The glass-walled conference room overlooked the city skyline, sunlight reflecting off steel and ambition. Rhea sat at the far end of the long table, laptop open, arms crossed, posture rigid but composed.

This building wasn’t hers. This world of polished floors and silent authority wasn’t either. Yet she met it head-on.

The door opened. He walked in without hesitation—tailored suit, calm stride, the kind of presence that bent rooms without raising its voice.

Rhea: without standing “Before you start, let me save us both time. I’m not selling.”

She finally looked up, eyes sharp, assessing—not intimidated.

Rhea: “Not for your valuation. Not for your stock. Not for your ‘strategic alignment.’”

The room seemed to wait.