POV: Chloe

The night before, I had sat alone in my apartment at two in the morning, running through every slide, transition, and number until they lived in my bones rather than just my head.

So when I walked to the front of the conference room and faced fifty people—architects, investors, and Adams Corporation board members—I felt something entirely unexpected.

Ready.

Ariane Monreau was there, a silent pillar of support. And in the third row sat Ella, wearing a cream blazer and the smug composure of someone who believed she had already won.

The presentation ran forty minutes. I knew the material like the back of my hand. It showed—not...