The atmosphere on the executive floor of the Company was no longer just professional; it had become a battlefield of past grudges and secrets.
Genevieve stood, her face turned away from Michael Thorn in a gesture of pure, icy disdain. To her, he wasn't a billionaire titan; he was the man who had caused her daughter years of hidden pain.
Just then,
"Grandma."
The tiny, crystalline voice acted like a master key, instantly melting Genevieve's iron facade. She turned, her eyes lighting up with a warmth she reserved only for one person. "Clara, my darling! How did you get here?" Without a thought for her dignity or the stunned executives watching, she scooped the little girl into a fierce, protective embrace.
Nearby, Eleonore watched the scene with a hunger that bordered on physical pain. Her gaze was locked onto Clara, the "little pink thing" in her rival's arms. A sharp pang of envy sliced through her. When would she ever be allowed to hold a grandchild of her own?
