News spread fast in the city's business circles. Whispers of a young entrepreneur with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. Aarika used a pseudonym, but the scent of ambition couldn't be hidden.
She wore her armor well. Sleek dresses, neutral tones, no jewelry. Her words were clipped, her movements calculated.
But every night, when she was alone, she read children's books aloud. She played soft lullabies. She journaled dreams she'd never dared write before.
Because her life now belonged to someone else too.
And if the world wanted war—she'd give them hell, dressed in grace.