Nadia's Point Of View
The silence in the room didn't just linger; it stretched out like thick, suffocating smoke, filling every corner of the massive penthouse office until I could barely breathe. The air itself pressed against my chest, heavy with unspoken judgment and the weight of their collective disdain.
No one answered me. Not a single one of them bothered to acknowledge my question.
Draven didn't even lift his eyes from the legal brief he held, his long fingers casually turning a crisp white page with an agonizingly slow, rhythmic crinkle. Each deliberate movement felt like a calculated dismissal, a reminder that I wasn't worth even a moment of his attention.
Lucian remained completely motionless by the floor-to-ceiling glass window, his broad shoulders casting a massive, intimidating shadow over the polished mahogany floor. He stood like a statue carved from ice, utterly unmoved by my distress, as if my presence were nothing more than an inconvenient draft in the room.
