Isabella POV
The scene outside Sterling Tower was a war zone.
News vans lined the street, their satellite dishes reaching toward the sky like mechanical flowers. Reporters clutched microphones and pressed against police barriers, shouting questions at anyone who looked remotely connected to the company. Camera flashes strobed through the darkness, turning the familiar lobby into something alien and hostile.
I sat in the back of my car for a full minute, watching the chaos through tinted windows while my driver waited for instructions. Twenty minutes ago, I'd been sitting across from Damien in that restaurant, my heart breaking as I chose duty over the love I'd never stopped feeling. Now I was about to walk into a media feeding frenzy that could destroy what was left of my company's reputation.
This is what choosing Sterling Industries looks like, Isabella. Are you sure it was worth it?
"Ma'am?" My driver's voice was gentle but concerned. "Should we try the parking garage entrance?"
"No," I said, straightening my shoulders and checking my reflection in the window. My lipstick was still perfect, my hair still sleek, but I could see the strain around my eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. "If we're going to face this, we face it head-on."
The moment I stepped out of the car, the reporters surged forward like a living wave. Microphones thrust toward my face, voices shouted questions over each other, camera lights blazed bright enough to blind.
"Ms. Sterling! Is it true that Sterling Industries is facing bankruptcy?"
"What's your response to allegations of financial mismanagement?"
"Are you planning to sell the company to Cross Enterprises?"
"Is there truth to rumors about a personal relationship between you and Damien Cross?"
The last question hit like a physical blow, and I felt my carefully composed expression crack for just a moment. Someone had been digging into my past, connecting dots that should have remained buried.
"No comment," I said firmly, pushing through the crowd toward the building entrance. "Sterling Industries will be releasing a statement tomorrow morning."
Security guards flanked me, but the reporters were relentless, following me right up to the lobby doors with their cameras rolling and their questions growing more invasive by the second.
"Ms. Sterling, is it true you knew Damien Cross personally before he targeted your company?"
"What was your relationship with Cross seven years ago?"
"Did your father's business practices contribute to the current crisis?"
I made it through the lobby doors just as my composure finally shattered. The familiar marble and glass suddenly felt like a fishbowl, with every security camera and passing employee capturing my moment of weakness.
Breathe, Isabella. Just breathe.
The elevator ride to the executive floor felt like an eternity. When the doors finally opened, I was greeted by chaos of a different kind, phones ringing incessantly, harried assistants fielding calls from reporters and clients, and the kind of barely controlled panic that preceded corporate meltdowns.
Marcus was waiting for me outside the elevator, his usually perfect appearance showing signs of stress. His tie was askew, his hair mussed, and he had the hollow-eyed look of someone who'd been putting out fires for hours.
"Thank God you're here," he said, falling into step beside me as I headed toward my office. "It's been absolute chaos. The phones haven't stopped ringing since the story broke."
"How bad?" I asked, though I could already see the answer in the expressions of every employee we passed. Fear, uncertainty, and the kind of desperate hope that meant they were all looking to me for answers I didn't have.
"Bad. Morrison Construction's bankruptcy filing made the financial networks, but someone leaked our internal financial reports to go with it. Revenue projections, cash flow analyses, debt structures, everything." Marcus handed me a tablet loaded with news articles. "It's all over the internet."
I scrolled through the headlines, each one worse than the last:
"Sterling Industries on Brink of Collapse""Three-Generation Dynasty Faces Bankruptcy""Is This the End of Old Money Sterling Empire?"
But it was the gossip blog headlines that made my blood run cold:
"Billionaire Revenge Plot: Did Damien Cross Target Sterling Industries for Personal Reasons?""Sources Confirm Past Relationship Between Sterling Heiress and Corporate Raider""Love Triangle or Business Vendetta? The Truth Behind the Sterling-Cross War"
"Someone's been talking," I said grimly. "Someone with access to information that should be confidential."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Marcus said as we reached my office. "Isabella, we need to discuss the possibility that we have a leak inside the company. Someone with board-level access."
A leak inside the company. The thought sent ice through my veins because it meant someone I trusted, someone who'd sworn loyalty to Sterling Industries, was feeding information to our enemies.
My office felt like a sanctuary after the chaos outside, but even here I couldn't escape the crisis. My assistant had left a stack of urgent messages on my desk, calls from reporters, clients, employees, and board members all demanding immediate attention.
"The board wants an emergency meeting first thing tomorrow morning," Marcus continued. "Henry's been fielding calls all evening from major shareholders. They're... concerned."
Concerned. Corporate speak for "ready to throw you overboard at the first opportunity."
"What about our clients?" I asked, sinking into my chair with exhaustion that went bone-deep.
"Three have already called to discuss contingency plans. The Pemberton Group wants a meeting tomorrow to discuss 'alternative arrangements' for their ongoing projects."
Alternative arrangements. Which meant they were already shopping for Sterling Industries' replacement.
I closed my eyes and tried to think past the exhaustion and heartbreak and overwhelming sense that I was fighting a battle I couldn't win. But all I could see was Damien's face when he'd offered me a way out, the pain in his eyes when I'd walked away.
You chose hate over love.
Had I? Or had I chosen responsibility over selfish desire? The distinction felt less clear now, sitting in my father's office while his legacy crumbled around me.
My phone rang, and I glanced at the caller ID expecting another reporter or panicked client. Instead, it showed a number I didn't recognize.
"Isabella Sterling," I answered automatically.
"You need to get out of that building. Now."
The voice was male, unfamiliar, and carried an urgency that made my pulse spike with alarm.
"Who is this?" I asked, but even as I spoke, I was already looking toward the windows that offered a panoramic view of the city.
"Someone who knows that you're in danger. The media circus outside is just the beginning. In about ten minutes, you're going to have much bigger problems."
"What kind of problems?"
"The kind that involve federal investigators and search warrants," the voice said grimly. "Someone tipped off the SEC about potential securities fraud at Sterling Industries. They're coming tonight."
The phone slipped from my nerveless fingers. Securities fraud. The SEC. If federal investigators were coming with search warrants, it meant someone had convinced them that Sterling Industries had been engaging in illegal financial practices.
This isn't just a hostile takeover anymore. Someone's trying to destroy us completely.
"Ma'am?" Marcus was looking at me with concern. "What's wrong?"
I picked up the phone, but the mysterious caller had already hung up. For a moment, I considered the possibility that it was a prank, someone trying to add to the chaos by feeding me false information.
Then I saw the black SUVs pulling up outside the building.
"Marcus," I said quietly, "call our lawyers. All of them. And tell security to lock down the executive floors."
"What? Why, "
"Because," I said, watching federal agents in suits emerge from the vehicles like some kind of corporate SWAT team, "we're about to be raided."
The next twenty minutes were a blur of barely controlled chaos. Federal agents flooded the building with search warrants and subpoenas, seizing computers and files while employees watched in stunned silence. I sat in my office under the supervision of an unsmiling agent while lawyers argued jurisdictional issues and board members arrived with expressions ranging from shock to poorly concealed relief.
Relief. Because an SEC investigation would give them the perfect excuse to remove me as CEO and sell Sterling Industries to the highest bidder.
Through it all, I couldn't stop thinking about the anonymous warning call. Someone had known about the raid in advance, someone who'd cared enough to warn me but hadn't been willing to identify themselves.
Damien.
The thought hit me like lightning. Despite everything, despite our confrontation at dinner, despite my rejection of his offer, despite the war between our companies, he'd still tried to protect me.
Why?
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
"The SEC raid was orchestrated by the same person who leaked your financial information. This isn't about justice, t's about forcing a fire sale. Watch your back, especially around people you trust. , A Friend"
I stared at the message, pieces of a puzzle clicking into place with terrifying clarity. Someone with inside access had leaked our financial information to the press. Someone with connections had convinced the SEC to launch an investigation based on questionable evidence. Someone was orchestrating a coordinated attack designed to force Sterling Industries into bankruptcy and liquidation.
But who? And why?
My office door opened, and Henry Morrison walked in with the kind of expression that suggested he was the bearer of very bad news.
"Isabella," he said heavily, "I need to speak with you. Privately."
The federal agent supervising me looked between us, then stepped into the outer office, closing the door behind him. Suddenly, Henry and I were alone in the eye of the hurricane.
"The board met via emergency conference call twenty minutes ago," Henry said without preamble. "Given the current circumstances, the media attention, the federal investigation, the financial instability, we feel it would be best if you stepped down as CEO."
The words hit me like physical blows. Stepped down. They wanted me to resign, to abandon Sterling Industries when it needed leadership most.
"No," I said firmly. "Absolutely not."
"Isabella, be reasonable. Your personal relationship with Damien Cross has compromised, "
"My personal relationship with Damien Cross ended seven years ago," I interrupted. "Whatever's happening now is corporate warfare, nothing more."
"The board doesn't see it that way. They're concerned that your... emotional investment... is clouding your judgment." Henry's voice was gentle but implacable. "They want Marcus Chen to serve as interim CEO while we explore strategic options."
Strategic options. Which meant selling to Cross Enterprises or another corporate raider at whatever price they could get.
"And if I refuse to step down?"
"Then the board will vote to remove you," Henry said sadly. "Isabella, you're brilliant and you're strong, but you're also your father's daughter. And right now, that's not an asset."
Your father's daughter. The legacy I'd been raised to protect, the burden I'd chosen over love, was now being used as a weapon against me.
I thought about Damien's offer at the restaurant, his promise of freedom from the toxic legacy that was destroying us both. I'd chosen duty over desire, responsibility over happiness.
And where had it gotten me?
"I need time to think," I said finally.
"You have until tomorrow morning," Henry said. "The board meets at eight AM. If you haven't resigned by then..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. If I hadn't resigned, they'd vote me out and sell Sterling Industries to whoever offered the highest bid.
After Henry left, I sat alone in my father's office while federal agents continued their work outside. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the media circus continuing on the street below, reporters broadcasting live updates about the raid and speculation about Sterling Industries' future.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from the same unknown number:
"The trap is closing, bella. Last chance to get out before it's too late. , D"
This time, there was no pretense about anonymous friends or unnamed sources. Damien was reaching out directly, offering me an escape route from the disaster that was about to consume everything I'd tried to protect.
Choose me, he'd said at dinner. Choose the future we could have built together.
I'd chosen duty. I'd chosen my people, my legacy, my responsibility to fifteen hundred employees who deserved better than to be casualties in a war they didn't understand.
But what if duty was just another word for prison? What if the legacy I was protecting was already dead, killed by the same corrupt system that had destroyed Damien seven years ago?
What if he's right? What if the only way to save anything is to burn it all down and start over?
I stared at Damien's message until the words blurred, my heart pounding with a mixture of terror and something that felt dangerously like hope.
Outside, the federal agents continued their work, methodically dismantling my father's empire one file at a time. Inside, I faced the hardest choice of my life:
Fight a battle I couldn't win, or surrender to the man who'd once promised to love me forever.