Milo Kelly sucked in a slow breath and went quiet.

He turned the idea over in his mind, but he didn't dare say it out loud. If word got around, it would wreck his reputation in the industry. Falling for someone new was common enough, but snatching someone else's company in the process? That would make him look terrible. The cleanest outcome would be for Ariyah Griffin to accept a buyout and walk away on her own. After all, she hadn't actually run the company in years; it was only fair. If people talked, they'd only say the spark had died between them—nothing scandalous.

He knew Alyssa Jenkins was the woman he truly cared about now. Alyssa was soft-spoken and understanding, never raising her voice or acting like a spoiled brat. She'd started out as an assistant sent by the partner company during the merger, helping him organize materials. Somewhere between late nights at the office and too much coffee, they'd fallen into each other's arms. Before long, they'd brought a child into the picture.

“I don't want this turning ugly, Ariyah,” Milo said, his voice carefully diplomatic. “I'm not asking you to vanish. I'll take care of you—more than generously. You'll still live comfortably. It won't be much different from now.”

Ariyah let out a dry laugh. She could read every simple thought written all over his face. All those years she'd spent grooming him, and he still hadn't matured one bit.

“I've already given you your option. There is no alternative,” Ariyah said, steel in her voice. “Milo, don't forget—we may not have had the wedding yet, but when those shares were transferred, we filed our marriage license at City Hall.”

“Your mistress will not take my place unless I agree. And you won't walk away with those assets until I sign off. Think it over.”

Ariyah signaled Joan with a single glance. Her eyes turned icy. “Mr. Kelly, take your things and leave.”

By “things,” she meant Alyssa—the woman who'd actually had the nerve to challenge Ariyah.

As the words landed, the dozen security personnel waiting outside filed in and cleared a path toward the door.

“Ariyah, I don't want this getting messy. A fight would only end in mutual destruction—nobody wins. Think it over,” Milo said, pulling Alyssa and their daughter along as he made his exit.

The office fell into quiet chaos. Several outside meetings had been scheduled around Milo's return, and now the young secretary hovered, unsure who had the authority to sign off on the paperwork.

Ariyah fixed the hesitant secretary with a pointed look and raised her voice. “Bring the files to me. From now on, every document comes through me.”

Her words weren't meant only for the secretary—they were for everyone in that room.

The secretary exhaled in relief and rushed over with the stack of documents, silently praying she wouldn't get caught in the crossfire of a power struggle.

Milo's first stop with Alyssa was the countryside manor, only to find that Ariyah had already changed the door code remotely. They were locked out.

Frustrated, he pounded on the door, expecting Belen Howell to be home around the clock. “Weird. She should be here,” he muttered, kicking the door once more. Still no answer.

“Daddy, I'm hungry,” the little girl whined, restless from the drive.

His patience already wearing thin, Milo decided to take them to his parents' place instead.

Alyssa was thrilled. After seeing the sprawling manor with its gardens, she wanted the title Mrs. Kelly more than ever. She already had the daughter. A little effort to give him a son, and her position would be secure!

Lost in her fantasies of wealth, she jolted back to reality when the car rolled to a stop in a modest neighborhood.

“Where are we, Milo?” Alyssa asked, confused, scanning the bustling outskirts—the kind of place teeming with street vendors and dirt.

Suspiciously, she hesitated, one foot already out the door, then pulled it back like the sidewalk might stain her shoes.

Milo, too wrapped up in his own excitement to notice her discomfort, beamed. “Alyssa, this is my parents' place. Come on—I'll introduce you to them!”

...

“What?” Alyssa's dreams hit a speed bump.

She'd imagined a Wall Street darling like Milo would come from old money, not... this.

Inside the dimly lit apartment cluttered with odds and ends, Alyssa grimaced, stepping carefully. Worse, there was no elevator, and they had to climb five flights of stairs.

“Milo, why haven't you moved your parents somewhere nicer?” she asked, unable to keep the dissatisfaction out of her voice.

“They've lived here forever. They know everyone, and they don't want to move,” Milo explained, shifting the child in his arms. He conveniently left out the part where his mother had lived with them at the manor for a while—until Ariyah's endless complaints drove her storming back home.

His mother, thrilled by her son's call, had prepared a feast. When she saw her granddaughter at the door, she lit up.

“Such a lovely child! That Griffin woman didn't want kids and wasted my son's best years. Awful woman!” she huffed, kissing the child.

“Mom, let's not bring that up. This is Alyssa,” Milo said quickly.

Alyssa stepped forward with a warm smile, relieved to find that Milo's mother didn't look like the loud, rough women she'd seen outside.

Milo's mother was equally pleased. Compared to that demanding heiress and her never-ending grievances, Alyssa seemed gentle and easy to handle.

After dinner, as Alyssa dutifully washed the dishes, Milo's mother whispered to her son.

“Have you spoken to Ariyah? What's the plan?”

“She turned down my offer. Told me I should leave empty-handed.” Milo frowned. “Mom, maybe those assets aren't worth it. I can start over. It wouldn't be that hard.”

“Don't talk nonsense!” she interrupted. “You didn't get this far just to give it all up. You built that empire. Why would you walk away?”

She hesitated, then leaned in and whispered, “If it comes down to it, pretend to make nice with Ariyah, find a lawyer, and quietly move the assets.”

Milo glanced toward Alyssa in the kitchen and nodded slowly. In the end, it was all for the good of his family.

As night settled, Ariyah sought refuge at a nearby bar with Joan, nursing their drinks in contemplative silence.

“Ariyah, tell me you're not still hung up on that jerk. Please don't go all lovesick and let him fool you again,” Joan said, worry plain in her voice.

Ariyah shook her head. “Of course not. I'm just figuring out my next move. He's made it clear he won't stop until he gets something.”

“So what's the plan? Every cent you hand that man feels like a loss.”

“Oh, I'll give him something,” Ariyah said, sipping her drink. “But there's no way we're taking a loss.”

“Oh, really?” Joan leaned in, intrigued. “So you've got a plan?”

The bar’s dim lighting cast a hazy neon glow over Ariyah Griffin’s face, but it couldn’t hide the sharp glint in her eyes. Her gaze was a sheathed dagger, poised to strike at any second. Her father had raised her to be decisive and ruthless, hoping she could go toe-to-toe with men in this world. Little did he know she’d turn those very traits on her marriage.

“Milo Kelly won’t leave this marriage with a single cent—not a stock option, not a car key, nothing,” she stated, her voice calm but absolute. “The house, the car, the company shares, all the connections I helped him build—everything I’ve poured my heart into over the years—I’m taking it all back. Cleanly. Completely.”

She looked down at the amber liquid in her glass, swirling it slowly.

Joan nodded, relief easing the tension in her chest. She knew exactly how much Ariyah had poured into shaping Milo into the man he was. Giving up wasn’t an option—not when the time and effort could swallow a person whole. Ariyah had never been one to get swept away by her emotions, and Joan was grateful that, at least, hadn’t changed.

Joan had been by Ariyah’s side since graduation, more sister than assistant. She adored the Griffin family, but she’d never been able to stomach Milo. From their first meeting, something about Milo’s supposedly earnest eyes struck her as calculating. But back then, Ariyah had wanted to please her father, so she’d rushed in without a second thought.

Now Milo, thinking he was untouchable, had the nerve to bring another woman—and a child—into the picture as leverage. Joan hadn’t seen that coming. He’d waited until Mr. Griffin was away, assuming Ariyah couldn’t make any real trouble on her own.

Ariyah scrolled through her phone, stopping when a headline caught her eye: Solstice Capital had just closed another major international acquisition. The story shot straight to the top of the business news. But most people were far more interested in the ridiculously handsome photo attached to it.

It was an old photo of Solstice Capital’s founder, Pablo Williams. He was mid-handshake with some foreign dignitary, his sharp profile and perfect posture making him look like he’d walked straight out of a CEO drama.

“Wait, aren’t CEOs supposed to be bald and out of shape? How is Pablo this good-looking?”

“Look how old that photo is. It’s probably ancient—he’s got to have let himself go by now…”

Ariyah let out a soft laugh. If she hadn’t met him in person today, she might have agreed with the comments, assuming the photo was doing all the work. But thinking back to their encounter earlier that day—and those clear eyes she’d looked up into—she felt something stir. A wave of unease hit her, so she knocked back another drink, letting the warmth settle in her chest.

But why had Pablo shown up here today? Had he heard about Milo’s antics and come sniffing around for talent? In hindsight, giving Milo that kind of platform had been a mistake—it had put him on every investment bank’s radar. The thought sat heavy in her chest, and she turned off her phone.

When her phone lit up again, Milo’s name flashed on the screen.

“Has this man no shame? Why the hell is he calling?” Joan burst out the second she saw the name.

Ariyah only smiled and set the phone aside. But Milo was relentless. One missed call turned into another, then another. Eventually, a text popped up: “Heard from a friend you’re at Starry Night Bar. Wait for me.”

Ariyah frowned and handed the phone to Joan.

“That guy is just disgusting. Let’s get out of here! Why meet him? To listen to his lame excuses about how hard cheating is?” Joan fumed, already trying to tug Ariyah out of her seat.

“Maybe we should wait. Could be a good show,” Ariyah countered, shaking her head and sliding back into her seat.

A few drinks later, Milo appeared at the door. He hesitated, clearly surprised to see Ariyah sitting out in the open—he’d expected her to be avoiding him.

Ariyah held his gaze, steady and defiant, until he started to squirm.

“Ariyah, I want to talk,” he said, finding his nerve as he walked over.

“I’ve thought it over. Bringing Alyssa and the child back was thoughtless of me,” he admitted, though the apology was more about logistics than morals.

Ariyah stared at him with ice in her eyes. He was apologizing for bringing the woman back—not for betraying her in the first place. It was obvious he wasn’t really sorry; he was just buying time to make a play for the company shares. The man had no heart.

“So, have you decided? Are she and the child leaving, or are you all leaving together?” she asked, her tone lazy.

Milo’s fists clenched. “Ariyah, Alyssa is alone here. If I send her away, she’ll be stranded with the child. Just give me some time to sort this out, okay?”

His voice was smooth, but inside he was cursing Ariyah’s cold heart. The kid was only two—where were they supposed to go?

“Oh, so is it love or guilt?” Ariyah pressed.

Milo gritted his teeth. “Let’s go home and talk about this in private.”

He reached out, his cold fingers brushing her arm. Ariyah jerked back like she’d been burned, leaving him clutching nothing but her sleeve. The man before her felt like a snake now; any touch was repulsive.

Joan was already on her feet, ready to shove Milo out, when his phone rang.

After taking the call, Milo’s expression turned serious. He released her sleeve with obvious reluctance. “Ariyah, Alyssa’s fallen ill and can’t look after the child. I have to go.”

Alyssa had timed it perfectly, knowing he’d be with Ariyah. Her timing was surgical.

Ariyah almost laughed. Instead, she let a mocking tenderness settle over her face as she looked at Milo. “Stay with me, will you? I’m a little drunk. Keep me company?”

The conflict on Milo’s face only made Ariyah more amused. She had to pinch her leg to keep from laughing out loud. Who did Milo think he was, standing there paralyzed with indecision?

Milo hesitated, then shot her an apologetic look. “Ariyah, wait for me at home. We’ll talk then. I have to go see the child. She’s just a little girl…”

Ariyah tuned him out. She already knew exactly what he’d say next—and none of it meant anything.

Milo rushed to the hospital, where Alyssa was waiting in the ER downtown.

“Alyssa, what happened? Why didn’t you go to the one closer to home?” Milo asked, pressing a worried hand to her feverish forehead. There was a hospital just a short walk from home, and it was less crowded, too.

Alyssa, her eyes half-closed, murmured, “I’m new here, so I got lost. Sorry, Milo—am I bothering you?”

But she knew exactly how close the other hospital was. She’d chosen the one downtown on purpose, hoping to draw a crowd. Without the extra attention, the fever she’d brought on by standing in a cold shower for half an hour would have gone completely unnoticed.

Ariyah Griffin had tipped off several media outlets ahead of time, and they showed up hungry for a scoop. With AEI Equity's CEO under scrutiny, no one wanted to miss a front-page story. The hospital entrance, already busy, was soon crowded with reporters.

Alyssa Jenkins had been running her mouth, painting Ariyah as arrogant, dismissive, and cruel to anyone she considered beneath her. To sell the story, she even leaked a handful of carefully cherry-picked photos of Ariyah looking cold and stern. Word spread that Alyssa was Milo’s first love and the real victim, ripped away from him because of Ariyah’s interference.

“I don’t need to strong-arm an intern,” Ariyah quipped, letting out a low chuckle as she glanced at the headlines.

“Aren’t you worried?” Joan was pacing the living room, visibly on edge. “There’s gossip everywhere. How can you stay so calm?”

Alyssa had already claimed the moral high ground, backing Ariyah into a corner. Scandals involving the rich and powerful were impossible to resist, and reporters were swarming both the hospital and Ariyah’s estate.

Joan was furiously dialing every PR agency, demanding to know what they were doing about the media circus. The agencies were drowning, barely able to keep up with the onslaught.

“So, Joan, is there any truth to the claims that Ariyah bullied people?” one of them actually had the nerve to ask.

Joan’s only response was to hurl her phone across the room in a fit of frustration.

Ariyah, however, remained cool and collected. Sipping her coffee, she laid out her plan without a flicker of worry. “There’s no rush. Alyssa’s the one who should be worried. The longer I wait, the more she’ll suffocate in uncertainty. Let her stew. She’ll end up pressuring Milo to make a move.”

The gossip kept circulating, eventually reaching even Solstice Capital. Matthew Robertson burst into Pablo Williams’ office, eyes bright with excitement. “I’ve got some seriously juicy news.”

Pablo didn’t bother lifting his gaze from his paperwork. “Is this about Ariyah being accused of throwing her weight around? Anything new?”

“And there’s talk she might be a mistress!”

“Anything else?”

Matthew hesitated, still perpetually puzzled by Pablo’s unreadable expressions.

“A ton of fake stories are floating around, and yet Milo hasn’t said a word,” Pablo mused, his brow furrowed. Ariyah had stood by Milo through everything, and now he was proving to be a man who did little except leave chaos in his wake. Well, this was a lucky break. His eyes flickered as he shuffled through the merger documents in front of him.

“Any word on a divorce?” Pablo asked, throwing Matthew off balance.

“Divorce? I haven’t heard anything like that. But word is Milo’s refusing to hand back the shares and won’t give up the woman and kid he brought over. They’re at a standoff.”

“Milo’s an interesting character—looks dependable, but then he moves in silence, like snatching someone else’s territory,” Matthew noted, right up until Pablo’s glare shut him up.

That man was unpredictable—it was best not to provoke him.

After two days of recovering at home, Ariyah reappeared as if nothing had ever happened and headed straight for the office. Delays weren’t an option; the company was in chaos.

Joan, sitting next to her in the car, kept glancing at the media vans tailing them. “Ariyah, this scandal could wreck the company’s reputation, right?”

“We have several major international deals lined up. If our partners decide to back out... the losses could be severe.”

Joan had a point. Ariyah had put her personal feelings aside a long time ago, but Milo had built a name for himself under her mentorship. Pulling him off key projects without warning would only create a mess.

Milo had the nerve to negotiate with her because he knew it too. Solstice Capital was tied up in several critical international mergers set to close before the end of the year. If Milo sabotaged those deals out of spite, AEI Equity’s year-end financials would take a devastating hit.

“One step at a time,” Ariyah said. “I’ll approach Solstice’s founder and see if they’d agree to a change in project lead...”

But even as she said it, a faint trace of uncertainty slipped into her tone. It rarely worked out in situations like this. When it came to building partnerships, people put more faith in an individual than in a company.

Cutting Milo out of both the company and the group entirely would be brutal—like carving flesh from bone. It would bleed the company dry. And judging by Alyssa’s stance, there was no way she’d let Milo give up his claim on the family assets. A showdown was inevitable.

As a light rain began to fall, Joan told the driver to pull up to the company’s side entrance, managing to shake off the media. Ariyah slid on her sunglasses and stepped out—only to freeze when a voice called out from behind.