ISLA

The moment Arthur Orlando poses the question—who among us will lead this change, and at what cost?—the discussion ignites like a match to gasoline.

Gerald Henderson, the CEO of Henderson Co., clears his throat and begins. "The key to global market expansion lies in aggressive acquisitions and leveraging existing corporate influence. There are two essential strategies we must prioritize: first, securing partnerships with rising economies before our competitors do, and second, implementing controlled mergers to absorb smaller yet promising enterprises."

Before he can elaborate further, a smooth voice interjects.

"That's an outdated mindset, Gerald," Nathan Sterling, owner of Sterling Global Holdings, counters with a measured smirk. "You talk about absorption, but what you fail to acknowledge is that dominance isn't about buying power alone. It's about influence. The real key to global expansion isn't just acquiring businesses—it's controlling the environment they operate in. Government policies, trade regulations, digital footprints. Play the long game, and the power shifts in your favor before the acquisition even happens."

Murmurs stir through the room as figures shift in their seats, some nodding, others frowning. The tension thickens, the air charged with competition.

I glance around, taking in the atmosphere—the ruthless edge of it. It's my first time at this table, and yet, it feels like second nature. The energy of competition, the thrill of strategy—it's intoxicating.

And yet, as the discussion rages on, I feel a weighted stare.

Ciaran Valente.

Seated directly across from me, dressed in his charcoal-gray suit, he's not interested in the debate. No, he's watching me. Lazily, almost mockingly. His dark whiskey eyes gleam with something unreadable, something infuriating. His posture is arrogance incarnate, one arm draped over the armrest, fingers tapping once against the polished wood.

What's his problem?

I refuse to acknowledge him. Instead, my attention shifts back to the argument unfolding before me.

Gerald and Nathan are now locked in a back-and-forth over whether economic leverage outweighs direct market acquisition, but I find their debate flawed. It's too one-dimensional.

Clearing my throat, I interject.

"With all due respect, this discussion is focusing too narrowly on either acquisition or control as separate strategies. But power isn't singular—it's multilayered. Expansion without regulation control leaves room for disruption, while regulation control without ownership makes you dependent on external forces. The real question isn't whether to acquire or influence—it's how to seamlessly integrate both."

The room stills.

All eyes shift to me.

I meet them evenly, my gaze pausing a beat too long on Richard Langford, one of the Consortium's most powerful members. The small, knowing smile that has been on his face since the start of the meeting remains. He nods slightly.

When I finish, Dean Ambrose is the first to respond.

"That's a fair point, Miss Moreau." His green eyes glint with amusement as he leans forward. "And to add to that, I'd say the method of integration varies by industry. Tech markets require a different approach than, say, luxury brands or raw commodities. The risk factors change depending on how much government oversight exists in a sector."

A valid argument. But there's one flaw.

I'm about to point it out when a deep, silk-smooth voice cuts in.

"Not necessarily."

Ciaran Valente.

His voice commands attention without effort, making me pause. He straightens slightly, his expression impassive, unreadable.

"You're assuming all industries require tailored approaches. But in reality, power is power. The only variable is how fast you take control. Politics, corporate influence, economic dependencies—they all function the same way. The more you complicate it, the more time you waste."

I scoff internally.

"Well, I suppose brute force is a strategy," I say smoothly. "A simplistic one, but a strategy nonetheless."

The corner of his mouth lifts. A knowing smirk. The kind that says he's already three steps ahead.

Then, with an almost lazy tilt of his head, Ciaran Valente delivers his retort.

"Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep at night, Miss Moreau," he muses, voice as smooth as aged whiskey. "But theories don't win wars. Power does. And so far, all I see from you is a well-rehearsed argument with nothing to back it up."

I grit my teeth.

Ciaran fucking Valente.

Before I can fire back, Arthur Orlando lifts a hand, commanding silence.

"That concludes our first discussion," the chairman announces, his deep voice reverberating through the room. "Next, we move on to strategic resource allocation in volatile markets—a crucial factor in maintaining stability amidst economic fluctuations. Over the next hour, we will be reviewing regional reports and discussing proposed frameworks for sustainable control."

A shift moves through the boardroom as documents are distributed, the soft rustling of papers the only sound as everyone settles.

I keep my anger in check, my fingers tightening around the file in front of me. Ciaran Valente is not worth my energy. Not here. Not now.

Still, something prickles at my senses.

I glance up.

And of course—he's looking at me.

Unlike before, when his stare was idle amusement, this time it's sharper, assessing. I look away first. Annoyed at myself for even engaging in this silent battle.

Instead, I focus on the contents of the file.

A voice beside me draws my attention.

Orion McGinnis, CEO of M&G International Logistics, leans slightly toward me, murmuring under his breath, "You did well earlier."

It's a quiet praise, but one that holds weight. Orion rarely hands out compliments.

I nod, keeping my response simple. "Thank you."

Then I turn my full attention to the document in front of me.

It outlines the strategic challenges of resource allocation in unstable economic environments, highlighting issues such as supply chain disruptions, unpredictable government policies, and fluctuating market demands. Several case studies are included, but—

The sound of a chair scraping abruptly against the floor shatters the silence.

I look up just in time to see Nathan Sterling rise to his feet, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with fury.

Nathan's fists clench at his sides, his nostrils flaring as he glares at Orlando, who remains calm, his expression unreadable.

More murmurs ripple across the table, everyone now flipping through the document with renewed interest.

I do the same, scanning the section in question.

Sterling Energy Solutions—a major player in renewable energy investments, with subsidiaries across Europe and South America. The report outlines discrepancies in financial reports, alleged bribery in securing government contracts, and over-exaggeration of sustainability claims.

Nathan's company isn't just being questioned here, it's being dragged through the dirt.

"This is bullshit," Nathan snaps, shoving the papers aside. His sharp gray eyes flicker between the board members. "You're telling me this meeting—the first in five fucking years—was convened just so you could ambush me with baseless allegations?"

Orlando finally looks up. His fingers tap against the polished surface of the table. Measured. Calculating.

"This meeting," he says slowly, "was convened to discuss global strategies. Your company's name being on that report is merely a consequence of its… actions."

I watch Nathan's hands tighten into fists, his shoulders stiffening. He knows better than to lash out physically—not in a room full of the world's most powerful business minds—but his temper is fraying at the seams.

And he's losing control of the room.

I glance across the table.

Nathan exhales sharply through his nose, forcing a laugh that holds no humor.

"If this is some kind of power play, Orlando, you can—"

"It's not a power play, Nathan."

The words leave my mouth before I even fully process them.

And just like that, the room shifts again.

Nathan turns toward me, his eyes narrowing, as the attention now lands on me.

I lean back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, my fingers placed on the armrest.

"Facts are not power plays," I say smoothly. "The only thing that matters here is whether those numbers are fabricated or not." I glance at the document again, lifting a brow. "And from the looks of it? You're guilty of a little… embellishment."

Nathan's lips press into a thin line.

I don't dislike him, per se. He's competent. A little hotheaded, a little too used to getting his way, but not entirely reckless.

But right now he's losing his grip.

Which means he's weak.

And weakness in this room is a death sentence.