She blinked up at him, slowly registering his face. "You came…"
"Of course I did," Tony said, sliding into the booth besides her. "You sounded like someone who needed help. Let's get you home, alright?"
She nodded weakly and reached for her purse, wobbling a little as she stood.
"Easy now," Tony said, offering his hand. "You're not quite in heels-walking mode right now."
She chuckled, surprisingly. "I only had three drinks."
"You weigh, like, what, a feather and a half? That's enough to confuse your GPS."
"Don't joke," she mumbled as they walked outside, leaning slightly on him. "Today was awful."
"I can imagine," he said, unlocking the car door for her. "But tomorrow will be better."
She slid into the passenger seat, sighed, and closed her eyes for a moment. "Why did I even call you?"
Tony gave a soft laugh as he started the engine. "Probably because I'm the only one who won't judge you, even when you're being a brat."
"I wasn't a brat," she said, eyes still closed.
"Yes, you were," he replied. "You've been acting like you owned the whole Copeland & Co."
She chuckled again, but there was no fight in her. "Maybe I needed someone to bring me down."
"Consider it done," he said with a small smirk as they pulled away from the lounge, the city lights trailing behind them like fading memories.
Tony's car pulled into the quiet apartment complex just a few minutes past eleven. The night air was cooler now, calm.
Atlanta's usual buzz faded into the background as they stepped out into the soft glow of the courtyard lights.
"Okay," Tony said, helping Rose out of the car. "You're home safe."
Rose leant slightly on him, her steps slow but steady. Her apartment was on the second floor, just a short walk up a flight of stairs. As they climbed, she let out a soft breath.
"I didn't expect today to end like this," she murmured.
Tony glanced sideways. "Me neither."
He stayed close as she unlocked her door, fumbling a little with the key before it turned. The door opened, revealing a cosy but stylish space—muted beige walls, rose-gold accents, and the faint scent of vanilla in the air.
"Come in," she said quietly.
"I'll make sure you're settled," Tony replied, stepping inside.
She kicked off her heels near the entrance and walked towards the couch, swaying slightly. Tony followed, watching her as she sat and pulled the throw blanket over her lap.
"Do you want water?" he asked.
"No. Just sit," she said, patting the space besides her.
He hesitated but sat.
A silence settled between them for a few long seconds. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket.
The soft lighting cast shadows across her face, and for a moment, her vulnerability peeked through the cracks of her usual confidence.
"I made a mess today," she said finally.
Tony sighed. "Yeah… but it's not the end of the world."
"I just…" She turned to him, eyes glassy but focused. "Do you think people can change, Tony?"
"Yeah," he said gently. "But only if they really want to."
Her gaze didn't leave his. She leant in closer—close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath and see the faint shimmer of moisture in her eyes.
"Thanks for not judging me."
"Rose—"
Before he could say more, she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his.
It started as a slow, uncertain kiss—like a question.
Tony's eyes widened slightly, and for a heartbeat, he didn't move. But her arms slid around his neck, and when she pulled him closer, the moment shifted.
He responded.
The kiss deepened. Passionate. Messy. Real.
Her hands ran through his hair. His fingers, tentative at first, touched the curve of her waist, then pulled her gently into him.
They kissed like two people holding onto the one thing in the room that wasn't spinning.
But just as quickly, Tony pulled back, breathing hard.
"Rose…" he whispered. "We shouldn't…"
Her eyes searched his. "Why not?"
"Because you're hurt. You're confused. And this—right now—it's not coming from the right place."
She blinked, lips parted. "So, what? You don't feel anything? "
He smiled faintly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "That's not what I said. But I want it to be real… not just reaction."
Her breath hitched, and for a second, silence held them again.
Then she nodded slowly.
Tony stood and pulled the blanket over her gently. "Get some rest."
She watched him walk towards the door, her heart thudding. "Tony?"
He paused, hand on the handle.
"Thanks for coming."
He turned his head slightly and said with a soft smile, "Always."
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Rose sat alone on the couch, eyes fixed on nothing, lips still tingling from the kiss neither of them would forget anytime soon.
Meanwhile, outside the door, Tony....