Midday sunlight filtered through the towering windows of the Hudson Estate's drawing room, casting geometric patterns across the marble floor. Lena Rivers stood at the far end of the hall, arms folded over her tailored dress, tension coiled in every line of her posture. Victoria Blackwood, seated in an antique bergère, surveyed her like a queen assessing a reluctant subject.
“Sit." Victoria's tone brooked no refusal.
Lena lowered herself into an adjacent chair, back ramrod‑straight. The air between them crackled with unspoken history.
Victoria tapped a slender finger on the polished armrest. “I congratulate you," she began, voice cool, “on your recent board appointment and the dissolution of those… unfortunate contracts."
Lena's jaw clenched. “Thank you."
“However," Victoria continued
