That morning, the sky was clear and blue, but a tense aura already hung over the tall building of Hart Empire. Employees hurried inside—some carrying files, others busy with phone calls. But one figure stood proudly in the lobby, her presence impossible to ignore.
Serena Jackson.
She wore a tight cream dress that hugged her flawless figure. Her face was hidden behind oversized sunglasses, but the tension around her was palpable. She stood with her arms crossed, a steaming cup of coffee in her right hand. Her smile was thin—fake, and dangerous.
Her eyes were locked on the main entrance.
Then, Evalina Wilson walked in.
Her hair was neatly tied back, her face fresh with minimal makeup. A crisp white blouse and a navy pencil skirt made her look elegant, professional.
Her steps faltered a
