Lucy couldn't stop pacing. The worn carpet of Cole's apartment seemed to mock her, each back-and-forth step amplifying her mounting anxiety. The space itself looked like a hurricane had swept through—a whirlwind of forgotten takeout containers, overflowing coffee cups, and sticky notes scrawled with half-baked ideas and desperate revenue strategies, a testament to their relentless grind. But it wasn't the chaos of their shared workspace that had her spiraling. It was the text.
The one that still sat unanswered on her phone, its stark message burning into her retina: "We need to talk. I know how to save your company, but it'll cost you."
Cole, ever the steady anchor, was silent on the couch, watching her like she was a particularly fragile server about to crash, one wrong move away from a catastrophic system failure. "Breathe, Lucy," he advised softly, his voice a calming balm against her internal storm. "One problem at a time."
