The Cross Tower boardroom was a cathedral of glass and shadow when Damian set his phone on the polished table and stared at the screen one more time.

Photo after photo.

Aria with Sky Adams, heads tilted in shared laughter. Aria’s hand on his arm, the soft light catching the green silk of her dress. Social feeds had gone feral—hashtags blooming like weeds.

Damian’s jaw locked.

A quiet knock. Evelyn Grant stepped in, tablet in hand. Efficient as always, dark hair in a neat twist, eyes sharp enough to slice through excuses.

“You’ve seen the photos,” she said. Not a question.

“Yes.” His voice was pure frost.

“Press is circling....