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My chest tightens.

"Okay," Chase says softly beside me. "That's pretty damn cool."

"Yeah," I whisper. "It is."

Tyler has already found two Armadillos players and is trying very hard to act normal. He fails immediately. Chase drifts into conversation with someone near the demo stations, easy and charming as always, and I'm grateful for him. Truly. He is kind and supportive and the reason I even looked at the Synatrix opening again.

But when Witt walks into the ballroom, every part of me notices.

He wears a black tux like it was designed by someone who understood sharp lines and quiet power. No flashy tie. No unnecessary pocket square. Nothing extra. Just Witt, controlled and composed, moving through a room full of wealthy donors, athletes, executives, and media like he would rather be literally anywhere else but will endure it because the cause matters.

His eyes skim the room.

Then stop on me.

Not long enough for anyone else to notice.

But enough that my breath catches.

Oh.

I know that look.

It's not the same look from the kitchen or the office or the hallway outside the boardroom. It's quicker than all of those, but somehow heavier. Like he registered the dress, me in the dress, and whatever problem that creates inside his brain, then immediately locked it away.

He turns to greet a sponsor.

I remember how to breathe.

Barely.

The next hour moves in a blur of introductions, handshakes, and conversations I somehow manage not to ruin. Sutton introduces me to team owners. J.D. tells someone that my rookie program is "the real deal." Matt asks about accessibility partnerships with the same thoughtful intensity he brought to my first-day tour. Noelle appears at random intervals to squeeze my arm, fix my hair, or whisper things like, "You're killing it," before disappearing again.

And Witt watches, not constantly, but I feel it every time his eyes look my way.

Chase is by my side when I explain the rookie program to a sponsor and when I talk about mentorship and first-rival achievements. But then he sees Birdie.

“Is that the Birdie? The kick ass rock star?” He asks before stammering, “Do you mind if I?”

“Of course not, go. Have fun.”

But when I kneel beside a visually impaired girl and ask what she likes most about the controller, she can’t stop talking about the skins and how they match the team she plays on in the game. Witt researched the colors so that the visibly impaired could see them best.

Witt sticks his hand out, helping me to stand in this dress. “You were right.”

“About?”

“About bringing the game inside the screen to real life. You might take my job.” He scoffs, knowing that’s not true. He skims the curve of my hips and chest with his eyes. It seems he wants to say something else but he stops short when a reporter comes up and asks, “Aren’t you worried about screen time for children?”

Witt opens his mouth but I cut him off because I was a child who had nothing of her own until gaming. “No, we’re not. That’s the parents responsibility to apply rules to their children but sometimes gaming is the first place a kid feels capable instead of limited. Everyone isn’t an O’Ryan that can throw a football a hundred yards or dash down the sideline to make a leaping catch. Sometimes gaming is where kids build confidence.”

I look up at Witt. He’s taller than J.D. and Greyson by a smidge and I’m sure he has athletic ability. Noelle cheered in college so athleticism is in their DNA, yet he’s a gamer. It makes me wonder why.

The reporter keeps asking questions and Witt listens without interrupting or correcting me. So, I hope I’m toeing the company line and don’t get fired. But if I do, I have two years’ salary coming. But I’d rather help Witt continue to grow and expand his companies.

The pride that unfurls inside me is almost overwhelming. Not because of him. Not entirely. Because for the first time in my life, the thing I love makes sense to everyone around me. They're asking real questions. They're listening to the answers. They're treating games like they matter.

And I helped build a small piece of that.