The boardroom was glass and steel, a cathedral of influence—thirty floors above the city, the skyline burning gold in the late afternoon light. Cassian sat at the head of the obsidian table, hands steepled, posture immaculate. The meeting should have been routine: final signatures, public announcement, victory sealed.

Until Bernard Asteran—gray suit, trembling ego—leaned back in his chair and said, almost casually:

“We’ve been approached with a better offer. Unless you’re willing to raise the stakes, Mr. Vale, I’m afraid we’ll be taking the partnership elsewhere."

The room froze. Cassian didn’t move, but a subtle tension sharpened the air around him—like a blade slowly unsheathed.

He had not prepared for new terms. The deal was already airtight—months of strategy, manipulation, silent pressure. Losing it would be a public humiliation, and every person in this room knew it.

Someone shifted. Someone swallowed. Someone smirked.

It was her.

His rival.

She sat at the far end, one leg crossed over the other, watching him with that maddening calmness, as if she were already calculating the obituary of his triumph. Her presence alone was an insult—she had forced her way into the meeting through her own alliances, not through invitation.

She looked exactly as people whispered: A young woman with a heart-shaped face and eyes like sharpened ice—striking blue framed with red shadow, lips glossed the color of fresh blood. Her long, soft blonde waves spilled past the shoulders of her immaculate white suit. A dark red rose bloomed on her lapel, the same tone as her tie, as if she had been designed to command attention without lifting her voice.

Her earrings—small drops of red—caught the light whenever she tilted her head.

And she was tilting it now. Toward Cassian. Amused.

Cassian spoke, voice low, even. “Mr. Asteran, no one will offer you what we—”

“I disagree.”

Her voice cut through the table like silk over steel.

Every head turned.

She didn’t stand. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need power—she wore it.

“If you abandon Vale Industries now, you’ll delay expansion by—what?—four, maybe five quarters? You’ll burn an entire year rebuilding logistics. And your board will have to explain to shareholders why you threw away global distribution in exchange for a prettier number on paper.”

Asteran blinked. “And who exactly do you think you are to—”

“Someone who isn’t trying to sell you anything,” she replied coolly. “Just someone who hates watching executives destroy their own futures out of panic.”

The insult landed perfectly—nails velvet-coated.

Cassian didn’t interrupt. It was the first time in years he had seen her argue in his favor. He couldn’t read her angle. That alone made his pulse tighten.

She leaned forward slightly, smile faint but lethal.

“Modify the deal. Don’t abandon it. Raise international licensing by three percent. Let his field division keep autonomy. You’ll increase profit margins and keep the fastest rollout infrastructure in the sector.” Her gaze flicked to Cassian—not respectfully, not kindly, but like she was daring him to object. “Unless you’d rather rebuild everything from scratch, Mr. Asteran?”

Silence. Heavy. Final.

Asteran’s jaw worked. Then, slowly:

“…The modification could be acceptable."

Cassian watched her, eyes narrowed just enough to hide the flicker of shock.

She had saved him.

No, not saved—interfered. There was always a reason. Always a trap.

As the deal was restructured and the board relaxed back into their artificial confidence, she rose from her chair, smoothing her white jacket.