The hush that fell over the corporate lobby was electric, like the charged stillness before a storm. Lottie stepped inside, shoulders squared, heels clicking a deliberate rhythm across the polished marble. The vast atrium pulsed with the hum of conversation, executives and candidates clustered in sleek corners, murmurs rising like static, their voices echoing faintly off the high glass ceilings.
Her fingers grazed the strap of her leather bag, skin cool against the worn handle, and for a moment, the familiar texture steadied her racing pulse. She caught her reflection in the mirrored elevator doors—sharp, composed, the faintest tilt of her chin a silent declaration: I'm ready. She adjusted the sleeve of her tailored blazer, smoothing an invisible wrinkle, every motion deliberate, controlled.
Across the room, Evelyn's laughter rippled like fine crystal, delicate and hollow. Dressed in a flawless ivory sheath, Evelyn swept through the crowd, her smile luminous under the harsh lobby lights. She leaned in toward a silver-haired board member, fingers brushing his sleeve, her soft laugh coaxing a faint smile from him. Her gaze snagged on Lottie for the briefest instant, lips curving into a smile that didn't touch her eyes.
"Darling," Evelyn purred as she glided past, fingertips grazing a junior executive's wrist in passing, a feather-light touch designed to linger. "Best of luck."
Lottie's mouth tightened, but her voice was cool silk, sliding past the tension in her jaw. "You'll need it more."
The corner of Evelyn's mouth twitched, a hairline crack in the polished porcelain. For a heartbeat, Lottie saw it—the flicker of unease, the edge of desperation under all that gleaming charm. Evelyn's fingers flexed once at her side, nails pressing faint crescents into her palm before her smile smoothed again, radiant and unflinching as she drifted toward her next target.
Adrian stood near the check-in, tall and still, his eyes following Lottie with a subtle, unreadable intensity. When their gazes met, something loosened at the edges of his expression: a flicker of approval, touched with concern, barely perceptible but sharp as a blade slipping between ribs.
"She's sharper this time," Adrian murmured under his breath to Mason, who lounged against a pillar with arms folded, eyes flicking between the sisters like a seasoned hunter sizing up the field.
"Let's hope Evelyn hasn't stacked the deck too hard," Mason replied, low and sardonic, the edge of a grin ghosting his mouth as his fingers drummed idly against his forearm.
As Lottie signed in, the tip of her pen pressed a fraction too hard against the clipboard, leaving a faint dent in the paper. Amy materialized at her side, clutching a tablet, cheeks flushed with nervous energy. Stray strands of hair clung to her forehead, and she swiped at them distractedly.
"I ran through the sample questions again," Amy whispered, voice tight, eyes darting between Lottie and the knot of executives ahead. "You've got this, but—" She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush. "Evelyn's been whispering to the others. Trying to spook them. She's telling people you have… outside help."
Lottie's brow arched, mouth quirking in a faint smirk. "Let her. The more she scrambles them, the fewer we have to worry about." She laid a hand briefly on Amy's wrist, the contact light but grounding. "Breathe, Amy."
Amy let out a shaky breath, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she nodded, her grip on the tablet easing just slightly. "You're right. Sorry. Just—just don't forget to breathe yourself, okay?"
Upstairs, the executive floor buzzed with anticipation, the air sharp with the scent of fresh coffee, expensive cologne, and the faint tang of nerves. Leo, tucked behind a monitor in the tech control room, watched lines of code dance across the screen. His fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against the desk, eyes narrowing as a flicker of suspicious traffic rippled across the feed.
"Suspicious traffic on Evelyn's side," he muttered into his headset, voice low, a hint of steel threading through his usual dry tone. "Nothing concrete yet. I'll keep eyes on it."
The hours blurred into a flurry of motion: briefings, workshops, whispered alliances in hallway corners. Lottie moved through it like a blade honed to a perfect edge. Her proposal presentation sat in the folder she carried, marked by sleepless nights, sharpened by Mason's strategic notes and Amy's meticulous coaching. She could feel its weight like a heartbeat against her palm.
In the main conference hall, the stage loomed under a ring of spotlights, the Hayes family crest gleaming at its center, polished to a blinding sheen. As Lottie waited backstage, the faint tremor in her hands betrayed the storm inside. She pressed her palms together, fingertips digging into each other, drawing in a slow breath, feeling the tight knot in her chest ease just a fraction.
"Ready for your close-up?" Mason's voice crackled through her earpiece, dry amusement tucked under steel, his voice a steadying undercurrent.
"Born ready," Lottie murmured, a faint smirk touching her lips, the corners pulling up just enough to soften the tension braced in her shoulders.
The crowd hushed as her name was called. Lottie stepped into the lights, the weight of a hundred watching eyes a tangible force against her skin. Her heels clicked softly on the stage floor, the folder firm in her grip, the sharp scent of stage polish and fresh paper threading into every inhale.
She began.
Her voice carried clear and sure, threading through the vast room. She felt the ripple in the audience—a subtle lean forward, the shift of attention, the collective hitch of breath as her words drew them in. The proposal unfolded like a dance: data points, innovations, human moments woven in with surgical precision, her fingers flipping through slides with practiced ease.
Adrian, seated near the front, leaned back in his chair, one brow arched, the faintest hint of a smile curving his mouth. Mason, watching from the sidelines, gave a slight nod, the kind that only Lottie could read—a silent "good" wrapped in approval. Amy hovered near the media table, hands clasped tight, lips moving in a near-silent recitation of Lottie's key points.
Across the room, Evelyn sat poised, legs crossed, smile polished, but her knuckles whitened where they gripped her clutch. Her gaze flicked to her phone, a brief flash of text lighting the screen: It's time. Her lips curved in a smile too sharp, too bright.
In the control room, Leo stiffened. His screen pulsed with a new alert, fingers flying across the keyboard, breath held tight in his throat. "We've got movement. Evelyn's mole just accessed the system." His voice sharpened, slicing through the tension like a blade. "I'm locking them out—hold position."
Onstage, Lottie caught the faint buzz of her earpiece, the low murmur of Leo's voice threading through, but she didn't falter. Her hands moved smoothly, pages turning, her voice unwavering even as her pulse thundered in her ears. She saw, in the corner of her vision, Evelyn's crossed legs uncross, one heel tapping an erratic rhythm against the floor. She saw the faint shift of weight, the dart of Evelyn's gaze toward the control booth, and the almost-imperceptible flash of frustration when nothing happened.
In the audience, Adrian's gaze sharpened, fingers tapping a soft, measured rhythm on the armrest. Evelyn's smile flickered, her shoulders stiffening as the seconds ticked by and no disruption came.
When Lottie delivered her closing line—a quiet, decisive promise of innovation and integrity—the room exhaled as one. Applause swelled, sharp and bright, echoing against the glass walls. Lottie's chest rose with a deep inhale, the air sharp and cool against her throat.
Backstage, Amy pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, eyes bright and wet. "She did it," she whispered, half in disbelief, half in giddy relief.
Mason's mouth curved in a slow, approving smile, his arms unfolding as he pushed off the wall, the faintest gleam of pride lighting his eyes. "Flawless," he murmured, his voice low but warm.
Adrian rose to his feet, hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes fixed on Lottie as she stepped down, her head held high, the faintest flush warming her cheeks. For the first time in years, their gazes met without the shadow of old wounds between them, and for a heartbeat, there was only the sharp, bright echo of something rebuilding.
Across the room, Evelyn's fingers flew over her phone, her breath shallow, her heart hammering against the tight confines of her ribs. Her foresight flickered at the edges of her vision—a blur of Lottie standing in light, of whispered praise, of doors opening and her own shadowed figure left outside. Her nails bit into her palm, the glimmer of a smirk curling her lips as she hit send: It's time.
Back in the tech booth, Leo's headset crackled with urgency. "They're moving. Brace yourselves."
Lottie reached the wings, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Amy caught her in a tight hug, the quick, fierce squeeze stealing the air from her lungs for a heartbeat. Mason clapped a hand to her shoulder, his grin sharp and proud, his fingers firm, grounding.
"Look sharp," he murmured in her ear, eyes flicking past her to the side doors, the grin never quite reaching his eyes. "She's not done yet."
Lottie turned just as Evelyn rose from her seat, her smile a razor's edge, her eyes bright with the glint of a woman stepping into battle. The light caught in the crystal buttons at her cuffs, flashing sharp as knives.
And in the quiet hum of the crowd, in the faint buzz of the lights overhead, the game shifted again, the first move of a new round already sliding into place.