Chapter 5

NATHANIEL

I stormed into my office like a man possessed, my blood boiling so violently I could almost hear it rushing in my ears. The door slammed behind me, echoing the frustration roaring in my chest like a warning bell no one dared acknowledge.

How dare she?

How dare she.

My steps were quick,and purposeful. I made a beeline for the liquor cabinet tucked discreetly in the corner, yanked it open like it had personally offended me, and grabbed the first bottle I touched; Glenfiddich, 18-year-old single malt.

I didn’t bother with ice.

Didn’t even pause.

I poured a full glass, my hand tightened on the crystal tumbler, then I downed it in one sharp gulp. The burn seared down my throat, hot and punishing. But it did nothing to dull the white-hot anger threading through my body.

Carrie Dalton! No, Carrie Blackwood now, as if the name entitled her to something had officially crossed a line this afternoon.

I slammed the glass back down on the cabinet with a loud clink, the sound barely satisfying enough to match the fury I felt. I began pacing the room like a caged lion, my blood pumping loud enough to drown out logic.

She’d done it deliberately. Going around with airs like she owned the damn company. She had admitted to interfering in my business deal, unflinching. And didn't even bait an eye, even after I had warned her, she still went ahead to show Shane that damn report.

I just hoped Shane would not allow her to change his mind about the merger.

“That motherfucker!” My voice rumbled, I clenched my fists and walked over to the wide window behind my desk, looking out at the skyline that glistened under the late afternoon sun. The glass reflected my image…tall, tense, jaw tight. A man wronged.

That woman had completely upended my plans with a single report and that deceptively pleasant voice of hers.

The SharpLens merger was never just about business. It was about legacy. My legacy. It was the result of months of careful positioning, investment, and backdoor negotiations that would have given me real, tangible power in this company again…something that had been denied me for far too long.

But no. She had to play savior. She had to make Shane look good. She just had to ruin everything.

I turned away from the window, nostrils flaring.

She thinks she knows this company?

She has no idea what I gave up for it.

Blackwood Marketing Incorporated was as much like mine as it was for Kendrick's, my brother and Shane's father.I might not have contributed to the company financially but I put in my sweat and blood.

I put in sleepless nights. Countless hours I spent working beside my brother, Kendrick, in the early days when all we had was a basement office, two clients, and a dream that barely kept the lights on.

I was there when we pitched to our first real corporate client…when I stayed up all night redrafting a presentation Kendrick botched last minute. I helped build our brand strategy, courted new investors, balanced client retention with growth, and poured every ounce of myself into this company with the belief that, someday, my loyalty and effort would be rewarded.

That I’d be named CEO after my brother.

That I would finally sit in the chair I helped build.

But then came Shane.

Fresh from business school with his shiny MBA, polished charm, and father’s name in his back pocket. The golden boy. Kendrick didn’t even hesitate. The moment Shane showed interest, Kendrick handed him the reins. My reins.

I remember the day Kendrick told me Shane would be next in line shortly before his sickness became worse.

“You’ve been invaluable, Nate,” he said with that false humility of his, patting me on the back like I was a loyal employee. “But the company needs the next generation.”

I was stunned. Furious. Betrayed.

And I swallowed it.

I stayed.

I worked like a damn dog to keep this company profitable. I nodded along in meetings, took on extra responsibilities, smiled at investors while Shane strutted around, half-clueless, his every success built on a foundation I helped lay.

I gave them everything.

And now, Carrie, his picture-perfect wife, the boardroom angel in pencil skirts thinks she gets to challenge me?

I ran a hand through my hair, jaw tight, a cold fury settling deeper in my gut. She’d unravelled months of work in one afternoon. And not just the deal, but my credibility as well. My influence. She'd taken something that was mine, and no one had checked her.

No one had stopped her.

I stormed back toward my desk, every step heavy with purpose. I yanked open the drawer on the right and pulled out my burner phone. I hadn’t used it in weeks, but now was the time. The moment had come.

I punched in the security code, found the contact I needed, and pressed the dial.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then clicked.

“Get to my office. Now,” I said flatly. Then I hung up.

That was all I needed to say.

There were… ways to handle women like Carrie. Legal ways. Psychological ways. And if all else failed, brutally efficient ways.

She wanted to play hero?

Let her. But she’d soon learn that the game had just begun and I wasn’t in the mood to lose.

I sat down slowly in my chair, letting the cool leather press against my back as I took a deep breath. She had power now, sure but only because Shane had given it to her. And Shane, for all his arrogance, was still a man who could be swayed. Broken. Turned against her.

All I needed was leverage.

A weakness.

Information.

And when I had that, I would rip the rug right out from under her.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

“Come in,” I said, voice measured again.

Devin stepped in, young, ambitious, a little too eager to impress. Perfect.

“You called, sir?”

“Yes,” I said, folding my hands in front of me. “I want a complete digital trail on Carrie Blackwood. Emails, memos, marketing files—everything she’s touched in the last sixty days. Discreetly.”

He blinked. “You want her file access logs?”

“Yes,” I repeated. “Every last one. I also want a list of every team member she works with—especially any who’ve had HR infractions. Look for weak links. We’re tightening control.”

He hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face.

“If I may ask… is she being investigated?”

I smiled coldly. “Let’s just say she’s growing too comfortable. And comfort breeds mistakes.”

He nodded quickly and stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

I leaned back again and looked around my office as Devin left.