[Boardroom—3 Minutes After Fainting]
Elle's eyes fluttered open to the unfamiliar sensation of… plush corporate carpet against her cheek—and Damien Wolfe fanning her with a Veritas brochure.
"Welcome back, Miss Carter," he drawled, zero guilt in sight. "You faint like a Victorian debutante. It's… alarmingly on-brand."
"I hate you," she croaked, squinting at him like he was sunlight and she was freshly reborn. "From the depths of my uterus. Which you may or may not have just activated."
Damien had the gall to chuckle. "Wouldn't be the worst legacy."
She pushed herself upright like a reanimated corpse. "You drop a reproductive bombshell on me and then just… sip your coffee? What kind of monster—"
He calmly offered her the cup.
She snatched it. Took a sip. Blinked. Grimaced. "Why does this taste like heaven?"
He smirked. "Because I roasted it myself."
She blinked again. "Of course you did."
Then her voice dipped, hesitant and wounded. "So… you really didn't use a condom?"
