Page 69 of Love so Cold

There it is. The moment we've been bracing for. My grip on the clipboard turns vise-like, and I sit up straighter, ready to battle it out, for Olivia, for us all.

My breath hitches slightly as the room shifts, an audible rustle of bodies and fabric as everyone readies themselves. The chairman's voice cuts through the murmur, "I'd like to invite Mr. Victor Stone to discuss the Greystone Development."

As he strides to the podium, I can't help but notice the confidence in his step, the way his dark hair seems to match his resolve. He's a pillar of composure, every inch the successful businessman.

It seems so at odds with the man that stood before me just hours ago. Or the one that sat across from me at a diner and told me about his past. The man who showed vulnerability.

"Good evening," Victor starts, his voice clear and commanding, demanding attention. "I want to thank the board and the community for giving us the opportunity to present tonight."

I lean forward, hanging on every one of his words. Victor's eyes scan the crowd, pausing momentarily as if searching for something—or someone.

"The Greystone Development represents progress, growth. It promises jobs, revitalization, a brighter future for our town," he pitches, hitting each point with a precision that's almost too polished.

I bite down on my lip, trying to keep my face neutral, even as his words stir a mix of emotions inside me. He believes in this project; it's evident in his tone, in the carefully chosen words that spill out so effortlessly.

"However," Victor continues, and there's a shift in the air, "it's become apparent that not everyone shares this vision. As much as I stand by the benefits Greystone will bring, we must acknowledge when a community's heart isn't in it."

There's a ripple of surprise at his concession, a soft wave of whispers that rolls through the hall. My grip on the clipboard loosens just a fraction, caught off guard by the unexpected turn in his speech.

"Community is about trust, about listening," Victor says, and something flickers in his piercing blue eyes, a depth that goes beyond the practiced facade. "And we're here to listen."

The room fills with a cautious silence, everyone hanging onto the implications of his words. He pivots, locking eyes with me for the first time tonight. I'm searching his face for something, anything that hints at what's churning beneath that cool surface. But Victor's an enigma right now, a storm of emotions masked by a calm I can't quite decode. There's a spark there though,like he's on the brink of something big, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

"Look at this," he gestures broadly to the packed rows behind me, "all these people, here because they don't want what we're offering. That means I've failed to do something crucial—to address your concerns."

His admission hangs heavy in the air. I can feel my heart thumping louder, each beat echoing his words.

"It's not an easy choice," he continues, voice steady but eyes betraying a flicker of uncertainty, "but I'm asking for a delay. A month. To make things right, to ensure this community is heard."

The crowd stirs again, a collective murmur rising like the tide. Victor stands there, unflinching, as if he hasn't just laid all his cards on the table.

"Are you certain about this, Mr. Stone?" The chairman's voice cuts through the whispers. His brow is furrowed, probably mirroring the confusion etched on every face in the room.

"Pretty sure, yeah," Victor quips, and there's a brief, startling glimmer of humor in those blue depths. "Might be out of a job or short a few investors in thirty days, but yes, this is what I want to do."

I can't help but crack a half-smile at his attempt at lightness amidst the gravity of the situation. It's so unlike him, yet somehow it fits perfectly in this upside-down moment we're living.

"Very well," the chairman nods, seemingly satisfiedwith Victor's resolve. "We'll grant the extension. This meeting is adjourned."

Chairs scrape back, the crowd's energy shifting from tension to something that feels like the beginning of hope. I stay put, trying to process the whirlwind of the evening, my fingers still curled around my clipboard.

Hands pat my back, and a chorus of "Good job, Avery" buzzes around me. I'm cemented to the chair. They think it's a win, but my head's spinning so fast I can't latch onto the feeling.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" someone says with a laugh, and all I manage is a shake of my head.

"Me neither," I murmur, mostly to myself.

The hall empties out, slow and steady, like sand through an hourglass. Voices fade. The last echo of a closing door, and then stillness settles over the room like a blanket. My heart's thudding a mile a minute, but it's like I'm underwater, hearing everything from afar.

I force my lungs to work, drag in a deep breath, let it out slow.

When I finally force myself out of the chair and look up, it hits me—just me and Victor left. He's across the room, hands buried in his pockets, those piercing blue eyes fixed on me.

"Hey," I call out, the word echoing awkwardly in the empty space.

"Hey," he replies, and there's this cautious note in his voice that wasn't there at the podium.

We're both just standing here now, two survivors of some emotional shipwreck, floating in the wreckage. It's weirdly intimate, like the entire town hall has shrunk around us, pushing us into a bubble where only we exist.

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