The boardroom at Vaughn Industries didn’t feel like a room for business that morning—it felt like a battlefield. The sleek glass walls, once a symbol of transparency and strength, now seemed to trap the pressure inside like a boiling kettle.

Grayson sat at the head of the long, mahogany table, his knuckles pale against the armrests. His usually composed face was a mask of tension. He hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t eaten. His thoughts were split between Luna’s mother—who had ...