Divorce as a presentation.

Ciry stepped out of the sleek black car, her stilettos clicking sharply against the pristine stone pavement outside Noble Co., Ltd's headquarters.

The building towered over the city like a sculpted monument to ambition — a shimmering prism of steel and glass, every angle intentional, every reflection immaculate. Sunlight danced across the mirrored façade, casting elegant lines onto the luxury cars parked beneath. Suspended above the massive revolving doors, the company name — NOBLE Co., Ltd — was emblazoned in bold, silver calligraphy, gleaming with the arrogance of legacy and wealth.

Ciry adjusted her dress and walked forward with the kind of poise that turned necks without apology. Her hips swayed rhythmically, every step measured. She didn't spare a glance at the reception desk as she passed — she didn't need to.

Behind her, whispers stirred like smoke.

"Isn't that Ciry? The boss's new wife who tried to ruin their wedding?" murmured Kaori, a junior PR assistant, nudging her colleague.

"She walks like she already owns the place," replied Lina, a textile buyer, her eyes wide with both envy and judgment.

"I feel sorry for Ryu," muttered Jin, from finance, shaking his head. "This girl must be giving him hell at home."

At the front desk, the receptionist leaned over to whisper to a stylist nearby. "She's so dramatic... I never thought she'd actually show up and ruin a wedding publicly."

The elevator chimed open.

Ciry entered alone.

The ride to the 38th floor was swift and silent.

She stepped out into the heart of Noble's creative empire — the Opal Room.

It was everything the brand stood for: luxurious, sharp, timeless. A sweeping oval table took center stage beneath a modern chandelier shaped like broken crystal. The walls were lined with glass, showcasing panoramic views of city's skyline. Every detail — from the velvet chairs to the carefully arranged floral centerpiece — whispered elegance.

The room was already full.

Department heads sat with laptops open, portfolios stacked beside water glasses. At the far end, Ryu was seated like a king at court — perfectly groomed, his expression unreadable beneath the shield of detachment.

Ciry entered without hesitation, a wisp of perfume trailing behind her as she made her way to the empty chair reserved at Ryu's right. She didn't spare him a glance.

A soft voice broke the silence.

"With Ciry's arrival," said Mina Takahashi, Ryu's longtime assistant — and the same woman Ciry had seen at his house that very morning, looking far too at home in his space — "we can now begin."

There was the faintest chill in her voice.

Josh Ash, Noble's Chief Marketing Officer, stood and clicked a small remote, bringing the screen behind him to life. Images of Ciry from magazine shoots and street paparazzi flashes filled the display — curated chaos. Power wrapped in a woman's frame.

"We're pivoting Noble toward a bolder identity — one that isn't afraid to provoke," Josh said, his eyes flicking between the board and Ciry. "Ciry represents everything we want to channel. She's fearless, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore."

"Some might call that volatile," Ryu said, his voice calm but laced with something sharper.

Ciry's lips curved slightly. "Only when I'm provoked."

A few executives shifted uncomfortably, pretending to focus on their notes.

Yui Nakamura, the Creative Director, spoke up next. "We've prepared three conceptual themes for the campaign: Silver Reign, Wicked Empress, and Electric Bloom. Each one plays with contrast — danger and elegance, power and polish. We see Ciry leading the aesthetics."

Ciry tapped a manicured nail against the glass tabletop. "I like Wicked Empress. Dark, sexy, a little venomous. But I want final say on wardrobe. I'm not wearing copy-paste couture."

"Naturally," Yui replied, her tone eager. "We wouldn't dream of boxing in your style."

Mina leaned forward slightly. "There will be six deliverables in the first phase: three digital campaigns, a gala appearance, and two international shoots — one in Paris, another in Tokyo."

Ryu turned to her, speaking for the first time directly, "Greedy, aren't we?"

She met his gaze coldly.

"No. Just not cheap."

Ciry gave a small nod. "Paris works. Tokyo too. But let's be clear — I don't show up to be dressed like everyone else."

Ryu's fingers drummed lightly on the table. "We're all adjusting, Ciry. Try not to make this about you."

She turned to him slowly. "Funny—you talk about adjusting like you ever had to sacrifice anything."

He didn't respond. He didn't want to.

Dan Blake, the Head of Sales, cut the tension with his usual no-nonsense tone. "With Ciry attached, we're projecting a 30% surge in digital traffic and up to $900,000 in new revenue within the first quarter of launch."

"Our proposal," added Anna Cannon, from Finance, "is a performance-based model: five percent of direct sales revenue, two percent on brand-impact sales. Paid quarterly."

Ciry raised a brow. "No. Eight percent, flat. If I'm the face, I get the lion's share. I'm not here for starter-pack deals."

A flicker of something — irritation, or perhaps amusement — passed through his eyes.

"Let's move on," Mina said quickly, her hands folded tightly in front of her.

Yui clicked to the next slide. "One final note: a potential collaboration — Noble x Ciry Cosmetics. We're envisioning a capsule collection. Monochrome pieces paired with exclusive lipstick or eyeshadow drops. Red silk, scarlet lips. Release by Valentine's Day."

"Fashion meets fire," said Josh, excited now. "It's the perfect crossover."

Ciry's smile finally turned genuine. "Let's do it. I want them walking out like danger in heels."

The room fell into a brief silence — half admiration, half awe.

Even Ryu didn't speak.

But she could feel his stare like a weight against her skin. 

Just as the room settled from the last slide, Ciry stood, the curve of her lips unreadable. Her eyes were fixed on Ryu — dark, steady, unblinking. Then she spoke.

"What if I take five percent."

A stir moved through the room.

"That's a drop from eight," Ryu said slowly, narrowing his eyes. "What's the catch?"

Ciry picked up the small remote from the table, her fingers graceful but deliberate. She walked to the screen at the head of the room like it was her own stage, her heels clicking against the floor in an ominous rhythm. Without missing a beat, she tapped the remote.

A new slide blinked into view.

Title: Why We Should Divorce