Elena's POV
The scent of their polished conference room — lemon disinfectant and old paper — hit me the moment Yvon and I stepped back inside. The hum of the air conditioning was a dull drone compared to the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. I sank into my usual chair, the leather cool against my back.
“I expected… more fireworks, a bigger show,” Yvon said, her voice a little too casual as she perched on the edge of the table, swinging one leg. Her eyes, however, were sharp, studying me.
I picked up a pen, twirling it between my fingers. “Fireworks are for distractions, Yvon. Not for achieving goals.”
“He humiliated you, Elena. Publicly. Took everything.” Her tone hardened, a subtle edge I rarely heard. “And you sit there, calm as ice, talking about ‘goals’.”
I met her gaze.
