Anne strode into the office, her posture rigid, her expression cold. "What do you have to say?"
Denis's sharp eyes scanned her face, searching for any sign of nervousness, regret, or at the very least, helplessness. He wanted to see her crumble, to admit defeat, to beg for his forgiveness. He wanted her to stand before him, vulnerable, needing him.
But instead, she stood there—proud, unyielding, as if she didn't need him at all. The more she challenged him, the angrier he became. His fingers curled into fists beneath the table.
"Where is the report?" he barked with irritation. "The meeting is about to start. The major investors will be here any minute. What do you expect me to say? That my secretary forgot to save the file?"
He scoffed, his glare piercing. "Is that what you want? To humiliate me in front of them?"
Anne let out a sharp snort, a bitter smirk twisting her lips. "So pretentious," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.
