Arielle's office was quieter than the rest of the floor—spare, dark stone desk, soft white light, no art, no mess. Just two screens and a single orchid that had survived four winters.
Lyra knocked once, crisply, and entered when summoned.
"Final draft," she said simply, sliding the tablet onto the corner of Arielle's desk. "Everything's aligned to our earlier framework—clean handoff for your department."
Arielle looked up, blinking once behind minimal-framed glasses. Her expression was unreadable, but her fingers tapped once against the edge of the screen.
She didn't reach for it.
"I read your draft from two days ago," she said. "It was more cautious."
"This version's better."
"I'm aware," Arielle replied. "That's what concerns me."
Lyra tilted her head, but said nothing.
Arielle tapped again. "This maneuver—letting the contract stall, forcing the investor to come back with cleaner PR optics and bigger numbers—it's elegant."
"I'm glad you think so."
"It's dangerous."
Lyra smiled slightly. "Only if the client realizes they're being manipulated."
Arielle' eyes flicked up. For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Two women. Both strategic. Both cold in the right ways.
Arielle broke the silence first.
"Do you always operate this way?"
Lyra didn't blink. "Only when I want the outcome."
Arielle's expression shifted—just slightly. Almost approval. Almost a warning.
"I'll review this with legal redlines," she said. "Don't forward it to the client until I give you clearance."
Lyra nodded once. "Understood."
She turned and walked out with the same calm, precise steps she'd entered with.
Arielle watched her go.
Then turned her chair slowly back toward the glass wall behind her.
Her office faced the north wing. Just beyond it—across the hall—was Edgar's suite.
Ten minutes later, Arielle stepped inside Edgar's office without knocking. She was one of the only people allowed that privilege.
He was standing by the window again.
As always.
"She delivered the draft," Arielle said simply. "No adjustments needed. Legally tight. Strategically sharp."
He didn't turn.
"You disapprove?"
"I didn't say that."
A pause. Quiet.
Then—
"Do I proceed?"
Edgar was silent for a long moment.
Then, finally:
"Yes."
Arielle nodded once.
But as she turned to leave, she added softly—
"She's not like the others, Edgar."
That made him turn. Just slightly. "No," he said.
"She isn't."
And neither of them said what they were truly thinking.
Not yet.