"Who sent this?" the CFO snapped as Delilah's chat window bloomed across the projector. Everyone looked up. Screens, pens, faces. The chat bubble was small and private: "I called him my husband." Under it, a laughing emoji from Marco. "Is someone playing a joke?" Francisco said, voice tight. "No joke," Diesel said. "This is a personal chat. It's being—" Elijah leaned back in his chair and watched the message as if it were a tick on a wall. He didn't smile. He didn't shift. He said one word, flat and precise. "Wife, really?" The room froze. Papers rustled. A phone vibrated and went quiet. Leona Dean blinked and smiled slow, the kind that pushes a blade. "That's not professional. Delilah, care to explain?" Delilah's hand flew to her mouth. Her laptop was still open on the boardroom table. Her face was visible to half the room and five screens. "It was a joke," Delilah said, voice small. "A stupid joke with an ex. I didn't—" "With an ex," Francisco said like he had swallowed lemon. "This could be a problem for Azure's image." "Mr. Garnier," Elijah said, and the word carried the authority of every year he'd built the company. "We are here to discuss quarterly projections." "This is a boardroom," Francisco said. "Private messages that imply relationships with—" Elijah's eyes went to Francisco and he smiled without warmth. "Private messages become public when the sender lets them be. We