The conference room at The Whitmore Hotel shimmered with chrome and tension.
Nathalie entered dressed in scarlet crepe—no jewelry, no distraction, just precision in heels. Daniel walked beside her in slate gray, one hand in his pocket, his presence silent but unshakable.
Across the table: Pendleton's board of directors, their suits slightly crumpled, expressions taut with desperation.
At the head sat Benjamin.
He hadn't seen her in person since Venice.
His eyes flickered to her ring, then to her calm.
He rose. “Thank you for coming."
Nathalie sat without acknowledgment. Daniel took the seat beside her. Their counsel followed, unfolding contracts like blades.
A senior board member cleared his throat. “We'd like to formally propose a collaboration between Pendleton Fashion and Phoeni
