(Marcus' POV)
The office smelled faintly of polished wood and tension. Marcus leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming softly against the mahogany desk, trying to convince himself that everything was still under control. But the silence felt heavier than usual, loaded with the kind of quiet that hinted at consequences lurking just out of sight.
He had spent months orchestrating his alliances, calibrating every partnership, every nod, and every handshake to preserve his influence. Eleanor had been the crown jewel in that strategy—a borrowed power that gave him reach and leverage beyond what he could manage alone. Everything had been calculated. Everything had a purpose.
Yet today, the air seemed wrong. The kind of wrong that set his gut on fire and made the walls of the office feel closer than they should. His phone buzzed once on the desk, a muted vibration, and he ignored it. There was no need yet. Not until he had measured the fallout from the board meeting.
