Courtney lingered by her apartment window long after the city had gone quiet. The lights of Chicago shimmered in the rain-slicked streets below, but her mind was back in that boardroom, under Harold's blade-like gaze, Patricia's raised brow, and Dwayne's silence.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her chest tightening with the humiliation she had worked so hard to swallow earlier. She had prepared until dawn, rehearsed every possible question, yet in the end it hadn't mattered. Harold hadn't wanted answers—he'd wanted to remind her she was a guest in his empire, a pawn in a game that had been going on long before she set foot in Empire Brands.
Her phone buzzed. Jasmine's name lit up the screen.
"You survived?" Jasmine's voice came through, bright but cautious.
"Survived is generous," Courtney said hoarsely. "I was slaughtered, Jaz. Harold Knight made me look like a fool. And Dwayne just sat there and let it happen."
