Morana's Point Of View
Every head turned. My voice had been soft, but the weight behind it was undeniable. I sat straighter, meeting Mark's eyes with quiet defiance.
"You think I'm a risk? Fine. But let's not pretend you've built a single campaign worth remembering. I've walked for Valentino, Dior, McQueen. I've stood in rooms with people who said worse than you ever could, and still, I rose."
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
I looked around at all of them now, letting the steel in my voice settle like frost, coating the air, slicing through the manufactured civility in the room.
"You're right... I've made mistakes. I've fallen. But I didn't vanish. I survived. And if you think that doesn't mean something, you're free to leave."
The silence afterward was thick. Tense. Like everyone had forgotten how to breathe.
Nancy gave me the slightest nod of approval, her lips twitching into a proud smirk.
