Camera flashes sparked like lightning.
They were waiting for me to crumble. For my face to fall. For tears.
I didn’t give them any of it.
I let my hand hang at my side. I let the sting settle. I lifted my gaze and looked Miranda directly in the eye.
My voice, when I spoke, was calm enough to sound almost gentle.
“Perfect,” I said. “Then this deal just changed.”
Miranda blinked, still smiling. “What?”
“You just canceled your own five million dollar contract,” I said, each word clean, measured, easy for microphones to capture.
A few people nearby stopped laughing, uncertain, as if they’d heard something that didn’t fit the script.
Miranda threw her head back and laughed louder. “Oh my god,” she said, breathless. “Listen to her. She thinks she matters.”
Travis chuckled too, smoothing his cuff.
The room followed their lead, laughter rising again.
I didn’t move. I didn’t argue. I didn’t plead.
I simply waited.
Five minutes can be a long time when you know what’s coming.
It happened the way things always do when reality arrives: abruptly.
The double doors at the entrance slammed open with a heavy boom that ricocheted through the hall. The laughter faltered, then died, like someone had cut the power.
All heads turned.
A man stepped inside.
Arthur Sterling.
Even people who didn’t know his name recognized the weight he carried. His presence was the kind that makes rooms recalibrate. Immaculate black suit, posture straight, expression carved from stone. Behind him walked four legal associates, each holding thick leather briefcases.
The temperature in the room felt like it dropped.
Miranda’s face lit up with relief—briefly—like she thought salvation had arrived.
“Mr. Sterling!” she cried, rushing forward. Her voice turned sweet, frantic. “We’ve been waiting for you. We’re so excited to finally—”
Arthur didn’t slow down.
He walked past her as if she were air.
Her hands remained outstretched for a second too long, fingers curling around nothing. The humiliation hit her like a delayed slap, and I saw confusion start to crack her expression.
Arthur’s shoes clicked on the polished floor, each step loud in the silence. He didn’t look at the investors. He didn’t look at the cameras.
He walked straight toward me.
He stopped in front of me, and then, to the shock of everyone watching, he bowed—deeply, respectfully, the kind of bow you don’t give to just anyone.
“I apologize for my lateness,” he said, voice clear and carrying. “Traffic out of the city was worse than anticipated. The documents are ready for your review, Madam Chairwoman.”
A silence fell so heavy it felt physical.
You could hear ice shifting in champagne buckets. The soft whir of a camera lens adjusting. Someone’s breath catching in their throat.
Miranda stood frozen, her mouth slightly open.
Travis’s face had drained of color. His eyes flicked between Arthur and me, panic sharpening.
Arthur straightened and turned toward the stage, taking the microphone from the stunned MC without asking. He held it easily, like it belonged in his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, gaze sweeping the room with cool authority. “Allow me to introduce the person who signs my paychecks.”
He gestured toward me.
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