Bright morning illumination saturated the opulent residence as Phoebe stepped out of her private suite. Her features displayed immaculate, fresh cosmetic detailing, projecting a striking and authoritative aesthetic prepared for corporate operations.
"Princess," a paternal voice called out, saturated with profound gentleness.
That caressing address from the senior patriarch instantly halted Phoebe's steps. She turned, her dark eyes settling on her father with a quiet query.
"Yes, Dad? Is there an issue?" she asked casually.
"Your father requests a brief dialogue, though the nature remains purely non-critical," Chris articulated with absolute transparency, clarifying that zero urgency attached to the engagement. "Does your schedule permit absorbing this dialogue presently, or does your protocol dictate immediate transit toward corporate headquarters?"
