Velvet Shadows

VII

The room beyond was a sea of faces, all turning towards her, their expressions unreadable.

Angel straightened her back, lifting her chin in defiance.

As she walked to the front, the room seemed to sway slightly, her head swimming with a mix of anticipation and unease. Her long black hair became a shield, draping over her arm to mask the telltale signs of distress.

Navigating through what felt like a gauntlet in the hallway had been a trial, but now, standing at the precipice of the room, she knew the real challenge was just beginning.

Angel stood poised, her heart pounding a rapid rhythm of nerves and determination.

As the door swung open, a hush fell over the room.

Angel's breath caught in her throat as Dante entered, his presence commanding attention.

The fluorescent lights above seemed to cast a halo around him, accentuating his strong jawline and the determined set of his shoulders.

His eyes swept the faces of those assembled—some familiar, others less so—he moved with a purposeful stride, each step echoing softly against the tiled floor.

The air hummed with an undercurrent of curiosity and speculation. Colleagues who had been whispering moments ago now fell silent, their attention pivoting to the dynamic between Angel and Dante.

Their eyes met across the room, a charged moment of recognition tinged with unspoken tension.

Angel's gaze flickered momentarily to Dante's lips, recalling the intensity of their moments together, both in passion and in conflict. Mixed with her professional admiration was a deeper, more visceral attraction—a raw magnetism that unsettled her as much as it drew her in.

Dante approached the table with measured steps, his eyes never leaving Angel's.

She fought the urge to look away, meeting his gaze head-on, her emotions roiling beneath a composed exterior. The room seemed to contract around them, the weight of their shared history and the present scrutiny almost suffocating.

Angel's pulse quickened as she saw concern flicker in Dante's gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in her appearance. She felt self-conscious under his scrutiny, acutely aware of the split lip that throbbed faintly and the dull ache in her arm that she tried to conceal.

Before she could collect herself, Bri entered the room with an air of assertiveness, the rhythmic sound of her heels tapping against the floor announcing her arrival. She made a show of adjusting the slides on the computer, her movements deliberate and ostentatious.

Clearing her throat, Bri turned to face the room. "Good morning, everyone," she announced, her voice dripping with condescension. "Today, we have Angel leading us through the presentation."

There was a ripple of murmurs among the crowd, some exchanging knowing glances. Angel met Bri's gaze head-on, her jaw set in determination. She knew Bri's attempts to undermine her were deliberate, but she refused to let it derail her focus.

As Bri started the presentation, Angel noticed with a sinking feeling that the slides on the screen didn't match the order she had prepared. Bri smirked subtly as she sat down, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at the disruption she had caused.

Angel's mind raced, recalibrating her approach in an instant. She deftly navigated through the mismatched slides, seamlessly adjusting her commentary to fit the unexpected sequence. Her voice remained steady, her gaze sweeping across the room with confidence.

Through it all, Dante watched intently from his seat, his concern palpable. He caught Angel's eye at pivotal moments, a silent encouragement that buoyed her resolve. Maria, meanwhile, looked on with thinly veiled annoyance, her fingers tapping impatiently on the table.

Sensing the conclusion, she interjected smoothly. "Thank you, Angel," she said, her tone clipped yet appreciative. "That will be all for today."

Angel nodded, feeling the weight of the room lift slightly.

She felt a surge of relief mixed with triumph. Despite Bri's efforts, she had managed to steer the presentation back on track, earning nods of approval from some of her colleagues.

As the initial wave of applause faded, Wall Street Journal's correspondent raised his hand, his expression thoughtful yet probing. "Could you elaborate on the development in Brickell Miami? How does it compare to neighboring projects?"

Angel cleared her throat, steadying herself. "Certainly," she began, launching into a detailed description of the project's scope, its innovative design, and its strategic advantages.

Another journalist, from a rival publication, interjected, "Miss Angel, what's the status of Eleven Miami? Have you found the person responsible for drugging you?"

Angel's breath caught in her throat. She hesitated for a moment, weighing her response. "Our focus today is on presenting this development project," she replied carefully, trying to maintain control over the narrative.

A flurry of hands shot up, cameras clicking as more questions flew at her from all sides. "Is it true the suspect is a high-profile individual connected to the club?" one reporter pressed.

"I can't comment on ongoing investigations," Angel replied, her voice strained but firm. She scanned the room, searching for a way to regain control of the situation. "Any questions related to the development itself?"

The questions persisted, probing into personal details and speculative rumors. Angel felt the pressure mounting, her arm throbbing painfully beneath her sleeve. The room seemed to shrink around her, suffocating her with its relentless scrutiny.

Just then, Bri raised her hand again, a smug expression on her face. "I have one more question," Bri announced loudly, her voice cutting through the chaotic din.

Angel hesitated, her patience wearing thin. "Yes, Bri?" she said tersely, her tone betraying her frustration.

Bri leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "How far is the Faena Hotel from the project?" she asked pointedly, knowing the loaded implications behind the question.

Angel's jaw tightened. "That's not relevant to today's discussion," she retorted sharply, her voice tinged with irritation. She felt a surge of anger at Bri's persistence in dragging personal matters into a professional setting.

The room buzzed with tension, the journalists exchanging knowing glances as they sensed the underlying drama. Flashbulbs popped incessantly, capturing every moment of Angel's visible discomfort.

As the questions continued to veer off course, Angel's arm began to throb more intensely. A droplet of blood slipped from her sleeve, splashing silently onto the floor.

Dante noticed immediately, concern etching lines on his face as he started to rise from his seat.

Maria, however, intercepted him with a sharp gesture, shaking her head imperceptibly. Dante hesitated, torn between his instinct to intervene and Maria's silent directive.

With her composure slipping and the pressure mounting, Angel made a split-second decision.

Without a word, she turned abruptly and fled the room, her long black hair swishing behind her in a blur of emotion and exhaustion.

The conference room fell into a stunned silence, the air thick with unanswered questions and unspoken tension.

Dante remained seated, his gaze fixed on the doorway through which Angel had vanished. Maria sighed heavily, her disappointment palpable.

Outside the conference room, Angel leaned against the corridor wall, tears stinging her eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.