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.

"Yes sir," Xavier replied. "Stellaris is treating this meeting as highly critical. Dr. York will be accompanying her."

Dr. York.

Julian York.

Lawrence vaguely recognized the name.

An obscenely young prodigy in cardiothoracic surgery, a man who had practically monopolized Stellaris Medical's core projects over the past two years.

He snapped the file shut.

"Let me know when they arrive."

The words had barely left his mouth before a sharp knock rapped against the conference room door.

Xavier hurried over to open it.

Two people stood in the doorway.

Julian York wore a sharp charcoal suit, projecting a calm, refined aura, a dossier clutched in his hand.

Beside him stood a woman in a perfectly tailored white blazer, her dark hair swept back into a sleek, low bun, her face a mask of absolute detachment.

When she lifted her gaze and looked inside, the entire conference room plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.

Lawrence's eyes locked onto her, completely paralyzed.

Wren stood in the doorway.

She didn't instinctively soften her expression at the sight of him the way she always used to.

Nor did she offer a frantic explanation for her sudden disappearance the night before.

Instead, she simply gave him a crisp, professional nod—treating him exactly like any other corporate client.

"Mr. Langford."

Her voice was crystal clear, laced with a flawlessly calibrated, icy distance.

"I am the technical consultant for Stellaris Medical's current project. Wren Whitaker."