“After the meeting.”
The elevator opened onto the conference floor. Ares guided me down the hall with that controlled intensity that made me feel both protected and worried.
He opened the conference room door, and I immediately knew something was wrong.
Orion and Leo stopped talking mid-sentence—the kind of abrupt silence that screamedwe were just discussing you. “…can’t all—” Orion had been saying, overlapped with “…this isn’t sustainable—” from Leo.
Then they saw me and Ares, and their faces did that thing where they tried to look normal, but it was too late. I’d heard enough.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, moving to take a seat. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Key card issue.”
Ares took the seat next to me. Close. Protective.
“Let’s get started,” Orion said, his tone clipped. His gaze stayed on the tablet in front of him, but the way his thumb kept swiping the edge betrayed tension. “Q4 projections first.”
“—and that brings me to the next phase,” I said, clicking to the final slide. “The My Heroes Tour. A limited event series to leverage the campaign momentum while humanizing the brand even further.”
Leo leaned forward, already intrigued. Ares stilled beside me. Orion scrolled through something on his phone, face unreadable.
“The idea is simple,” I continued, pushing through the silence. “One weekend, three brothers, three appearances across the Strip. Partner casinos, charity tie-ins, and a social challenge. The first five fans who recognize you in person win comped stays and VIP access to an Olympus Royale suite. Hashtag-driven. Livestream coverage. Think human touch meets legend status.”
Leo gave a low whistle. “You’re talking real-world engagement.”
“Exactly. The My Heroes campaign showed how audiences respond to authenticity. This would make it tangible. It positions Olympus Royale as the luxury brand that isn’t afraid to meet its audience face-to-face.”
I glanced at Orion to gauge his reaction. Nothing. His expression was precise—jaw tight, eyes flicking between his phone and my slides. The light from the screen caught in the curve of his cheekbone, highlighting the distance between us.
“Security nightmare,” Ares said quietly.
I nodded. “That’s why we’d coordinate with your team, pre-vet the venues, and keep the itinerary fluid. Yes, it’s high-risk, but the PR return could be enormous.”
“Could be,” Ares echoed. His tone was measured, but his shoulders had gone rigid.
Leo looked between his brothers, reading the current like he always did.
“We’ll think about it,” he said finally, voice deliberately light. “Run some projections, talk logistics. Maybe scale it smaller first.”
I forced a smile. “Of course.”
Silence followed, the kind that pressed against the skin. Orion’s phone buzzed again, and though he didn’t look at it thistime, his fingers tightened around the device. He wasn’t here—not really. Not in the meeting. Not with me.
I wrapped up the presentation with a practiced tone, thanked them for their time, and shut my laptop.
Leo cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “Well, that was—uh—great work, Tashi. Let’s revisit the logistics after lunch.”
“Sure,” I said, closing my portfolio. My voice sounded far away.
We finished the meeting. Leo tried to catch my eye multiple times, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t process the sudden shift from intimacy to distance.
The moment it ended, Orion rose. “I have another call,” he said, already halfway to the door. No explanation. No glance my way. Just gone.
Leo sighed softly. “He’s not usually like this.”
Ares didn’t answer. His gaze was still fixed on the door, that same razor line of worry across his face.
“Yeah. I got it. Business,” I lied.
Back in my suite, I dropped everything on the floor and collapsed on the sofa. My hands were shaking again. Not because of the key card failure. It was due to fury, confusion, and the horrible sinking feeling that I had made a catastrophic mistake.
