The boardroom of Vance Tech was a shrine to minimalist power and suffocating silence. Polished glass walls framed Seoul's skyline like an emotionless painting, the city stretching endlessly beneath a steel-gray sky. The only sound came from the low hum of the air conditioner, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
At the head of the long obsidian table sat Elara Vance. Her spine was a ruler's edge, her white designer suit molded perfectly to her frame, every line immaculate. She held a sleek tablet in her hands, its black surface gleaming without a single fingerprint. To her, control wasn't just a skill—it was a creed. And today, she would exercise it by closing the most important acquisition of her career.
Across from her, Julian Thorne looked like he'd stumbled into the wrong battlefield. His dark hair refused to stay in place, his tie leaned left instead of center, and the coffee cup in his hand trembled like it knew its fate. To the public, Julian was the golden boy of business: "superstar CEO," philanthropist darling, the media's favorite heir with a heart. But in this room, under Elara's frostbitten stare, he was only a man about to lose his legacy.
"Elara," he began, voice steadier than his nerves, "I know you see this as just another line on a spreadsheet. But for my family, Thorne Industries is… everything."
She didn't look up. "Numbers don't lie, Mr. Thorne. And your company's numbers are… concerning."
Julian's jaw worked as if he could chew down frustration. She was right—of course she was—but retreat wasn't an option. "Maybe you just need a different perspective," he said, leaning forward, desperate to soften the ice. "Maybe we could talk one-on-one. Over coffee?"
He lifted his cup to punctuate the offer. Fatal mistake. His hand shook, just enough. The loose lid slid free, and in an agonizing slow-motion arc, steaming coffee spilled across the glossy table and straight onto Elara's perfect white suit.
The sound that followed was a chorus of gasps.
Julian froze. "Oh my god. Elara—I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
For once, her composure fractured. She leapt from her chair, a strangled sound escaping her throat, fingers fluttering uselessly at the spreading stain. The dark liquid bled across the white fabric like a wound, a desecration of everything she stood for.
Julian lunged forward, hopelessly earnest. "Wait, let me—let me just—" His arm clipped a stack of papers, sending them whirling into the air like startled doves.
The room erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped, voices murmured, and in the corner, a photographer from a major business magazine raised his camera. The shutter clicked. The shot froze Julian mid-reach, his expression raw and pleading, his hand suspended inches from Elara's, her own face caught in a rare look of vulnerable shock.
The next morning, the headline was everywhere, bold and merciless:
VANCE TECH AND THORNE INDUSTRIES TO MERGE! HEIRESS ELARA VANCE ACCEPTS ROMANTIC PROPOSAL!