The executive boardroom of Aurelio International was colder than usual, not in temperature but in tone.
Rihanna sat near the end of the polished obsidian table, documents neatly stacked, eyes flicking between her notepad and the projection screen. This was her first official strategy meeting since being placed directly under Lorenzo's division — an invitation-only review with the most senior consultants and partners.
Lorenzo hadn't arrived yet. But Bianca Russo had.
Bianca's heels clicked with measured grace as she circled the room like a queen surveying her court. Her dark green silk blouse shimmered under the overhead lights, her jet-black hair perfectly coiled. She offered a radiant smile to the group before settling at the head of the table.
"Let's begin," she said, her voice smooth as aged wine. "Rihanna, dear — why don't you walk us through the Milan pitch structure?"
Rihanna straightened, flipping open her laptop. "Of course. The campaign concept is based on the luxury narrative of identity and reinvention, which—"
"Wait." Bianca held up a hand. "Before you continue — I want to make sure you're aware that this is not a university presentation."
The room quieted.
Bianca chuckled lightly, casting a glance around. "I mean, I admire the enthusiasm, but let's try to keep it... professional."
Rihanna's throat tightened, but she kept her posture composed. "I understand. I'll continue."
She did — outlining the strategy, laying down each phase as she'd practiced. She had worked hard on this presentation. It was solid. But Bianca's occasional smiles — those barely-there, razor-thin smirks — told a different story.
By the time Rihanna finished, the room had fallen into that polite, unnerving silence where no one dared speak first.
Bianca clapped once. Soft. Patronizing.
"A fresh take," she said. "Certainly unorthodox. Although some of it... felt more Pinterest than Prada."
A few muffled chuckles followed. Rihanna's cheeks flushed, but she remained silent.
Bianca continued, tilting her head slightly. "It's bold to try so many new angles. You must be... what, a month in now? Brave of you to aim so high so soon."
Rihanna opened her mouth to respond, but Bianca didn't give her the chance.
"No, no — I like it. Mistakes are the fastest way to learn, after all. And you'll learn. I'll see to that personally."
She smiled.
Rihanna forced a nod, her stomach twisting.
After the meeting, as the others filed out, Bianca approached her. The room was quiet now, Lorenzo still notably absent.
Bianca placed a gentle hand on Rihanna's arm.
"Don't take it to heart, sweet girl," she said, voice low, intimate. "This world is harsh. But I see potential in you."
Rihanna blinked at her. "Thank you, Ms. Russo."
"Call me Bianca," she said with a wink. "We're both women here. We should lift each other."
That touch on her arm lingered too long. The smile stayed too wide.
And for the first time, Rihanna understood: Bianca wasn't here to guide her.
She was here to measure how easily she could be broken.
Back in her apartment, Rihanna replayed the moment in her head — the slight tilt of Bianca's head, the faux empathy in her voice.
She sat on her bed, laptop still open, unread emails blinking on the screen.
Lorenzo hadn't replied to her follow-up message.
And she couldn't tell if she'd just been tested — or marked.