Chapter 18 The Press Conference

• The podium stood in the center of the Volkova Holdings media hall, sleek and polished beneath the brutal glow of press lights. Behind it, a wall of navy-blue velvet panels framed the company crest in silver. Reporters buzzed like flies, shoulder to shoulder with cameras perched on tripods, each trained forward with predatory focus.
• Milady stood just out of sight, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the curtain. The fabric was soft, thick, like the silence pressing against her lungs.
• She wore a tailored white suit with gold buttons and structured shoulders. Her hair was twisted into an elegant chignon, a few curls left loose around her face. Her lips were the color of fire-forged roses. Every inch of her spoke of control.