Sommer looked to the bar. The floor staff had gone still. Dancers were quietly avoiding eye contact. Security stood at attention near the side lounges, hands too close to weapons.
And there — seated like a queen who owned the table but not the throne — was Therin Vos.
Silk blazer. Charcoal gray with blood-red cuffs. Lipstick like dried roses. One leg crossed over the other, datapad in hand. Elegant. Predatory.
When she saw Sommer, she stood — graceful and cold.
"Ms. Dai," Therin said with a smirk. "You're just in time."
Sommer didn't stop walking. She moved straight into the lounge, Arq trailing like an elegant shadow of war.
"I didn't schedule you."
Therin tilted her head. "Some invitations are implied. I heard you had a rough few cycles. Press trouble. Staffing instability. Expense spikes. A former flame stirring the dust."
Sommer stopped just short of her. "I should gut you where you stand for showing up unannounced."
"Oh, please. If I believed you could be that unprofessional, I wouldn't be offering what I am."
Sommer crossed her arms, jaw tense. "You've got one minute. Start counting."
Therin placed a datachip on the table between them.
"Full financial absorption under Cindrexus Holdings. The Gilded Veil becomes a flagship property. You stay in control of artistic direction, talent, image. But infrastructure, security, and major logistics fall to us."
Sommer's eyes didn't move. "You want to own me."
"I want to protect you," Therin replied smoothly. "From burnout. From bad faith partners. From… the Diamond Eights. It would be so unfortunate if your little sanctuary got caught in their crosshairs."
Sommer's gaze finally broke.