Everything at Gray & Milton was… surprisingly calm.

Almost suspiciously calm.

We were already done with the final presentation for the Meridian Development Initiative—weeks of pressure compressed into one last, polished package—and now all that was left was refining the transitions, smoothing the visuals, and pretending we weren't all quietly exhausted inside.

But the atmosphere?

Yeah. Smooth. Steady. Normal.

Derrick spun in his chair the moment I walked in, like he had been waiting for a cue only he could hear. He gave me that look—half smirk, half challenge.

"Heard you guys are all set for the final presentation."

I dropped my bag on my desk and lifted a brow. "All set is a strong word."

"Strong?" He pushed off his desk with his foot, chair rolling slightly closer. "Kai, you're never 'almost set.' You're either fully prepared or silently panicking while pretending you're fully prepared."

I blinked. "That's slander."

"That's accuracy," he countered.

I let out a breath that almost counted as a laugh. "We're polishing. That's all."

"Polishing," Derrick repeated, nodding like I'd just confessed to a felony. "Right. So you're panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"Mm-hmm." He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "If you weren't panicking, you wouldn't be answering me in full sentences. You'd grunt once and go straight to your laptop."

"That makes zero sense."

"It makes complete sense," he argued. "I'm your friend. This is what friendship looks like. Observation. Judgment. Occasional insults."

I stared at him. "I feel so supported."

"You should," he said cheerfully.

He clicked his tongue, watching me boot up my system. "Tasha said the panel from corporate is already impressed with your draft."

"Flattery won't make me do the work faster," I said.

] "It's not flattery. It's gossip. Learn the difference."

"Remind me why we're friends."

"Because you'd be bored without me," Derrick said without looking up, switching windows on his monitor like he'd already won the argument.

I sighed—a long, theatrical one—and leaned back in my chair.

The office felt light. Not because the pressure was gone, but because the finish line was finally within reach.

Even Liam—one of the financial analysts under me on the Meridian team—two desks over, was humming under his breath.

Liam never hummed.

Something about the Meridian project tying itself together at last made everyone loosen up a little.

But the strange part?

I didn't feel loose at all.

I felt… aware.

Too aware.

Probably because no matter how smooth things were here, my mind kept drifting.

Not to the numbers.

Not to the presentation.

Not to the polish we were doing for the board.

But to Val and Moreau Dynamics.

I tried focusing on the formatting for slide nineteen, but the thought crept in anyway:

I wonder how things are going for her.

Because things were smooth here—clean, predictable, even boring in the best possible way—but over at Moreau Dynamics?

I had no idea.

Val had left that morning, still wearing that quiet worry behind her eyes—the kind she tried to hide but never quite could. She didn't flinch from it, but she carried it. And I'd felt it. Every second.

She said she'd be fine.

She said she'd handle it.

She said we'd see Trent after work.

But I couldn't help wondering what she was walking into.

Lucien's signature.

The missing names.

The Prometheus Acquisition Index.

Something was off. Way off.

And even though I knew Val could handle herself better than anyone I'd ever met, it didn't stop that annoying, constant awareness building in my chest.

I switched to another slide, trying to focus.

Trying to stay present.

But my brain kept circling back.

And I couldn't help but wonder how things were with Val over at Moreau Dynamics.

---

Over at Moreau Dynamics, the day was moving with the kind of polished rhythm only that building ever managed—structured, sharp, and annoyingly precise. But even in that order, there was tension humming underneath, thin and stretched, like the air itself had learned to hold its breath.

Gianna reached Val's office right after returning from a meeting, tablet tucked against her chest. She knocked lightly.

"Ma'am?" Gianna stepped in. "Mr. Chairman asks to see you in his office."

Val looked up from her screen. "Now?"

] "Yes, ma'am."

"Alright. Thank you, Gianna." She stood and smoothed her blouse, expression unreadable in that way she mastered so early it practically became a family trademark.

The short walk from her office to the elevator felt longer than usual. She kept her pace steady, kept her breathing quiet. But Val wasn't the type to walk into her father's office without anticipating why she was being called.

She just didn't know which part he'd noticed.

The elevator carried her to the top floor—silent, polished, cold. Charlie George Moreau's domain. The moment the doors slid open, she stepped into the familiar hallway that always felt more like a tribunal entrance than a corporate wing.

She knocked once and entered when she heard her father's clipped "Come in."

Inside, Charlie sat behind his desk, composed as always. Two others were already there: Lucien, leaning slightly against a credenza with his usual relaxed arrogance, and Philip Rodriguez, the Project Director, posture sharp and professional.

Val's eyes flicked between them. Her father nodded at her in acknowledgment—nothing warm, nothing soft. Just recognition.

"Celestia," Charlie said. "Have a seat."

She did. Across from him. Beside Philip. Lucien didn't bother sitting.

Charlie folded his hands on the desk. "Philip. Update me. How is Meridian coming along? The final presentation is next week. I assume we are where we should be."

Philip nodded confidently. "Yes, sir. The team is on track. The projections have been consolidated, and the engineering models finalized. We're polishing the last batch of costing summaries and updating some figures." He glanced briefly at Lucien. "The revisions Mr. Moreau requested have been integrated."

Lucien added, "Numbers are strong. Resource allocations show a stable expenditure arc, and the investor impact model should appeal well to the government's board."

Val stayed silent. Not out of obedience—out of verification. She listened carefully, mentally matching their statements to the documents she and Gianna sifted through the day before. Some aligned. Some… didn't.

Charlie noticed.

He always noticed.

He turned his head slightly. "Celestia. Your input."

She met her father's stare without flinching. "Philip and Lucien are the ones making the final decisions on the figures we submit. If they say everything is perfect, then it probably is."

Philip's brows twitched—surprised.

Lucien's jaw tightened—irritated.

Charlie's expression didn't change—but he heard everything she didn't say.

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then Charlie nodded once, decisive. "Very well." He looked at Philip. "Continue tightening the final deliverables. I expect the preliminary packet on my desk by Friday."

"Yes, sir," Philip replied immediately.

"Lucien," Charlie said without looking at him. "Don't fall behind schedule. We're too close to tolerate delays."

Lucien straightened. "Of course, dad."

] "Good. You're both dismissed."

Philip offered Val a polite nod before heading out. Lucien hesitated a beat—eyes flicking to his sister as if trying to read her—then followed Philip out the door.

Val moved to stand as well.

"Celestia," Charlie said calmly. "You stay."

She stopped mid-rise. Lowered back into her chair slowly.

The door closed behind the others with a soft, heavy click.

Only then did Charlie lean back in his seat, studying his daughter with the kind of scrutiny that dissected more than it observed.

"What is it," he said quietly, "you're not telling me, Celestia?"

---

To be continued...

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