He doesn’t get to do that to me. He doesn’t get to carve me open and walk away like I’m nothing. I won’t give him that kind of power. Not today. Not ever.
I push into my room and slam the door before my knees can wobble. My fists clench. My chest rises and falls too fast. And God, the tears are right there, but I swallow them down like poison, forcing myself to breathe through the burn.
What can I do to prove to this bastard that I’m more than a pawn?
That I’m not some woman he can subjugate or bend to his will?
I’m my own damn boss—no matter the trap, no matter the pressure, no matter how hard he tries to shove me into a corner.
I don’t need his approval.
I don’t need his permission.
And I sure as hell don’t need his protection.
If he wants to see who I am, then he’s going to see everything—the sharp edges, the stubbornness, the fire he keeps trying to stamp out. I’ll show him with every decision I make, every step I take, every time I refuse to cower when he expects me to fold.
He thinks he holds the strings?
Fine. Let him believe that.
I’ll cut them one by one until he’s the one tangled and choking.
I’ll stand my ground.
I’ll win.
And he’ll have no choice but to look at me—not as something to use, but as someone he can’t control, can’t predict, can’t break.
I’ll prove it the only way that counts:
By refusing to be small.
By refusing to be scared.
By refusing him.
He wants a pawn? He’s about to meet the queen.
Chapter 7 – Dimitri
I spend the entire morning locked in my private office, drowning in transactions, contracts, and the endless files Sylvester keeps sliding across my desk like offerings to a god he’s afraid to disappoint.
The numbers behave.
People don’t.
I sign off on three acquisitions, reject two sloppy proposals, and tear apart a report someone clearly thought I wouldn’t read closely. Amateurs. Half the world fears my name, yet these idiots still test me.
But there’s one file on the edge of my table that I don’t touch.
I don’t have to.
I’ve had it for weeks—months, really. I’ve memorized every page, every line, every lie dressed up as truth. Still, I keep it right there, within reach, like a splinter beneath the skin.
A reminder.
Of what I’m supposed to do.
