The boardroom at Vaughn Industries didn’t feel like a room for business that morning—it felt like a battlefield. The sleek glass walls, once a symbol of transparency and strength, now seemed to trap the pressure inside like a boiling kettle.
Grayson sat at the head of the long, mahogany table, his knuckles pale against the armrests. His usually composed face was a mask of tension. He hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t eaten. His thoughts were split between Luna’s mother—who had miraculously begun showing signs of life after two decades—and the slow, quiet war being waged against his family’s empire.
The air was thick with stress. No one reached for the complimentary water bottles or the black coffee steaming in porcelain cups. Not today.
Marcus cleared his throat and slid a dark blue folder a
