Phones lit up around the room, many faces turning down towards their screens. Some showed mild disinterest, others thinly veiled boredom. The nerves coiled tighter in my chest, but I forced myself to inhale deeply and focus on the content rather than the audience.

"We appreciate you stepping in on such short notice," the silver-haired man said, reclining slightly. "Let’s hear what you’ve got. Impress us." His emerald eyes locked on mine, sharp and unyielding.

Without hesitation, I launched into the heart of the presentation, describing how our proprietary software processed data differently — more efficiently, more precisely. Slowly, I spotted a few men lowering their phones, scribbling notes on crisp pads. This buoyed me, a flicker of confidence amid the storm.

Midway, a deep voice interrupted. "Miss…?" The man sat tallest among them, his dark tailored suit sculpting broad shoulders, silver threads woven through black hair, eyes piercing green like gemstones. The room seemed to dim slightly in his presence — commanding, almost predatory.

"Carter," I replied, cheeks warming under the unexpected spotlight.

He shifted, adjusting his jacket with deliberate care. "Miss Carter, your data is solid, your stats impressive — but why should we go with your company? You’re considerably smaller than the other firms pitching. Doesn’t that concern you?" His tone was cool, almost dismissive, as if my presence was an inconvenience.

My pulse quickened, a flare of defiance bubbling beneath the surface. But I bit it back. "And you are?" I asked, matching his gaze.

"Liam Anthony," he said, voice steady but edged with challenge.

He crossed his arms, the tailored fabric stretching across his chest, emerald eyes narrowing as he measured me.

Drawing a breath, I squared my shoulders. "Mr. Anthony, I understand your reservations. Our size is intentional — Sophia selects our clients with care, preferring close, collaborative partnerships over faceless contracts. We prioritize quality and bespoke solutions over mass production. Each project receives our full attention, tailored precisely to the client’s needs."

He raised his chin slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. I pressed on, voice steady now, bolstered by the knowledge of our company’s strengths.

"We don’t offer cookie-cutter software. We innovate, adapt, and evolve with each client’s challenges. That focus is why we believe we’re best suited for your needs." I scanned the room, noting several intrigued expressions, the skeptical ones replaced by measured curiosity.

"I get it," I said, lowering my voice as the room grew quieter, every eye riveted on me. "You see me and think I’m out of my depth — an unexpected substitute with barely an hour’s notice. But I know this bid inside and out. I know the material we were given, and I know we’re the best choice." The words came with quiet conviction, barely a whisper, but they carried weight.

His hardened mask softened fractionally, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Is that so?"

Heat flared in my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the stubborn fire rising within me. "You had bids from Clarke, Tenet, McQueen — just to name a few," I challenged, locking eyes with him briefly.

His jaw clenched, voice low but tense. "What’s your point?" The warning was clear: don’t push too far.

I inhaled deeply, steadying my temper. "My point is simple: I know our competition and exactly what they offer. If you want a passable, generic solution, choose them. But if you want dynamic results that maximize your accounts and grow your business — we’re the better choice." I shrugged, dismissing his doubt with calm certainty.

His expression was unreadable as silence thickened between us, electric and charged. The unspoken challenge in his gaze pulled me in, a magnetic force I fought to resist.

Before I could respond further, the silver-haired man stepped in, breaking the tension. "Thank you, Miss Carter. We have what we need. If further questions arise, shall we contact Ms. Hernandez or yourself?" He rose, extending his hand in a clear sign the meeting was over.

My eyes lingered on Liam, irritation and self-recrimination warring inside me. I should have held my tongue, kept my cool. I might have jeopardized the bid by snapping back at him. A smug, infuriating man.

"Just me today," I said, shaking his hand before packing up my laptop.

The room’s silence was deafening. No applause, no probing questions — just a stark void where engagement should have been. My stomach twisted with disappointment.

I barely managed to escape, practically sprinting toward the elevator, desperate for fresh air and a moment to breathe.

Just as the doors began to close, a hand slipped in, forcing them open again. I jumped, turning to see Liam slipping inside, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. The doors slid shut behind us, and the charged silence settled like a heavy fog.

Without preamble, he thrust a thick file into my hands. "Declan wants to see what you can do with this. Can you deliver by Friday?" His voice was clipped, eyes studying me like a hawk.

I flipped through the documents skeptically. "A week?"

He arched a brow, voice laced with challenge. "Need more time? McQueen said they’d have it ready by then. Thought you’d keep pace."

A scoff escaped me, despite myself. "They might. We don’t." My fingers traced the familiar data, my confidence mounting. This was exactly the kind of challenge we anticipated — and I knew we’d excel.

His gaze sharpened. "Is that so, Miss Carter?"

The sound of my own name from his lips sent an unexpected jolt through me, but I pushed it aside, focusing on the task. I met his eyes with a steady smirk. "Yes." I returned my attention to the file, determination flooding my veins.

The elevator chimed at the floor’s arrival, pulling us from the charged moment. Liam’s presence lingered as we stepped out, a tacit acknowledgment of the challenge ahead — and perhaps, something more.