Cracks in the Glass
Belle's POV
The boardroom was too bright.
The long polished table gleamed like water, and the faces around me looked like they were melting. I blinked hard, trying to steady my vision, but the room kept shifting in and out of focus.
Something was wrong with me.
My hands shook as I placed the folder of documents on the table. I had rehearsed this moment in my head a hundred times. I was supposed to be sharp, commanding, unshakable the Whitmore heiress reclaiming her place.
Instead, my heart raced erratically, my throat dry, my thoughts slipping like sand through my fingers.
"Miss Whitmore," one of the directors said, his voice echoing unnaturally loud in my head. "We've been waiting to hear your plan for stabilizing the company."
I opened my mouth. Words formed , good, solid words I had written out and memorized. But when they came out, they sounded slurred.
"I—I believe… we must… take the—take the wings off before we drown."
The room went silent.
