The office lights were too bright.
Isabelle sat at the head of the glass conference table in the executive suite of Bennett Toys, her spine straight, her expression neutral. It was the kind of poise that didn’t come naturally—it was learned. Sharpened. Polished over years of having to appear composed while someone tried to take what she built and reduce it to luck, looks, or legacy.
Her phone buzzed again.
And again.
Each one a new alert—articles, press inquiries, tagged posts, mentions of her name followed by words like inappropriate, scandal, power imbalance.
Lila sat beside her, flipping through printed media reports with a fluorescent highlighter and barely disguised fury. Across the table, Mya, Isabelle’s communications director, held a folder packed with talking points and a fac
