Avery entered the meeting room with her head held high. This room—usually a place of structured strategy and business talk—now felt like a courtroom, and she was walking in as the accused.
The room was already filled with the board members, all seated at the long, rectangular table. As she walked in, conversations that had been murmuring like background noise suddenly turned into tense, hushed whispers.
They were all talking. About her. About the scandal. About whether she was guilty or not.
Avery didn't let her expression waver for even a second, she made her way to her usual seat at the table. She slid into it smoothly and opened her laptop in front of her, placing it deliberately between her and the stares across the room—her silent barrier. Naya followed behind her and stood at her right like a loyal soldier.
Avery didn't speak. She didn't glance at anyone. Her posture was straight, composed. But her jaw was clenched so tightly it almost hurt.
