Brandon's POV
"Tell her it's urgent. She needs this meeting just as much as I do."
My voice came out sharper than I intended, edged with impatience that had been building since I stepped into the building. The secretary didn't even look up. Her eyes remained glued to the screen in front of her, fingers tapping rhythmically across the keyboard as if I wasn't standing right there.
"May I know your name again, sir?" she asked flatly.
There was no emotion, no curiosity—just routine. I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the marble counter. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet, pristine lobby. I leaned back slightly, stretching my legs out in front of me, trying to keep my frustration in check. Anyone walking in right now would probably wonder what I was doing at Rozadelle Marvels Fashion House, one of the most elite fashion brands in the country. The kind of place where everything—from the glass walls to the polished floors—screamed money, power, and exclusivity.
