Morana's Point of View
The boardroom was finally empty. The echoes of dissent and arguments had faded, replaced by a tense silence that settled like a weight in the expansive room.
I leaned against the edge of the table, my fingers tracing the polished mahogany surface as I exhaled slowly.
My grandfather stood nearby, his sharp gaze fixed on me. He didn't speak for a moment, just observed me with an expression I couldn't quite read—pride, amusement, and something else I couldn't pinpoint.
"Well done," he finally said, breaking the silence.
I glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "For what?"
"For handling that mess," he replied, tapping his cane against the floor lightly.
"You held your ground, commanded the room, and dealt with Chambers appropriately. That was a bold move, firing him on the spot."
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, though my chest still hummed with adrenaline. "Bold, but necessary. People like him would undermine me at every turn if I let them. It was better to make an example of him now."
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Spoken like a true leader. You remind me of your mother."
His words caught me off guard. My grip on the edge of the table tightened briefly before I forced myself to relax. I smiled faintly, unwilling to let him see how much those words affected me.
"Thank you," I said softly, unsure how else to respond.
He took a step closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You've made me proud, Morana. Today was the first step, and you took it with grace and strength. I have no doubt you'll make the Sinclair name even greater."
The warmth in his voice, rare as it was, made something in my chest stir. I nodded and smiled at him, but before I could reply, I turned to leave.
That's when it happened.
The moment I turned, I collided into something—or rather, someone. A hard, solid chest.
The sharp scent of masculine cologne enveloped me, rich and intoxicating, with hints of cedarwood and spice.
I staggered slightly, my balance momentarily lost, but strong hands shot out and wrapped around my arms, steadying me.
I froze. My heart stuttered in my chest, and for a second, I couldn't think, couldn't move.
The warmth of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of my blouse, and I hated how it sent a jolt of something foreign down my spine.
"Careful," a deep, velvety voice said, laced with calm authority.
The sound of it snapped me out of my daze. I took a sharp step back, shrugging off his hands as if they'd burned me. My gaze shot up to meet his, and I was momentarily rendered speechless.
He was tall—easily towering over me by at least half a foot. His broad shoulders filled the space around him, and his tailored suit fit him like a second skin, highlighting a physique that looked as though it had been sculpted by the gods themselves.
His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a chiseled jawline and high cheekbones that seemed almost too perfect to be real.
But it was his eyes that held me captive—piercing, stormy gray, sharp enough to cut through steel.
"Who are you, and how can you just sneak up on someone like that?" I demanded, regaining my composure and stepping back another inch.
My voice was sharp, defensive, though I hated how breathless it sounded.
Before he could respond, my grandfather's laughter echoed behind me.
"Oh dear," he said, his tone filled with amusement. "Morana, allow me to introduce you."
I glanced back at him, confused, then turned to the man again, narrowing my eyes.
"This is Nikolai D'Angelo," my grandfather continued, his voice carrying a note of reverence.
The name hit me like a thunderclap. My breath caught, and my eyes widened in shock.
"Wait," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "The Nikolai D'Angelo?"
My grandfather nodded, clearly enjoying my reaction. "The very same."
I turned back to Nikolai, my heart racing. Nikolai D'Angelo, the heir to the wealthiest family in New York City and the CEO of Silver Crown Entertainment, the most influential entertainment empire in the country.
He was practically royalty in the business world, a man whose name carried weight and power wherever it was spoken.
He smiled then, a slow, confident curve of his lips that sent another unwanted jolt through me. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice smooth and polite.
Polite. That stunned me even more than his presence. Here was a man who had the world at his feet, who could crush empires with a single decision, and yet he stood here apologizing for bumping into me.
I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the effect he had on me. "It's fine," I said stiffly. "I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be here."
He extended a hand toward me. "Nikolai D'Angelo," he said simply.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking his hand. His grip was firm, warm, and annoyingly steady, while my own felt clammy and unsure.
"Morana Sinclair," I said, forcing my voice to remain steady.
His brows lifted slightly, his expression one of mild curiosity. "Sinclair?" he repeated.
"I thought your father's last name was Blair."
I stiffened at the mention of my father but forced a smile. "It is. But I go by my mother's name now."
Something flickered in his eyes, understanding, perhaps.... but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he released my hand and stepped back, giving me a bit of space.
My grandfather stepped forward then, his voice breaking the strange tension that hung in the air. "The reason Nikolai is here, Morana, is because he'll be working with you."
I turned to him, surprised. "Working with me?"
"Yes," my grandfather said. "If you're to lead The Sinclair Group, you need to learn from the very best. And Nikolai has graciously agreed to teach you everything you need to know."
I turned back to Nikolai, my chest tightening with a mix of dread and something else I couldn't name. His stormy gray eyes met mine, calm and unreadable.
"This should be... interesting," he said, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
I crossed my arms, meeting his gaze head-on. "We'll see about that."