Zoe's POV
If someone had told me months ago that my life would be measured by other people's footsteps, I would have laughed in their face. And yet—here I was, walking behind Margaret Ross like a shadow that felt too small, like it didn't belong.
We marched into the massive entrance hall of the Soundforge audition venue. Margaret didn't just walk; she arrived. Authority clung to her like perfume — quiet, expensive, impossible to ignore. She didn't lead the room; the room aligned itself around her.
She wore a deep emerald silk blouse tucked into tailored high-waisted ivory trousers that flowed with each step. Minimal jewelry — just diamond studs and a thin gold watch. Nude pointed heels clicking softly, each step sounding like power wrapped in grace.
Understated. Elegant. Old money without needing to announce it.
