The mountain tech conference sprawled across the slopes like a billionaire's playground, all glass, steel, and impossible ambition. Snow-capped peaks loomed in the distance, stabbing into the twilight sky like jagged crowns worn by ancient gods who clearly had great taste in real estate. Inside one of the luxurious tents on the grounds, Isabella Voss paced.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The polished wooden floor gleamed beneath her heels, reflecting the soft golden glow of lanterns suspended from velvet-draped ceilings. The tent was absurdly opulent—velvet curtains falling like wine-dark waterfalls, a king-sized bed drowning beneath silk pillows that probably cost more than most people's rent, and a private balcony overlooking the glittering lights of the venue below. It was comfort engineered to seduce the nervous system.
It was failing miserably.
