Damien Voss walked through the VossTech lobby like a king returning to claim his empire. His sleek black suit fit like it had been stitched to his skin, and his calculated stride drew glances from every corner. But he didn't care.
He had one destination.
One target.
One motive.
His jaw was tight with quiet rage as he rode the elevator to the top floor. The folder in his hand burned with every step. Inside were the photos, the surveillance notes, the truth he hadn't wanted to admit.
Stephanie Quinn and Nathan Voss were getting closer.
Too close.
The moment the elevator doors slid open, he didn't pause. He walked straight through the corridor of glass and steel, through the office doors, and into the den of the man who'd taught him how to wield a knife with words and a smile.
Victor Voss stood with his back turned, facing the skyline, sipping whiskey like a god surveying his domain.
"You look like hell," Victor said coolly, without turning.
Damien threw the folder onto the desk. "That's because I just found out we have a problem."
Victor glanced at the file but didn't move. "A real problem, or one of your emotional tangents again?"
Damien's voice dropped. "Stephanie Quinn."
That made Victor turn. Slowly.
His eyes narrowed, scanning his son's face. Damien was seething—but not over jealousy this time. No, this was something colder. Controlled. Victor sat in his leather chair and opened the folder.
Photo after photo. Stephanie entering Nathan's apartment. Them talking at the art gallery. Coffee. Smiles. Meetings.
"Your private investigator's been busy," Victor said, flipping through.
"I told you I had him watching her," Damien replied. "He trailed her for weeks. And now it's clear—she and Nathan are working together. Something's happening."
Victor leaned back, steepling his fingers. "What makes you think it's more than just sex?"
Damien's jaw flexed. "She's not like the others. She's smart. She knows things. She was at the gallery, remember? When Nathan bought the entire exhibit. She's connected to the accident, I'm sure of it."
Victor's smile was slow and tight. "And you think she's planning something?"
"I know she is." Damien stepped closer. "She's not some corporate climber or broken girl Nathan's playing with. She's strategic. I've seen her. She's bold."
Victor poured another drink, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal glass. "So. What do you want to do?"
Damien hesitated for half a beat. "We take her out."
Victor looked up, amused. "Didn't you once say you wanted her for yourself?"
"I did." Damien's voice was like gravel now. "I wanted her bad. Maybe I still do. But not more than I want Vosstech."
Victor's eyes gleamed. "That's the first smart thing you've said this month."
Damien stepped closer. "Nathan is weak with her. Distracted. Emotional. And that gives us the upper hand."
Victor swirled his drink. "If she knows something about the accident, about what really happened… then she's dangerous. To both of us."
"And if she exposes Nathan's side of the story," Damien added, "the board could turn."
Victor set his glass down and stood. "Then it's simple. We break them."
"How?"
Victor's face hardened. "We shut her down. Permanently. A scandal, a threat, an accident—something that ensures she never speaks again."
Damien looked out the window, hands in his pockets, wrestling with something darker than guilt.
For weeks, he had dreamed about Stephanie. Wanted her. Envied the way Nathan looked at her like she was air in a suffocating room.
But that dream was over.
She had chosen the wrong side.
And Vosstech—was worth more than any woman.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll contact Greg for the job."
Victor smirked. "That's my boy."
They stood in silence, both watching the city below, already envisioning their next move.
Stephanie Quinn had just become the most dangerous piece on the board.
And now, they were going to remove her.