Chapter 573

Chapter 573:

Belle Escobar walked in, ten minutes late. She wore a striking blood-red blazer—a desperate attempt to project power, to draw the eye away from the dark circles beneath her eyes and the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat. The low hum of conversation died instantly. Every head turned. The silence that followed was heavy, judgmental, and suffocating.

Belle forced her chin up and walked toward the head of the table. She reached for the high-backed leather chair directly to Grayson’s left—the seat of the Vice President. Her traditional seat.

Grayson did not look up from the tablet in his hands.

“That seat is reserved for the Chief Operations Officer,” he said. His voice was a low, flat baritone that carried easily across the silent room. “Your seat is down there.” He raised one finger and pointed to a small, armless chair at the absolute far end of the long table. The junior vendor seat.

Belle froze. Her hand hovered over the leather backrest. A flush of hot, prickly humiliation crawled up her neck and burned her cheeks. She could feel the eyes of every board member boring into her skin. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat, picked up her leather portfolio, and walked the agonizing length of the table. She sat down at the end, feeling small and entirely exposed.

𝗪𝗁𝘢t 𝗲𝗏𝘦𝘳yoո𝖾 𝗶𝗌 𝗋𝘦𝗮𝖽𝘪ո𝗀 𝗼n

The doors opened again.

Arland Roth strode into the room, with Isolde Carson half a step behind him. Isolde wore a pristine, tailored white suit—the cut sharp and unforgiving, her hair pulled back into a sleek knot. She looked like a surgeon stepping into an operating room. Arland walked to the head of the table and pulled out the chair directly to Grayson’s right, the seat reserved for the Chief Technical Advisor. Isolde sat down and placed her slim laptop on the table.

Grayson finally looked up. His eyes locked onto Isolde, and for a fraction of a second, a flash of pure, stunned admiration broke through his icy facade. He blinked it away quickly, his jaw tightening, and tapped his pen against the wood.

“The Phase Two project review is now in session,” he announced. “Item one: technical feasibility and supply chain stability p>

Director Chase, a major investor and previously one of Belle’s strongest allies, leaned forward and adjusted his glasses. “Before we discuss schematics, I have grave concerns about capacity,” he said. “We all respect Miss Carson’s genius as Sophia. But SkyLine is a newly formed division. Can they handle the manufacturing load of a national defense contract alone p>

Belle saw her opening. She sat up straight, her red blazer flashing under the boardroom lights. “Director Chase is correct,” she said, her voice ringing out. “InnoTech has faced a minor… public relations hurdle. But our assembly lines are fully mature and operational. We are the safe bet p>

Isolde slowly opened her laptop. She did not look at Belle.

“Mature?” she asked. The word hung in the air, dripping with quiet sarcasm. “Director Sterling, does a ‘mature’ assembly line routinely produce titanium bearings with micro-fractures p>

Chase frowned deeply. “That was a failure of the raw material supplier. You cannot place all the blame on InnoTech’s management p>