Elowen’s POV
The 90th-floor boardroom of Vane Global felt like a high-altitude operating theater—clinical, cold, and smelling faintly of expensive espresso and freshly printed stock prospectuses.
I sat in the high-backed leather chair to the right of the head of the table, my posture perfectly rigid. I had traded the heavy white satin of the weekend for a bespoke charcoal wool-silk suit. The jacket was tailored to a razor-sharp silhouette, its high, structured shoulders acting as my armor, while the platinum wedding band on my left hand sat heavy against the dark walnut of the conference table.
Around us sat the twelve members of the executive board—Vane Global’s pack of corporate wolves. They were seasoned executioners in tailored gray, their eyes scanning me with a freezing, collectiv
