The hallway outside the conference room smelled faintly of polished wood and cold coffee. Alyssa could hear the muted roar of voices beyond the closed doors—journalists, executives, allies, enemies—all waiting for her to step inside and become either a spectacle or a target.

She adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, steadying her breathing. Her phone buzzed again in her palm.

Five missed calls. All from Ethan.

She silenced it without hesitation and reached for the door.

His hand caught her wrist.

The contact was firm, urgent, burning through the thin barrier of fabric. Alyssa inhaled sharply and turned, anger flashing in her eyes as she met his.

“Let go,” she...