"You lied to me, Leah. Five years ago, you showed me doctored photos. You answered my phone and you told Della I had gone back to you, that she was a mistake. You used my grief and her isolation to break us apart for your own gain. You didn't just interfere in my business. You interfered in my life. That ends. Today."
The color drains from her face. She is speechless, staring at me as if seeing a ghost.
"If you fight this," I continue, my voice like a blade. "I will not only counter-sue, but I will also make public the evidence of your father’s affairs. Your reputation, your standing... it will all burn it all to ash. You made your move. Now, I’m making mine. We’re done.”
I stand and button my jacket, eyes locked on hers, my voice like steel.
“So, you will take the generous offer in that folder, you will sign the non-disclosure agreement on the last page, and you will walk out of my life. Forever."
She doesn’t breathe for a moment. Her gaze drills into mine, pupils blown wide, fury and fear colliding. Then she stares at the papers, her hands trembling almost imperceptible—but enough. Her power is leaking out of her, control bleeding away inch by inch.
With a jerky motion, she takes the pen and signs every page without another word. Each stroke is loud in the silence, ink scratching like a wound.
When she’s done, she shoves the folder forward, too hard, the corner catching on the wood. She rises abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the floor, and stalks toward the door.
At the threshold, she whips her head back. Her eyes burn with rage, unmasked now, wild.
“You have no idea what you just did, Dorian.”
I watch her go and feel nothing. Just a void where a memory used to be. Once, I thought I loved her. Once, I even pictured a family. Later, I convinced myself the professional ties were enough—logical, profitable.
My mistake was compartmentalizing the past, believing the woman who signed contracts was different from the one who broke promises. I mistook her ambition and need of control for partnership. I underestimated the rot underneath.
There is no triumph, today. No satisfaction. Only the grim finality of a mess I should have ended years ago.
But the sting of her last look and those final words lingers, sharp and poisonous.
I know Leah Kingsley is already plotting her next move.
* * *
Leah
The glass door of Dorian’s office clicks shut behind me. For a moment, I stand in the hallway, breath steady. Not because of shock or distress. No.Just to memorize this moment, this feeling—the sharp, clean edge of pure fury.
Dorian will pay for this.
He didn't even flinch. He just sat there and dismissed me as if I never meant anything. As if I didn’t forge him into the man he is today.
So, this is his move. Fine.
But this is a game I will win.
My heels click like gunshots on the floor as I pace towards Julian’s office, nails biting into my palms until the pain centers me. The professional mask slips off; underneath is something colder, clinical.
Julian is at his desk, sorting a stack of files, head down. He looks up just as I approach him and he scrambles to his feet.
“Miss Kingsley” he stammers.
“In here. Now.” My voice is a splinter of ice. I don't wait for him, pushing past his desk into the small coffee nook behind it. He follows, nervous energy skittering off him.
"What happened?" I demand, my voice a low, threatening whisper. "Why now? What did that little charity case tell him at the lake house?"
Julian holds on to the counter, trying to find the words. "Ms. Kingsley, I—I don't know the details, I swear. He's just been… different since he got back. Focused. Like he’d already decided something."
"Focused on what?" I snarl, taking a step closer until he has nowhere to retreat. “On wiping me out? On letting some ghost take what was mine?”
Just then, my eyes catch a movement down the hall. David—Dorian’s bloodhound—is walking toward the office. I instinctively pull Julian deeper into the shadow, turning my back just enough to obscure us.
