Chapter 3: His Empire Crumbles

I can't get her face out of my head.

It's been three days since the engagement party. Three days since Aria Kane—correction, Aria fucking Kane—appeared like a ghost and dumped champagne all over Victoria before vanishing into the night. Three days of Victoria's hysterics, the wedding planner's panicked calls, and my own mind spinning in circles trying to understand what the hell just happened.

She was supposed to be gone. Broken. Disappeared into whatever hole people fall into when you destroy their lives.

Instead, she looked... God, I don't even know how to describe it. Different. Harder. There was something in her eyes that wasn't there before—something cold and sharp and dangerous.

Something that scared the shit out of me.

"Are you even listening?" Victoria's voice cuts through my thoughts. We're in my office—my corner office on the 75th floor that I'm probably going to lose in the next quarter if things don't turn around. She's perched on the edge of my desk, perfectly manicured nails tapping against the mahogany. "Damien. Hello?"

"I'm listening." I'm not listening.

"The wedding planner needs an answer about the venue by Friday. My father's threatening to pull out of the deal if we don't—"

"Your father's not pulling out of anything." I keep my voice even. Controlled. "We're getting married. That's what he wants. That's what we all want."

She studies me with those ice-blue eyes. Victoria's not stupid. Beautiful, yes. Vapid, absolutely not. She knows exactly what this marriage is.

A business merger.

Her father gets access to my firm's portfolio and reputation. I get an injection of capital that keeps me afloat long enough to salvage what's left of my company. We both get a socially acceptable arrangement that looks good in the society pages.

Love doesn't enter into it.

"You've been distracted," she says. "Ever since the party. Ever since that... incident."

"It was just a server. An accident."

"Was it?" She tilts her head. "Because you looked at her like you'd seen a ghost. And then you disappeared into your study for two hours and came out looking like someone had died."

I turn away, pretending to look at the skyline. Manhattan stretches out below, glittering and indifferent. Somewhere out there, Aria is... what? Planning something? Plotting revenge? Or was seeing me just a coincidence, a random twist of fate?

No. Nothing about the way she looked at me was random.

Hello, Damien. Did you miss me?

Those words have been playing on repeat in my head for seventy-two hours straight.

"I'm stressed," I tell Victoria. Which is true. "The Blackstone deal is falling apart. The board is breathing down my neck. I'm handling it."

"Well, handle it faster." She slides off the desk, smooths her designer skirt. "My father's having doubts. He thinks you're weak. Prove him wrong."

She leaves without kissing me goodbye. We stopped pretending about affection months ago.

The second the door closes, I collapse into my chair and press my palms against my eyes. The headache that's been building since Sunday explodes behind my temples.

I'm drowning. That's the truth I can't say out loud.

Cross Capital Management—the firm I've spent eight years building—is circling the drain. We've lost three major clients in the past two months. The Blackstone acquisition that was supposed to save us just fell through this morning. Someone leaked confidential terms to their board, and they walked away.

Someone keeps leaking everything.

Every deal I chase. Every contract I'm about to close. Every negotiation that should be airtight. Someone knows about them before I do, and they're systematically destroying them.

I've had my IT department sweep for bugs. I've fired half my staff on suspicion. I've changed phones, emails, everything.

Nothing works.

Whoever's coming after me is better than anyone I've ever faced. They're three steps ahead. Always.

And I have no idea who they are.

My intercom buzzes. "Mr. Cross? The board meeting starts in ten minutes."

Right. The board meeting. Where I get to watch twelve middle-aged men in expensive suits tell me I'm failing. Again.

I straighten my tie. Put on my armor. The Damien Cross everyone expects—confident, controlled, unshakeable.

Fake it till you make it. Story of my goddamn life.

The conference room feels like a execution chamber.

My board of directors sits around the table like a jury, and they've already decided I'm guilty. James Park, my CFO and one of the few people here who doesn't actively want me dead, gives me a look that says brace yourself.

"Gentlemen." I take my seat at the head of the table. Project confidence I don't feel. "Let's begin."

Robert Chen—sixty-five, silver hair, the kind of old money that makes my wealth look like pocket change—doesn't waste time. "We've lost the Blackstone deal."

"I'm aware."

"That's the third major acquisition this quarter that's fallen through at the eleventh hour." He leans forward. "Would you like to explain how that keeps happening?"

"We're investigating—"

"You've been investigating for two months," another board member cuts in. Thomas Warren, hedge fund manager, perpetually disappointed in everyone. "Meanwhile, our competitors are eating our lunch. Our clients are jumping ship. Our stock price is in freefall."

"I'm working on solutions—"

"Solutions aren't enough." Chen again. "We need results. We need wins. And instead, we're getting systematically dismantled by an unknown entity."

Unknown entity. That's the phrase that's been haunting me.

Six weeks ago, I'd never heard of Stellar Holdings. Now they're everywhere. Swooping in at the last second to steal deals. Offering better terms. Undercutting our bids. Moving with the kind of precision that suggests they know exactly what we're planning before we plan it.

"Stellar Holdings," I say. "What do we know about them?"

James pulls up a presentation on the screen. "Not much. They're a venture capital firm based in New York. Inherited by someone named Aria Sterling about three weeks ago when Richard Sterling died. They've been inactive for years, but suddenly they're—"

My blood runs cold. "What did you say?"

"Richard Sterling? He was—"

"No. The heir. What's her name?"

"Aria Sterling." James frowns. "Why?"

Aria Sterling. Aria Kane. Oh Jesus Christ.

It can't be. It can't be her. That would be too—

But the pieces click together with sickening clarity. The timing. The precision of the attacks. The way she looked at me at the engagement party. Did you miss me?

She's not just back. She's armed.

"Mr. Cross?" Chen's voice. "Are you all right? You look unwell."

I force myself to breathe. To think. "I'm fine. Continue."

James exchanges a glance with Chen. "Stellar Holdings has been aggressive. Very aggressive. They're targeting specifically our deals—no one else's. It's personal."

"Personal," I repeat numbly.

"We need you to handle this," Chen says. "Set up a meeting with whoever runs Stellar Holdings. Find out what they want. Negotiate. Make them go away."

"And if I can't?"

The silence that follows is answer enough.

"You have two weeks," Chen finally says. "Two weeks to fix the Stellar Holdings problem and secure at least one major deal. If you can't..." He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

I'm out. Everything I've built, gone.

The meeting ends. Everyone files out except James, who lingers by the door.

"Is it her?" he asks quietly.

James knows. He's the only one who knows about Aria, about what I did three years ago. I got drunk after Marcus Kane's funeral—yes, I went to the funeral, stood in the back like a coward—and told James everything.

He didn't judge me. Didn't offer absolution either. Just listened.

"It's her," I say now.

"Jesus." He runs a hand through his hair. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

That's the truth. I don't know. How do you negotiate with someone whose life you destroyed? How do you explain that you were just following orders, that your father threatened to cut off your mother's medical care if you didn't extract those secrets, that you're not a monster, you're just weak?

How do you tell someone that you think about them every single day, that you've regretted it every single day, that you'd undo it all if you could?

You can't. Because it wouldn't matter. Because some things can't be forgiven.

"Set up a meeting," I tell James. "With Stellar Holdings. With Aria. Whatever it takes."

He nods. Leaves.

I'm alone in the conference room, staring at the presentation still frozen on the screen. Stellar Holdings. Aria Sterling.

Three years ago, I took everything from her.

Now she's come to return the favor.

I'm halfway through a bottle of scotch when my assistant knocks on my office door at 6 PM.

"Mr. Cross? Someone's here to see you."

"I'm not taking visitors."

"She said you'd want to see her. She's from Stellar Holdings."

My heart stops. "Send her in."

But it's not Aria who walks through my door. It's a woman I've never seen before—mid-thirties, sharp suit, carrying a leather portfolio like it's a weapon.

"Mr. Cross." She doesn't offer to shake hands. "My name is Maya Chen. I'm the executive assistant to Ms. Sterling of Stellar Holdings."

I stand. Try to look composed. "Ms. Chen. What can I do for you?"

"Ms. Sterling would like to request a meeting."

"I was planning to reach out—"

"She knows." Maya's smile is shark-like. "She knows everything you're planning, Mr. Cross. She's been three steps ahead of you for six weeks. Surely you've noticed."

Yeah. I've noticed.

"She wants to meet in person," Maya continues. "Tomorrow evening. Seven PM. The address is in here." She places a cream-colored envelope on my desk. "Come alone. Tell no one. If you bring lawyers, security, or anyone else, the offer is rescinded."

"What offer?"

"You'll find out tomorrow. If you're smart enough to show up."

She turns to leave. I should let her go. Should play it cool.

Instead, I hear myself say, "How is she?"

Maya stops. Looks back at me. There's something in her expression—contempt mixed with pity. "How do you think she is, Mr. Cross? You destroyed her family. Her father killed himself. She lost everything. She spent three years in hell."

The words hit like physical blows.

"But here's the thing," Maya continues, and now her smile is genuine. Delighted, even. "She's not that girl anymore. She's not weak. She's not broken. She's the most powerful person you're ever going to meet. And she's going to enjoy watching you beg."

She leaves.

I sink into my chair, hands shaking.

The envelope sits on my desk like a bomb. I open it. Inside: an address in Tribeca. And a note, handwritten on expensive cardstock.

Damien,

We have unfinished business. Come to the address tomorrow at 7 PM. Come alone.

We're going to make a deal. One that will save your failing company and your pathetic engagement. One that will give you everything you need.

All it will cost you is everything you are.

See you soon.

—A

I read it three times. Four. Five.

My company's dying. My engagement is a farce. I'm two weeks away from losing everything.

And Aria's offering me a way out.

Which means this isn't mercy.

This is a trap.

And I'm going to walk right into it, because I don't have any other choice.

I pour another scotch. Stare at the note.

All it will cost you is everything you are.

The thing is, I'm not sure I have anything left to lose.

Three years ago, I destroyed the woman I loved to save my mother's life. Sold my soul to my father's demands. Became exactly the kind of monster I'd always sworn I'd never be.

Now Aria's back. And she's going to make me pay.

I should be terrified.

Instead, all I feel is relief.

Because maybe—finally—I'll get what I deserve.