Chapter 13: Uninvited

"You had her name removed from the guest list," Ryan said, his voice low, controlled in the way that meant he was fighting to stay that way. "Tell me I'm wrong, Selene."

Selene didn't look up from the papers in front of her, her pen moving smoothly across the page like his words hadn't landed at all. "The gala is a Kingsley Foundation event, Ryan. I organize the guest list every year. I don't see why this year should be different."

"Don't do that." He stepped closer to her desk. "Don't pretend this is about protocol."

She finally set the pen down, meeting his gaze with a calm that felt sharper than any argument. "Fine. You want honesty? Amelia Hart doesn't belong at that gala. She's not family. She's not a sponsor. She's your ex-wife, Ryan, and inviting her would embarrass everyone involved, including you."

"She's the head of Whitmore Global," Ryan said. "Half the people attending that gala answer to her company in some way. Excluding her isn't protocol. It's a message."

Selene's expression flickered, just slightly, before settling back into practiced composure. "Maybe it is a message. Maybe it's time she understood she doesn't get to walk back into your world just because she found a fortune hiding in her family tree."

"This isn't about her fortune."

"Isn't it?" Selene stood, closing the distance between them until she was close enough that her voice dropped to something quieter, almost gentle. "You've been distracted for weeks, Ryan. Every time your phone buzzes, you check it like your life depends on the answer. I know that look. I've seen it before, back when we were together the first time, before she came along and you convinced yourself she was simple enough to marry without giving up your freedom."

Ryan's jaw tightened. "That's not what this is."

"Then what is it?"

He didn't answer right away, and that silence told her everything she already suspected.

Selene's smile turned brittle. "You divorced her, Ryan. You ended it. Whatever guilt you're carrying now doesn't erase that decision, and it certainly doesn't give her a seat at my gala."

"It's not your gala. It's the Kingsley Foundation's gala, and I'm still the one who decides who walks through those doors."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt thick, charged with something neither wanted to name directly.

"Fine," Selene said finally, her voice smoothing back into something cooler. "Invite her. Watch everyone whisper about the CEO who can't decide whether he wants his ex-wife gone or back in his bed. See how that plays with the board."

She picked her pen back up, dismissing him without another word, and Ryan stood there for a moment longer before turning and walking out.

His phone buzzed the second he stepped into the hallway. An unknown number, no name attached. He almost ignored it, still frustrated from the conversation with Selene, but something made him answer.

"Ryan Kingsley."

"Mr. Kingsley." The voice was smooth, unhurried, carrying the kind of confidence that came from decades of getting exactly what he wanted. "This is Damian Cross. I believe it's time we spoke directly."

Ryan stopped walking. "How did you get this number?"

"I make it my business to have the number of people I plan to speak with." Damian's tone stayed pleasant, almost friendly, which somehow made it worse. "I understand you've noticed some disruptions in your client relationships recently."

"You mean the contracts you pulled out from under me."

"I mean opportunities that decided to go elsewhere," Damian corrected smoothly. "Business moves quickly, Mr. Kingsley. Sometimes it moves away from companies that appear unstable."

Ryan's grip on the phone tightened. "Say what you actually called to say."

Damian chuckled, low and unbothered. "I admire directness. Very well. I have a proposal that could stop your losses immediately. A partnership, of sorts, between Cross Global and Kingsley Enterprises."

"I'm not interested in partnering with the man responsible for my losses."

"You misunderstand me," Damian said, his voice cooling slightly. "I'm not responsible for your instability, Mr. Kingsley. Your ex-wife is. The moment she stepped into Whitmore Global and exposed Victor Hale, she made both your companies targets. I'm simply the man capable of protecting you from what comes next."

Ryan's chest tightened. "What comes next?"

"Victor isn't finished," Damian said. "He has allies you haven't accounted for, resources you don't know about, and a great deal of anger left to spend. He's already decided that if he can't have Whitmore Global, he'll settle for watching it burn, and he doesn't much care what else burns alongside it."

"Including my company."

"Including your company," Damian agreed. "Unless you and I come to an understanding first."

Ryan stood frozen in the hallway, his mind racing through everything Damian had just said, searching for the trap hidden somewhere inside the offer. Men like Damian Cross didn't call to help. They called to collect.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Ryan asked carefully.

"Not over the phone," Damian said. "Meet me tomorrow. Bring nothing and no one. Just yourself and an open mind."

"And if I refuse?"

Damian's voice turned soft, almost sympathetic, which made it more unsettling than any threat. "Then I suppose we'll find out together how much damage Victor Hale is truly capable of doing, and how much of it lands on companies that refuse my help."

The call ended before Ryan could respond, leaving him standing alone in the hallway with a decision he didn't know how to make and a warning he couldn't ignore.