The resolve

The heavy mahogany door slammed shut with a deafening bang that reverberated through the suite, rattling a framed abstract painting on the wall. June leaned against it, her breath ragged, her chest heaving as though she’d run a marathon. The sleek silence of the room did little to calm her racing heart. Her hands trembled. Her palms were damp. The skin on her cheeks still burned where his breath had touched her.

She tore off her blazer, flinging it across the room. It landed limply on a velvet chair near the window, a symbolic surrender of composure. She paced—back and forth, back and forth heels clicking furiously against the marble floor as if motion alone could burn away the feelings clawing their way back to the surface.

“How could you be so cheap, June?” she muttered, disgust thick in her voice. “How could you let him get to you like that?”

Her reflection in the mirror across the room stared back at her immaculate, powerful, commanding. But the fire behind her eyes was a twisted mix of rage and shame.

That same man—the man who had broken her. Who had once looked her in the face and told her to leave as if her love meant nothing. Who had banished her from the home they built together after accusing her of weakness. Of failing him.

And then… there was the loss.

Her fingers subconsciously moved to her stomach—the place that had once held promise. Life. A future.

She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the memory.

But it came anyway.

The rain had pounded the windows that night. The house was a battlefield of broken words and accusations. Larry’s voice, cold and thunderous, rang through the halls:

“You’re too emotional, June. Always so damn dramatic. I can’t live like this anymore.”

She had begged him to understand. To see her. To remember the love that once lit their world.

He had looked at her like a stranger.

“You’re not the woman I married.”

The pain of rejection had been sharp enough to stop her heart. But the pain that came after the cramps, the bleeding, the ambulance ride, and finally, the sterile silence of the hospital room was something she would never forget.

She had lost her baby alone.

And Larry hadn’t even called.

June sank onto the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets in clenched fists as the tidal wave of emotion washed over her.

“You destroyed me,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. “You took everything. My child. My home. My dignity. And I spent years rebuilding from the ashes you left behind.”

Her father’s voice echoed in her memory firm, commanding, loving.

“Pain is the forge of power, Junebug. Let it temper you. Not shatter you.”

And she had.

She had risen.

She had buried June-the-victim and given birth to June-the-architect-of-ruin. Her empire, her calculated patience, her rise to the chair of Williams Holdings it had all been part of the plan.

To take everything back.

To take everything from him.

And yet here she was… trembling from the feel of his hands on hers. Breathless from his nearness. Ashamed.

“I should have spat in his face,” she growled, standing again. “I should’ve reminded him of what he cost me.”

She marched to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. Her reflection looked no less haunted.

“Your baby would be ashamed,” she whispered to herself, voice trembling. “Your family… your mother, your father they would look at you now and see weakness.”

She gripped the counter until her knuckles turned white.

“No,” she hissed. “No more slipping. No more softness. This ends now.”

She walked back into the bedroom with purpose, her steps slower but heavier now. She moved to her desk, pulling out the thick leather portfolio Claire had left earlier. Inside were documents: restructuring plans, legal amendments, staff dismissals. But also… the report on Larry.

She opened it slowly, her eyes scanning the surveillance details, financial leaks, and internal emails that had been collected by her team. Patterns. Weaknesses. Vulnerabilities.

Larry had gotten comfortable again. He thought her presence was about nostalgia. That his charm could work again. That he could dig his hooks into her with words, with memories, with whispers from a bed long turned cold.

He was wrong.

June pressed a button on the desk intercom.

“Yes, ma’am?” Claire’s voice came through instantly.

“Get the team ready. I want a full audit of every asset tied to Larry Williams. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Any side holdings he’s protected.”

“Understood,” Claire replied, her tone brisk. “What about the press release?”

“Hold it,” June said, eyes narrowing. “I want to keep the acquisition under the radar a little longer. Let Larry think he still has time. Let him relax.”

She picked up a pen and scribbled something on a notepad. A name. A department. A date.

“We’re going to take him apart piece by piece,” she said to herself. “Not just his company. Not just his pride. But his legacy. The way he once dismantled me.”

She flipped to the final page of the report an image of Larry standing outside one of his lesser-known properties. His expression was calm. Almost smug.

June stared at it, her expression hardening into steel.

“You might still haunt my body, Larry,” she whispered. “But this time… I’m the one with the knife.”

She folded the report shut and placed it neatly in her drawer, locking it with a quiet click. Then she walked toward the window and pulled back the curtain.

The city was alive beneath her, glittering like a thousand fragile lies.

She was done being haunted.

She wasn’t going to fall again.

She would burn him slowly, elegantly, methodically until he had nothing left but regrets and the ruins of a kingdom he thought he built alone.

And this time…

She wouldn’t stop until the ashes bore her name.