The weight of Expectation

(Seraphine’s POV)

The boardroom is suffocating.

The air is thick with power plays and forced civility, the kind of tension that exists in rooms where no one truly trusts each other. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers, but I know better than to drink it—I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and caffeine on an empty stomach is a mistake I won’t make twice.

Across the long table, Elias lounges in his seat like he owns the place. Sharp suit, expensive watch, an air of arrogance that grates on my nerves. He looks at me like he’s waiting for something—an argument, a reaction.

I give him nothing.

Instead, I focus on the meeting, on the numbers flashing on the projector screen, on the way my father watches me from the head of the table, silent but expectant.

"Miss Ashford," one of the board members addresses me, flipping through a report. "Given the recent fluctuations in the stock, do you still believe expansion into the European market is the best course of action?"

I nod, my voice steady. "Our market analysis shows long-term profitability. The recent fluctuations are temporary and unrelated to our projections."

The man hums, unconvinced. "Temporary setbacks can have lasting consequences. Are we willing to take that risk?"

Before I can respond, Elias leans forward, speaking before I have the chance. "The real risk is stagnation. If Ashford Global hesitates, their competitors won’t. And once they lose the foothold, they won’t get it back."

His words are calculated, smooth—just enough to sound like support but laced with his usual condescension. Like he’s reminding them that he understands business better than I do.

I clench my jaw, but my voice remains calm. "I don’t need you to fight my battles, Vale."

He smirks, tilting his head. "I wasn’t. Just stating the obvious."

The conversation moves on, but I can still feel my father’s gaze on me. The unspoken be better weighs heavier than any criticism.

By the time the meeting ends, I can feel the beginning of a headache settling behind my eyes.

The moment I stand, my father gestures for me to stay behind.

Elias lingers by the door, watching. I don’t acknowledge him.

When the room finally empties, my father speaks.

"You let him control the conversation."

I inhale slowly, turning to face him. "I didn’t—"

"He took the floor, and you let him." His voice is calm, but it carries the weight of disappointment. "You can’t afford that, Seraphine."

I straighten my posture, hiding the way my hands curl into fists. "It was a strategy. If he was willing to make my case for me, why stop him?"

My father studies me for a long moment before sighing. "You need to be sharper. Focused. You’ve been—" He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Distracted lately."

I force my expression into something neutral. "Everything is under control."

His eyes narrow slightly. "See that it stays that way."

The conversation is over.

I leave without another word.

By the time I make it back to my office, I’m running on fumes.

I lock the door behind me, exhaling slowly, pressing my fingers to my temple.

The edges of my vision blur slightly—whether from exhaustion, hunger, or the pressure of the day, I don’t know.

There’s a knock at the door. I don’t answer.

It opens anyway.

Of course, it’s him.

Elias steps inside like he belongs here, shutting the door behind him. "That went well."

I don’t have the patience for this. "Do you have a point, or are you just here to gloat?"