[Nathaniel's POV]
Nathaniel sank into the leather chair behind his desk, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed on the polished surface as if the wood alone could answer the questions whirling through his mind. The boardroom replayed itself vividly in his memory—the crisp click of Clara's heels, the smooth glide of her voice over each slide, her unshakable confidence even when Laura tried to derail her at every turn.
He leaned back, letting the chair tilt slightly, the leather creaking under his weight. She had grown so much in just a few weeks. The way she commanded the room, handled the data, navigated the subtle manipulations—it wasn't just skill. It was instinct. And he found himself quietly marveling at it.
