Oscar's POV
The applause roared through the room, waves of it crashing against my ears, but I sat frozen in my seat. My plastic smile had melted clean off my face.
Rose Hans.
The name echoed in the hollowed-out space of my skull. Rose. Rose.
She stood at the podium, a vision of cool elegance, her hands resting lightly on the edges as if she’d been born to stand there.
“…my father’s legacy is not just in the portfolios, but in the people,” she said, her voice clear and steady, carrying to the back without strain. A confident smile. “And our vision must be as adaptable as it is ambitious.”
The shareholders—these hardened, moneyed vultures—leaned forward. They nodded. They chuckled at her lighthearted quips about her father’s stubbornness. They were eating out of her hand.
Every chuck
