Benjamin's study reeked of expensive cologne, cold espresso, and control.
Nathalie stepped inside without knocking, holding the framed certificate from the gala—*“Creative Visionary Award: Holly Whitman."* It glinted mockingly under the light.
She dropped it on his desk with a dull thud.
He looked up, startled. “What's this?"
“You know exactly what it is."
He leaned back, wary. “If this is about the award—"
“It's not just about the award," she cut in. “It's about five years of silence, of being used, dismissed, packaged as your shadow."
Benjamin rubbed his temples. “We've talked about this."
“No," she said. “You *talk*. I'm supposed to swallow it."
He gestured to the certificate. “You're overreacting. The board was thrilled. Media buzz is up 300%."
“Because they think Holly is th
