The private lounge at the Gramercy Club exuded quiet luxury—dim lighting, plush leather seats, and the rich scent of oak and bourbon lingering in the air. It was a place where deals were made behind closed doors, far from the prying eyes of the press.
Isabelle’s heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she entered, her posture taut, every inch of her braced for the coming battle. At a corner table, Sebastian waited, his expression unreadable, his suit tailored to precision, but it was the tension in his shoulders that betrayed the weight of this meeting.
“Isabelle,” he greeted, rising briefly. His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.
“Sebastian,” she replied, her tone cool but not hostile. She took the seat opposite him, placing her purse carefully on the table—a
