All Chapters of Between Her Shithead And The Wrong Brother : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Ariella’s POV.Small inconsistencies began to appear around headquarters. Certain board members received calls they couldn’t trace. Emails vanished before being read. The air carried unease, quiet but spreading. I noticed the pattern when three senior executives requested temporary leave within forty-eight hours. None gave a reason, only citing “internal pressure.” I didn’t need an explanation. Someone had started pulling threads again.That evening, Damon called Jace into his office without prior notice. I wasn’t present, but I knew why. He wanted to confirm alignment before the next quarter’s report. The conversation stayed civil from what I gathered, but silence told the rest. Jace promised cooperation; Damon reminded him that deviation would end everything. Neither believed the other, and both understood that my name on the document was the only thing holding the structure together.Later, Damon stayed behind, watching the city fade beyond the glass. I knew that posture, control,

Ariella’s POVThe week began without confrontation. Damon and I maintained silence, keeping every move calculated. The board’s tone softened but stayed cautious, waiting to see if calm meant recovery or regrouping. Jace stayed distant, replying to messages with brevity and avoiding public appearances. Every department worked under quiet instruction, order restored but not trusted.I knew his mother had resumed oversight of Talon’s legal and compliance units. She expected me to overreach, to control too tightly, or show fatigue. But I gave her nothing, just neutral updates, measured progress, and silent accuracy. Investor confidence began to rise, and for the first time in months, she issued no complaint, only a simple instruction: continue observation.I stayed focused on structure, not approval. Every policy adjustment was deliberate, meant to close leaks, not display control. I kept all executives informed at the same time, avoiding favoritism and misinterpretation. My tone in meeti

Ariella’s POVThe event began as scheduled. Damon handled the pre-briefing coordination while I finalized the investor summary. His mother’s confirmation came an hour before we arrived; she would attend as an observer, not a participant. The message was brief, deliberate, and heavy with implication. It meant she was done watching from the shadows; she wanted to see my performance in the open. I prepared my outline with no adjustments. Observation didn’t change purpose; it only refined timing.Before the briefing, Damon and I reviewed the sequence once more. His focus was on tone, mine on precision. He said little, knowing the outcome depended on perception, not numbers. I reminded him that his mother would analyze posture, not content. He agreed, reminding me that she didn’t reward talent; she rewarded restraint. That was fine; I had learned that silence often won where logic failed.The hall was arranged as expected, neat, neutral, and deliberately impersonal. I stood at the center,

Ariella’s POV.That maneuver changed tone immediately. The market narrative flipped, casting Talon as a target rather than a source of conflict. Damon’s mother remained seated during the update, her focus entirely on me as I summarized. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t question, didn’t offer correction. When I finished, she gave a short statement: “You respond to precision with precision. That’s how control survives chaos.” Damon didn’t speak. He simply glanced at me, acknowledgment without expression.When the call with regulators ended, she dismissed the department heads but asked us to remain. Her voice was even, deliberate. “Today was a measure, not an accident,” she said. “Competence protects bloodlines. You’ve both passed.” She turned to me fully for the first time and added, “You protect him well.” It wasn’t sentiment; it was acknowledgment rendered as a verdict.“She’s not easily impressed,” he said quietly. I answered that respect from her was strategic currency. He agreed. The s

Ariella’s POV.Later that week, she hosted a review session with the core directors. It was the first time since the transition that she had included me in her address. She didn’t introduce me or frame the reason; she simply allowed the meeting to unfold with me at her right side. When a proposal was challenged, she deferred to my judgment, and no one questioned it. At that moment, more than her earlier words sealed the transition. Authority was no longer symbolic; it had become a matter of procedure.After the meeting, Damon found me alone in the archive hall. He asked what she had said exactly, the part I hadn’t shared. I told him she said I had earned her trust because of what he represented. He smiled slightly. He understood that, in her world, that was the highest form of blessing. He asked if I believed her. I said belief was irrelevant. Acknowledgment was action, and that was enough.He reached for my hand and said it was the first time he had felt that the family had accepted