The private suite on the 31st floor of the Stone tech tower was sterile by design. Frosted glass walls. Minimalist furnishings. Silence that felt more like a threat than a luxury.
Emilia waited at the head of the long black table, her hands folded, a single crystal tumbler of untouched water in front of her.
The door opened.
Richard Sloane entered—her late father's closest advisor, once dubbed "the right hand of Stone." Sharp suit. Calculated smirk. He closed the door behind him, as if they were about to discuss quarterly figures, not betrayal.
"You called for a private conversation," he said, voice smooth, low.
"I did," Emilia replied, not standing.
He took a seat, uninvited. That said enough.
"You always had a flair for theatrics," he said, eyeing her. "Press conferences, decisive language. Your father would've—"
"Disapproved," she cut in. "Yes, I've heard. But he's dead. And I'm not."
Richard tilted his head. "You've changed."
"No," Emilia said coolly. "I've just stopped asking for permission."
The silence stretched.
"I know what you did, Richard."
His smile faltered for the first time. "You'll need to be more specific."
"You covered Clara's tracks. Authorized the second server mirror. Fed her boardroom intel. You didn't touch the systems directly—clever. But careless enough to leave a trail."
Richard leaned back, fingers steepled. "You can't prove it."
"I don't need to. The press doesn't require proof. Just a quote."
His jaw twitched.
"I brought you in to talk," Emilia said, voice sharp now. "Because I still have one thing left—control over the way this ends."
His eyes narrowed. "You're offering a deal?"
"I'm offering silence. Your resignation, your shares signed back to the board, and you walk away without public disgrace or legal pursuit."
"You expect me to vanish quietly?"
"I expect you to know the difference between surviving with dignity and being ruined publicly by a woman you once called 'inexperienced.'"
He stood, slow and venomous. "You're your father's daughter after all."
"No," she replied, rising too. "I'm my own."
Richard lingered at the door. "Be careful, Emilia. You may win the battle, but war changes people."
She watched him leave.
And didn't flinch.
---
Later that night, Emilia sat alone in her penthouse, the city sprawled beneath her like a glittering web.
Her phone buzzed.
Sebastian: I saw you today. You were... unstoppable.
Her fingers hovered.
Then she typed:
Emilia: I needed to be.
Then after a long pause, she added:
Emilia: But I don't want to be tonight.
She hit send.
Not because she needed saving.
But because she was tired of being a fortress all the time.