The conference room was still.
Afternoon sun slanted through the wall of glass behind them, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. Everything had been arranged perfectly—too perfectly. A crystal bottle of champagne sat in the center like a promise. Two gold-embossed pens flanked a pristine leather folder. The air smelled faintly of cedar and tension.
Isabelle stood at the head of the table, spine straight, her blazer crisp, the sharp gleam of her heels echoing faintly against the floor. She could feel Sebastian’s eyes on her—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.
Not yet.
Her name was printed at the bottom of the contract in bold. All that remained was a signature.
One signature.
And everything changed.
Sebastian stepped forward, calm and quiet.
