Her Name, Her Way
The conference room at the Vivienne Lancaster Foundation gleamed with the same cold elegance Leona remembered from childhood—glass walls, bone-colored chairs, silver accents sharp enough to cut through silence.
But this time, she wasn’t the little girl in patent shoes, clutching her mother’s hand.
She was the woman they’d underestimated.
And she had something to say.
The board sat in a half-circle, polite and watchful.
One of the men cleared his throat. “We’re thrilled you agreed to speak today, Ms. Lancaster—”
“Just Leona,” she said. Calm. Controlled.
Another woman leaned forward. “We believe merging the Foundation with your clinic would create unmatched impact. You’d have full creative direction. Your name—”
“No,” Leona said quietly. “My name isn’t a brand.”
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