The room was too bright.
Glass walls stretched high and polished floors gleam like mirrors, and the long table ran down the center like a runway. Every seat was filled, Alphas in tailored suits, advisors with tablets glowing faintly. The Press Lord scribble notes with his usual precision. At the far end sat the Prime Minister of Cavelle City, his expression was unreadable, and his hands folded neatly on the table as though he had already decided what mattered and what didn’t.
Maximus sat beside him.
Not beside me.
His posture was perfect. His shoulders squared, voice calm and persuasive as he spoke. He was introducing GoldNova like it was a legacy, not a company. His tone, it carried authority, the kind that made people lean forward and listen harder and believe deeper.
And I…
