CHAPTER 3: BATTLELINE HAS BEEN DRAWN.

DANTE:

The next day, the office felt different.

Employees avoided eye contact when I walked past. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the executives moved carefully, speaking in measured tones, correcting themselves before I had to.

Fear.

Good. I'd rather be feared than loved. Fear kept people sharp. Kept them obedient.

I was halfway through a meeting with the finance team when Martin knocked.

"Sir, I need a moment."

I waved him in. "Make it quick."

He hesitated, glancing at the others in the room. "Privately, if possible."

I dismissed the team, then leaned back in my chair. "What is it?"

Martin set a folder on my desk. "The Meadowbrook project. It's our next major acquisition. It's a land development for a luxury resort. The investors are traditional, family-oriented. They only work with people they trust."

"And?"

"The land is in Ms. Wealth's hometown."

I went still.

Martin continued, oblivious. "She knows the area. Knows the people. She's the only one who can navigate the local politics and convince them to sell. Without her..." He trailed off.

"Without her, what?"

"Without her, the deal might be difficult."

I stared at the folder, not moving or opening it.

"She's irreplaceable on this, sir," Martin added quietly. "Essential."

That word sat heavy in the room.

Irreplaceable.

I hated it. Hated needing anyone. Especially her.

"Find someone else."

"There is no one else. She's been cultivating relationships there for months. If we bring in a stranger, they'll shut us out."

My hands rested flat on the desk. I could feel the tension coiling in my chest, pressure building behind my ribs.

I needed this deal. Needed this company to succeed.  Not just succeed but dominate. Become the crown jewel

And she was the only way to make it happen.

Martin shifted his weight. "Should I... reach out to her?"

I looked up. Met his gaze.

"I don't bring people back."

Martin nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what I'd just said.

But as he turned to leave, I felt the heat in my nerves that wouldn't let go.

I loosened my tie. Just enough to breathe.

Martin paused at the door. "Sir?"

"Find someone else," I angrily repeated, loud enough for him to hear. "What could be so difficult about convincing a town full of retirees to sell their boring properties for compensation they'll never see again in their lifetimes?"

Martin turned back, his expression careful. "With all due respect, sir, that demographic is the hardest to negotiate with. They don't care about money the way younger sellers do. They care about legacy. Trust. Tradition. They need someone who understands their values, someone they can relate to." He paused. "Someone from their community."

I said nothing.

"This deal is massive, Mr. Moretti. The profit projections from the resort exceed anything we've done before. It would be the largest development in that region's history. The small sacrifice of reinstating Ms. Wealth is worth it."

Exhaling out of defeat, "temporarily," I muttered.

"Pardon, sir?"

"Ms. Wealth will be brought back temporarily, just for this project."

"Understood, sir."

I leaned back, jaw tight. "How long do we have?"

"Until New Year's. Other companies are circling. Whoever presents the most strategic, trustworthy proposal wins." He hesitated. "We need to move fast."

I waved him off. "Leave the files."

He set the folder on my desk and left.

The room felt too quiet again.

I opened the folder, scanning page after page of projections, land surveys, investor profiles. Everything looked solid. Clean. Profitable.

Then I saw the list of competing companies.

Third from the top: Moretti & Ashford Holdings.

My stepfather's company.

My vision narrowed. Blood rushed in my ears. Old anger stirred like something with teeth.

Of course he was after this deal. The bastard probably had his sights on it the moment the investors made their intentions public. And if he won? If his company secured the Meadowbrook project while mine failed?

He'd make sure the entire world knew.

I could already hear his smooth, condescending voice, reminding everyone that I'd tried and failed. Meaning, I wasn't cut out for this level of business, that I should've stayed in his shadow where I belonged.

Not a chance in hell.

I pushed emotion aside, forcing myself to think logically. The deal was worth billions. The prestige alone would cement my company's reputation not just as a real estate mogul but a major and strategic developer. And if I beat my stepfather in the process?

That was worth swallowing my pride.

I pressed the intercom. "Martin. Get her back today."

"Yes, sir."

***

Hours passed.

I worked through emails, calls, contract revisions to keep my mind occupied. But every few minutes, I found myself glancing at the door, waiting.

Unconsciously, I found myself remembering the curve of her mouth when she argued with me—soft shape, fierce words. It irritated me that I could picture it so clearly. I shoved the thought away, shaking my head like I could force my mind back into line.

Finally, someone knocked.

Thank goodness. That was a welcome distraction.

Martin announced himself before stepping inside.

I didn't look up from my laptop. "Of course she came back." I closed the screen, leaning forward. "We'll start next week. I want a full briefing on the investors by Monday, travel arrangements finalized by Wednesday, and—"

"She refused."

I froze.

Martin cleared his throat. "Ms. Wealth declined the offer."

Silence.

"She said..." He shifted uncomfortably. "She'll only engage in further communication if you personally apologize for what happened. And she's requesting a private, one-on-one meeting with you before she agrees to anything."

I stared at him.

He stared back, waiting.

Then I laughed humorless. "She wants me to apologize."

"Yes, sir."

"To her."

"Yes, sir."

My hands curled into fists on the desk. "She threw coffee on me. Disrespected me in front of the entire executive team. And she wants an apology?"

Martin said nothing.

I stood, pacing to the window. The city below, lights coming on and off in the dusk.The glass carried the day’s fading warmth, but it did nothing for the chill crawling beneath my collar.

 Somewhere out there, Cinnamon Wealth was sitting in her apartment, smug and satisfied, thinking she had leverage.

She did.

And she knew it.

"Set up the meeting," I said quietly.

Martin nodded. "When?"

"Tomorrow. My office. 6 PM."

"I'll arrange it."

He left.

I stood at the window long after he was gone, staring at my reflection in the glass.

Cinnamon Wealth had just made this personal.

And I never lost when things got personal.