Lysandra was on her way out, her backpack over one shoulder.
She stopped, looked at him, and said: “You had your chance to show me who you are.”
She walked past him, her sneakers quiet on the marble floor. He stood there, his smile frozen, his hands empty.
Outside, Lysandra climbed into a waiting car, her phone buzzing with another update from Claire: “Stock still tanking.
You ready to pull the plug?”
The press conference came two days later.
Gavin stood at the podium, sweat beading on his forehead, his smile stretched thin.
“We’ve addressed the incident,” he said, his voice booming with false confidence. “Orion Air is stronger than ever.”
The reporters weren’t buying it. They fired questions, sharp and relentless. “Who was the woman? Why was she removed?
Is this how you treat all your passengers?” Gavin’s answers were vague, rehearsed.
Then Lysandra stood up, her presence quiet but undeniable. The room went still.
