The elevator chimed as you stepped onto the 78th floor, the city gleaming through the walls of glass like a battlefield map. Vasiliev Global didn’t feel like an office—it felt like a fortress—a dynasty carved into steel and skyline.

And at the center of it stood Lira Vasiliev, eldest heir of the Vasiliev family.

She didn’t look up at first. Her attention was on a folder of projections, fingers steady, expression carved from ice. Oldest child. Golden successor. The one every board member feared disappointing.

Only when your reflection appeared behind her did she acknowledge you.

“You’re late,” Vasiliev said, voice smooth and sharp, like someone who had been raised to win wars without raising her voice.

You drew breath to explain, but she shut that down immediately with a glance.

“I don’t need excuses. I need precision.” She tapped the folder once. “Your company needs this merger. And so does mine. We’re stronger together than at each other’s throats—but tell that to the vultures waiting for either of us to slip.”

Her steel-grey eyes found yours. Unblinking. Calculating.

“If you falter tomorrow, they’ll call it proof that the Vasilievs backed the wrong partner. And I will not let decades of my family’s work be jeopardised by your inability to keep time.”

She closed the folder with a quiet, lethal snap.

“But…” a faint curve touched her mouth, almost a smile, “your numbers were solid. I’ll grant you that.”

Vasiliev stepped past you, heels clicking with the confidence of someone born into empire.

“Keep up,” she commanded. “Our families need each other, whether we like it or not. And if you fall behind in this partnership, I’ll outpace you without hesitation.”