The scent of Robert Holt’s cigar smoke still lingered faintly in the executive salon as Seraphina retreated to the safety of her quarters. She felt no relief from the successful merger contingency, only the suffocating pressure of the binding contract she now represented. She was not a savior; she was a political prisoner awaiting transfer.
She found Kaelen in the secured section of the penthouse, the room shielded by the silent, active encryption field. She slammed the black folder containing the Intent for Engagement onto his desk.
“Thirty days,” Seraphina said, her voice taut with controlled fury. “Thirty days until the public announcement. I retained GTC oversight for a year, but the rest is non-negotiable. I am to become Dam
