The Master Suite had become a command center disguised as a sanctuary. Victoria lay propped up against a mountain of pillows, a fetal monitor strapped to her belly emitting a steady, rhythmic *whoosh-whoosh*.
In her hand, a tablet displayed the chaotic org chart of the newly acquired Vane-Tech. She swiped furiously, moving departments, slashing redundancies, and integrating the hostile assets into the Croft infrastructure.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” William said, entering the room with a tray of herbal tea.
“I am resting,” Victoria argued, not looking up. “My body is horizontal. My mind is currently liquidating a redundant marketing division in Tokyo.”
She threw the tablet down on the duvet, frustrated. The paradox was suffocating: she had just swallowed a rival empire, expanding her reach by billions, yet she couldn’t walk past the bedroom door without permission.
“I feel useless,” she admitted, rubbing her temples where the pre-eclampsia headache still lingered. “The merger is fragile. If I don’t set the culture now, Vane’s people will rot the company from the inside.”
“You aren’t useless,” William said, taking the tablet away and setting it out of reach. “You are doing the most important work of all. You are the vessel. Let me be the sword.”