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Something changed last night. I’ve been stained with so many things—Preston Howell’s blubbering, Reaper’s blood, but worst of all, Rae’s tears and taste. I’m becoming someone I no longer recognize.

The boardroom doors swing open at my approach, and I step into the arena.

Every seat is occupied. On my left sit the loyalists. Men who understand that Lazarev Global is merely the legitimate face of something far older and far darker.

On my right is Kir’s coalition. Younger faces, American faces, MBAs from Wharton, Booth, and Harvard. They think they know it all because they understand spreadsheets and stock prices. But they’ve never seen what happens in warehouses after midnight. They don’t understand a goddamn thing.

Kir himself occupies the throne at the far end of the table. His fingers are steepled in front of him. He’s wiry, simmering, dark hair raked straight back from his proud forehead.

Then I see her.

Rae sits against the back wall among the other assistants. Her face is pale and her hands are trembling. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. She looks away first.

And just like that, all thoughts of fighting back disappear.

It’s shocking how fast it happens. I spent all night cooped up with my lieutenants, planning how to crush this rebellion. My head is full of tactics and leverage points.

Or rather, it was.

One look from a girl is all it takes to render that irrelevant.

I won’t fight this. Ican’t. Not if there’s even a fraction of a chance that she’d get caught in the crossfire.

Kir rises from his seat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the board, thank you for accommodating this emergency session.” There’s no trace in his voice of the furious tremor I heard when I had him pinned against the window in his office. He sounds fuckinglethal. Part of me is almost proud. “I want to be clear that what I’m about to share comes from a place of deep respect for my father’s legacy.”

The first slide appears on the screen behind him. It’s a tabloid headline:BILLIONAIRE BIDS $5M FOR MYSTERY BLONDE.

“Concerning patterns have emerged over recent months,” Kir continues. “Patterns that, as members of this board, we have a fiduciary duty to examine.”

He clicks to another slide. This one shows Rae’s salary adjustment, highlighted in red.

“Unauthorized compensation changes made outside standard HR protocols.”

Next is a timeline of “personnel reassignments” that traces my every move to isolate her on my floor.

“Absenteeism. Ludicrous, inexplicable expenses. Increasingly erratic behavior… The list goes on.” His gaze finds mine across the table. “My father has given this company everything. Perhaps too much. Perhaps it’s time he stepped back before his…personal complications… compromise everything we’ve built.”

The room erupts.

Mordecai Mays is on his feet before Kir even finishes speaking. He’s been on this board since the IPO, back when Lazarev Global was nothing but a shipping company with ambitions above its station.

“This is absurd,” Mordecai spits. “The company has never been more profitable. Stock price has tripled in five years.Tripled! And you’re calling for a vote of no confidence because the chairman adjusted an assistant’s salary?”

“It’s not about the salary, Mordecai.” Alanna Lambert’s voice cuts through the murmuring. She runs the audit committee. “It’s about pattern of behavior. Lazarev Global can no longer be Lukas’s sordid little piggy bank.”

Kingston Fernandez clears his throat. “Has anyone else heard about Preston Howell?” When he gets blank faces in response, he explains, “He withdrew from the San Francisco partnership last night. ‘Personal reasons,’ allegedly. But I have sources saying something happened, a hospital visit or something, it’s unclear. But the rumors are ugly.”

I watch it all unfold like it’s someone else being executed.Blyat’,it would’ve been so easy to fight back. Some bribe money here, a reassuring word there, andpoof,the board members would be put at ease, the uprising reduced to nothing but dust and distant memory.

But then I look at Rae, and I stay silent.

She’s sitting there, pale and shaking. Because ofme. Dragged into this circus because I couldn’t keep my scarred hands off her. She’s there because I’m selfish and obsessed and have been compromised in exactly the way Kir is describing.

Eighteen years ago, I buried Elena and swore I’d never let anyone matter again.

This empire is crumbling now because I forgot my oath.

So fuck it. It ought to crumble.