The Takeda motorcade glided up to the Plaza like a black, armored serpent. Sleek sedans with tinted glass and a stretch limousine at the center. The hum of New York’s media vultures filled the air — the flash of cameras, the bark of shouted questions, the restless press corps penned in behind barricades.
Ava Langston stood at the front of the line, her PR team flanking her, dressed in steel-gray silk that shimmered beneath the winter sun. She was poised, chin high, the picture of a woman unshaken by the chaos around her.
Until the car door opened.
And the first stiletto heel touched the pavement.
They were black patent leather, needle-thin, glinting as the wearer stepped out. The skirt followed — midnight-blue power suit, tailored to perfection. A tall, willowy figure unfolded from the
