The glass-walled conference room shimmered with tension, the faint hum of the city beyond filtering through the tall windows in a soft undercurrent of sound. Lottie stepped forward, the folder tucked under her arm like a shield, its pristine edges biting into her palm. Her reflection flickered across the polished table as she moved, a ghost of steel-blue eyes and squared shoulders. The soft thud of her heels against the marble floor was impossibly loud, each step carving through the hush that had fallen over the executive suite.
Inside, the panel of executives watched her with hawk-eyed focus. Silver pens hovered over leather-bound notebooks, murmured exchanges flickered like static between them, subtle but sharp. Adrian stood near the side, arms folded, his tailored suit catching the edge of the morning light. His expression was still, carved from stone, but his gaze never wavered from Lottie—a quiet current of tension drawn tight across his shoulders, his jaw flexing once, twice, when she glanced his way.
From the back, Evelyn sat with her legs crossed elegantly, the ivory sheath dress she wore gleaming under the recessed lights. A delicate smile curved her lips, but her fingers—tucked carefully out of sight beneath the table—twisted the chain of her bracelet, the movement small, relentless. For a moment, her gaze met Lottie's across the room, and in that flicker, something sharp passed between them—like the snap of a wire stretched too thin.
Lottie's chest rose with a deep, steady breath. Her fingers brushed over the folder once more, feeling the cool gloss of the cover, grounding herself in the sensation before she set it on the table with a quiet, deliberate motion. The soft tap of the folder meeting wood was the only sound as she lifted her gaze, her expression calm, her pulse a wild drumbeat beneath her skin.
"Good morning," she began, her voice calm but edged with quiet authority, the kind of tone that slipped under skin, that drew attention without ever needing to demand it.
There was the faintest rustle as the executives leaned forward, pens stilled in midair, eyes sharpening like lenses sliding into focus. A throat cleared at the end of the table, soft but taut with expectation.
As Lottie spoke, she moved with fluid precision, fingers dancing over the slides, each shift deliberate, each word honed to a blade. Numbers, strategies, innovations rolled from her lips—not as cold facts but as vivid visions of possibility. She wove in anecdotes, crisp and human, her voice dipping just slightly on certain words, inviting her audience to lean in, to chase the next line.
Adrian's lips curved—just a fraction, just enough that Mason, watching from the shadows near the door, caught it and gave a small, approving nod. Mason's weight shifted against the wall, his keen eyes flicking between Lottie and the panel, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his satisfaction.
Amy hovered outside, ear pressed to the crack of the door, tablet clutched tight to her chest. Her heart pounded, a frantic tattoo that thrummed through her whole body, and when Lottie's voice reached her, steady and sure, she exhaled a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. A soft, breathless smile tugged at her lips as her fingers tightened around the tablet.
In the control room backstage, Leo's fingers danced over the keyboard, blue light flickering across his glasses. His brow furrowed, jaw tight as he murmured into his headset. "All clean so far," he breathed, his voice low, a hint of steel threading through his usual dry tone. "No tampering yet… wait—" His eyes narrowed. "Scratch that. Breach in the control room. We've got company."
Lottie caught the faint buzz of her earpiece, the shadow of Leo's warning threading through her final lines. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she didn't stumble. Instead, she pivoted, her closing statement a soft hammer blow: "It's not just about change—it's about responsibility."
A ripple swept through the room as executives exchanged glances, pens moved again, a soft murmur of approval like the first brush of wind before a storm. Someone near the end murmured, "Well said," voice low but caught on the air like a spark.
Behind the scenes, Evelyn's mole slipped through the service door, fingers already moving toward the control panel. A flicker of light reflected off the lenses of their glasses as they crouched, a coil of wire clutched in one hand. Evelyn's phone buzzed in her lap, the glow of the message—It's time—casting a faint blue halo over her pale skin. Her fingers tightened on the phone, the knuckles blanching white, the delicate tendons on the back of her hand standing out in sharp relief.
But Leo was already moving, voice sharpening to a fine point. "Security, control room. Now." His fingers flew across the keys, the sharp click of each stroke like tiny drumbeats of urgency.
On stage, Lottie gathered her papers calmly, fingers brushing the edge of the table with a barely perceptible tremor. The paper caught for just a moment against her palm, the sharp edge a grounding bite against her skin. Adrian's gaze never left her, even as a small stir rippled through the back of the room. Mason's voice murmured into his phone, one sharp command, and the quiet hiss of an elevator reached the edge of the executive suite.
Evelyn's smile tightened, the faintest flicker of frustration glimmering in her eyes. Her applause, when it came, was smooth and practiced, but her knuckles remained white against the arm of her chair. The angle of her jaw sharpened slightly, the muscle there jumping once as she tilted her head just so, as though adjusting a mask that was starting to crack.
"Brilliant," one of the board members murmured to another, their heads bending together, eyes following Lottie as she stepped from the spotlight.
Inside, Lottie's pulse thundered, a rush of exhilaration braided with the steel thread of caution. As she crossed into the wings, Amy surged forward, wrapping her in a quick, fierce hug, the sharp scent of Amy's shampoo briefly filling her senses. "You were incredible," Amy whispered, her voice shaking slightly, hands clenching briefly on Lottie's arms before she forced herself to let go.
Lottie let herself exhale, just once, before straightening, spine lengthening as she drew in another steadying breath. "It's not over," she murmured back, eyes flicking to the door as Mason approached, his steps silent, his smile sharp-edged and wolfish.
"Nicely done, kid," Mason murmured, his hand a warm weight on her shoulder, the pressure firm and grounding. "But keep your eyes up. Evelyn's not the type to take this quietly."
Leo's voice crackled in Lottie's earpiece, low and urgent. "We've got the mole on camera. Sending the footage to security now. Hold your position." His voice dipped lower, threading tension into every word. "Do not break formation."
Lottie's breath caught. Her fingers tightened briefly at her sides, nails pressing faint crescents into her palms. She turned slightly, just enough to catch Evelyn's figure through the glass. Evelyn rose smoothly, the elegant line of her dress shifting as she turned toward the exit, phone in hand, head bowed as though in deep conversation. But Lottie saw the tension in her shoulders, the snap of her heel against the floor sharper than necessary, the brittle set of her jaw as she disappeared into the corridor.
As the executives huddled near the windows, their low voices threading through the still air, some already tilting toward Lottie's favor, Evelyn slipped into the corridor, her smile faltering for the briefest heartbeat as she passed the mirrored panel near the door. For just a second, her reflection caught the raw flicker in her eyes—resentment, panic, calculation—and then it was gone, smoothed over in an instant, the mask back in place.
Adrian moved to Lottie's side, his voice pitched low, just for her. "They're leaning toward you. You've got them." There was a pause, his gaze softening just slightly, the faint crease between his brows easing. "Stay sharp."
Lottie's lips curved—not quite a smile, but the ghost of one, a flicker of steel beneath glass. "I always do," she murmured, her voice low and sure, the faint tremble in her hands now stilled.
As the boardroom doors swung open behind them, the rising sun caught the polished edge of the long table, casting a thin blade of gold across the floor. Outside, the city stirred, a low hum rising with the morning rush, but in the room, time stretched taut, the air dense with the weight of decisions not yet made.
Lottie's fingers closed briefly over the edge of her folder, feeling the bite of the paperboard against her skin. For a breath, a single heartbeat, she let herself savor the moment—the thrill of the edge, the taste of the fight, the knowledge that the game was far from over.
And then, steadying her breath, spine straight, she stepped forward again, into the waiting light.