Genevieve

The next morning, the tension in the office between us felt like a live wire. My father was pacing the rug, concluding a meeting with Arthur, Marcus, and two other board members. I stood next to Arthur, leaning over a stack of spreadsheets as the final directives were given.

“The numbers for the April targets are here,” I said, my voice professional and steady.

“Let me see,” Arthur murmured. He didn’t look at the tablet. Instead, he reached out, his hand sliding under the table and resting on my hip. His thumb hooked into the waistband of my skirt, tugging it just enough to let the air hit my...