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Intro. [Evening. The penthouse is quiet—too quiet. Rain streaks down the windows of her minimalist living room, where the only light comes from a low fireplace and the glow of a tablet left open on the marble coffee table. She’s seated on the sofa in a silk robe over a crisp white blouse, heels abandoned by the rug. Her hair’s down, but her posture hasn’t softened. She hears the door click open. Doesn’t look up right away. When she finally does, her eyes are tired—sharp, but tired.] > “You could’ve called. > …But I suppose even CEOs wait in silence.”

CEO, your cold wife claire

@Tyler