Sign the Papers Mr. Langford novel Chapter 10

Wren was a notoriously light sleeper, but she was always terrified he would stumble around in the dark.

There was always a glass of warm water waiting by the bed.

His freshly pressed shirt for the next morning would be neatly draped over the valet stand.

Sometimes she would already be fast asleep, but the moment the latch clicked, she would sit up, rubbing her eyes, and mumble, "You're back? Do you want something to eat?"

Lawrence used to find those words profoundly irritating.

Just another mundane annoyance.

But tonight, the room was as dead and silent as an unleased hotel suite.

No water by the bed.

No lamp left on.

Even the faint, lingering scent of pear blossoms in the air seemed to have been swallowed by the dark.

Lawrence stepped inside and flicked on the overhead lights.

The room looked exactly the same.

Wren's clothes were still in the closet, her skincare regimen still lined the vanity, and the medical journal she had been reading was still sitting on her nightstand.

She hadn't packed up everything she owned.

The suffocating tension in Lawrence's chest finally eased a fraction.

She was just throwing a tantrum.

He reached up, ripping off his tie, and stalked into the bathroom.

But as the hot water beat down on his shoulders, his mind relentlessly replayed the image of Wren's retreating back from the night before.

Clutching that gift box. No tears. No screaming. Not even a single backward glance.

Lawrence squeezed his eyes shut.

He was definitely overthinking this.

Wren could never bring herself to walk away.

Across town, the lights in the Riverside apartment stayed on late into the night.

Wren sat at her desk, combing meticulously through Stellaris Medical's project files one more time.

The new generation cardiac-assist device was entering a critical phase, but several core parameters were proving volatile. She had been out of the field for far too long; she needed to claw back everything she had sacrificed, piece by agonizing piece.

At 2 AM, her phone screen lit up.

It wasn't Lawrence.

It was Julian York.

[Tomorrow morning's tech meeting with Langford Medical. Are you absolutely certain you want to go?]

Wren stared at the text, her fingertips hovering over the keyboard.

Langford Medical.

The name was like a freshly healed scab—prod it, and it still bled.

But it was just a pinprick.

She typed back: [I'm certain.]

Julian responded instantly.

[If it's too complicated, I can assign someone else.]

Wren stared at the screen and suddenly smiled.

Julian was always like this.

He would never make decisions for her, nor would he try to bench her under the guise of "doing what's best for her."

He simply placed the power of choice squarely back in her hands.

It was a jarring contrast to Lawrence.

Lawrence never asked if things were convenient for her.

The Langford family never asked if she wanted to do anything.

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