The boardroom doors opened without announcement.Conversation faltered mid-sentence.Elara Thornfield stepped inside.The room was already full too full. Men who rarely shared the same space now occupied one long oval table, their presence deliberate, their alliance temporary but dangerous. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls reflected the city behind them, turning their silhouettes into distorted doubles. Power liked mirrors.Elara did not pause at the threshold.She walked in with measured steps, heels silent against polished marble, posture straight but unforced. Her suit was dark, understated, impeccably cut—authority without excess. She carried no files, no tablet, no visible armor.She didn’t need them.Eyes followed her.Charles Whitmore stopped whispering to Daniel Cross. Elliot Graves lowered his phone slowly, as if reminded that this moment required attention. Even Victor Lancaster straightened slightly in his cha
Last Updated : 2026-01-21 Read more