(Mira's POV)
I laughed softly to myself as I straightened my blazer in the mirror by the elevator. Not out loud—this wasn't the kind of day for that—but enough for the sound to curl in my own ears like a secret. Who knew the feeling of walking into a room that used to feel like a cage could make you this giddy? Me, apparently.
I'd spent years building things from nothing, watching people underestimate me, and patting themselves on the back for ideas I'd made work while they took the credit. Today, Wolfe Holdings was my stage, and I intended to remind everyone why I deserved it. Not because they asked. Not because they whispered permission into the air. But because I could prove it.
I adjusted my watch—because style was a weapon too—and thought: If they survive my first look, it'll be a miracle. If they don't… well, I'll make it swift. Polite. Deadly precise.
