She didn’t behave like an employee.
She moved like authority belonged to her.
Doors opened for her before she knocked. Managers adjusted their tone when she spoke. She intercepted calls, redirected schedules, corrected people who had worked there longer than she had.
And she stood outside Nathan’s office like it was hers to guard.
Or claim.
The first time I heard someone joke about her, it was quiet—almost swallowed by the noise of keyboards and phones.
“Basically his wife,” a man muttered under his breath.
The woman beside him laughed.
Too fast.
Too careful.
Like she knew it wasn’t really a joke.
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