Aren pushed the glass door open.
It swung inward with a soft click, unveiling the meeting room beyond.
The space was clean, deliberate in its design.
A long wooden table stretched through the center, chairs aligned neatly on either side, their symmetry lending the room a quiet formality. In the corners, tall floor plants softened the sharp edges of the interior, adding a controlled touch of life to an otherwise polished environment.
A whiteboard hung on one wall, and a projector screen rolled above it—tools of routine meetings, strategy, and decisions.
The room was well lit, and under that lighting, two females sat on chairs on one side of the table.
One leaned back slightly, legs crossed, arms folded—every inch of her posture radiating entitlement. Her beauty was striking, but it was overshadowed by the arrogance etched into her expression.
She was Iris Valcourt.
Waiting did not suit her.
The very act seemed to offend her pride.
