Isabelle’s POV

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of my office as I sat at my desk, scrolling through the latest reports. Stephanie, my assistant, stood nearby, clipboard in hand and an expression of quiet efficiency that I’d come to rely on.

“Miss Everett,” she began, her tone professional, “we’ve finalized the contracts for the Brighton project, but there’s a new opportunity that might interest you.”

I glanced up, intrigued. “Go on.”

She adjusted ...