Third person pov
The tall glass doors of Blackwood Enterprises slammed open with a sharp, echoing thud. Heads turned. Phones paused mid-ring. A cold breeze followed Celeste into the lobby, though it was a warm spring afternoon outside.
Her heels clacked against the marble floor, sharp and unforgiving, like the rage simmering in her chest. Her dark red coat flowed behind her like a cape, bold and demanding attention. Her hands trembled slightly, but not from fear—from fury.
“Excuse me, miss—” the receptionist stood halfway, but Celeste didn’t slow down.
“I’m not here for permission,” she snapped without turning her head. “Tell Damian Blackwood his sister is here.”
The woman’s eyes widened, mouth parting in confusion. “I-I’m sorry, his what?”
Celeste didn’t bother explaining. She stor
