Chapter 23 Verbal Blades

• The late afternoon sunlight fell through the high glass windows of Volkova Holdings’ private conference room, painting long, sharp shadows across the polished marble floor. The city hummed below, unaware of the storm brewing within these walls—a storm of words, threats, and pride.
• Delilah stood at the far end of the room, heels clicking softly against the floor with each step she took toward Milady. Her chestnut hair framed a face that had once been unshakable, now tinged with something fragile beneath the practiced mask of arrogance. Her hands twitched at her sides, nails digging into the leather of her gloves.
• Milady—Brandy, Milaya, whatever name suited the moment—leaned against the edge of the conference table, composed, elegant, utterly lethal. Her white suit gleamed under the sun, shoulders squared, eyes golden and unyielding. There was no fear in her posture. Only precision.