EVELYN’S POV
I never liked mornings — they were the least favorite part of my day.
But this one?
I was already loving it.
It tasted like victory.
Power, I’ve always believed, isn’t about volume.
It’s about precision.
The boardroom was already warm with the scent of leather chairs and polished wood when I stepped in. The men stood when I entered, as they should, and the women — the ones that mattered — inclined their heads just enough to show respect without surrender.
Robert walked half a step behind me, as planned, his face solemn. The heavy double doors closed with a muffled thud. My heels clicked against the marble floor, each step deliberate. We were going to war.
Henry was away in New York — he’d been out for days.
That absence was my opening, a rare unguarded moment in this
