Aria
The memory of him walking out through those conference doors still lingers, like a storm cloud in my head. Waving me off like I was some kind of child who had nothing important to say.
Cold voice, sharp suit, eyes that looked at me like I was beneath him.
Nikolai Ivanov. Pompous, arrogant prick.
Now I'm in my father's office, and my voice is sharper than I intend.
"You can't just give up your company for some measly amount that arrogant man offered. Do you hear yourself, Papa? He's not buying stock. He's buying you out. Completely."
My father's hand slams against his desk. "Enough, Aria. You don't understand how these things work."
My nails dig into my palms. "I do understand. I'm a shareholder, remember? My voice matters in this too. You don't get to dismiss me like some child."
His eyes narrow, but he doesn't argue further. He just leans back in his chair, tired, resigned. It makes something twist in my chest.
I push away before I say something I'll regret. "I'll be in my office."
By the time I'm at my desk, I've pulled up the damn contract myself. My eyes comb through line after line, determined, stubborn. There has to be something. A hole.
And then—I find it. My lips twitch, satisfaction curling through me. Clause fourteen, buried halfway down the page. If Papa sells, he loses all ties, all authority, any possible leverage left with the company. Clean cut. No going back. Nothing.
He wouldn't just be selling shares. He'd be erasing himself from the company's future entirely.
My smile doesn't last for long. What if papa already knew? Is he really willing to sell..
I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, adrenaline coursing through me. Got you.
By the time I look up, the office is dark. Everyone's gone. My phone buzzes, breaking the silence.
Claire.
I swipe open the screen, already seeing the group chat with her and Donna lighting up.
Claire: "Club night. Don't even try to say no."
Donna: [Picture of the two of them in tiny black dresses, drinks in hand, grinning at the camera.]
Donna's caption: 'Don't make us suffer alone, babe. Come sin with us.'
I laugh under my breath, shaking my head. My thumbs fly over the screen.
Me: "Tempting. But no. Some of us have real work to do."
"Boooring," Claire replies instantly, with five eye-roll emojis.
I lock my phone, still smiling faintly. Not tonight. I'm too wired, and too focused. Too ready to shove this document in my father's face tomorrow before he signs our legacy away.
I'm shutting down my computer when Matthew appears at my door.
"Late night?" he asks, falling into step beside me as I head for the elevator.
"Something like that."
He's nice. Too nice. He's the kind of guy who always lingers a little too long, always finds an excuse to walk me out and always looks at me like I hung the stars. He's had a crush on me for like nearly forever and i've known about it, but it doesn't matter. Not with the company policy. And not with me having zero interest.
Still, I smile politely as we step out into the night air. "Thanks for walking me out."
"Anytime." His smile is boyish, hopeful.
Tonight, my head is high, my steps lighter. I've got leverage. I've got a card to play.
Tomorrow, before Papa makes a mistake he can't undo, I'll make sure Nikolai Ivanov regrets ever thinking he could undercut us.
…
The house smells like home—lemon polish, fresh lilies, and something warm from the kitchen. For a moment, I almost forget why I'm here.
Almost.
"Aria?" My mother's voice rings out as soon as I step inside. She's curled up on the sofa in her silk robe, a half-read novel in her lap. Her eyes light up as she rushes to me, arms wrapping around me tightly. "What are you doing here at this hour? You hardly visit anymore."
The guilt pinches. I hug her back, inhaling the familiar comfort of her perfume. "I know, Mama. I've just been busy. But I had to come tonight."
She leans back, her smile dimming, sadness slipping into her gaze. "Busy, always busy. You're just like your father."
I force a small laugh, but inside, the weight presses harder. She deserves more of me, but tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about stopping Papa from giving away everything he's built.
"Where is he?" I ask.
"In his office." She touches my cheek, her hand soft, searching. "Don't fight with him tonight, Aria. He looks… tired."
I nod, but my resolve doesn't falter. "I'll be gentle."
I head down the hall, my heels tapping against the hardwood, the familiar path to my father's office both comforting and heavy. I knock once, then push open the door.
He's there—sitting behind his desk, glass of amber liquid in hand, papers spread out like a battlefield before him. He looks… old. Older than he should. The misery in his eyes cuts through me.
"Papa," I say softly, stepping inside. "What's wrong?"
He forces a weak smile. "Nothing, Aria. Just the weight of decisions." He gestures to the papers. "If you've come here to talk me out of the deal, then I can't help you. My mind is set."
"Not if I can change it."
I stride forward, pulling the contract out of my bag. My heart pounds as I spread the pages across his desk. "Look. Clause fourteen. It strips you of everything. The second you sign, you're done. No stake, no voice, no return."
His eyes widen, and for the first time tonight, his mask slips. Shock flickers across his face. "Impossible. I had this contract reviewed by three separate lawyers. They found nothing."
"Well, they missed it. Or maybe they didn't want to find it," I snap. Then softer: "But I did. And you're not signing away our family's legacy to Ivanov without knowing what it means."
He stares down at the paper, silent for a long time. Finally, he mutters, "He won't accept another deal. That man is… rigid. Ruthless. It's his way or nothing."
I shake my head, determination flaring hotter. "I'm not talking about another deal. I'm talking about an investment. A partnership. Let him put his money where his arrogance is—but don't give him the whole company. Draw up a contract that keeps us here, that keeps us tied. If he wants in so badly, let him prove it without swallowing us whole."
His brows knit together, thinking, calculating. Slowly, he sets down the glass. "An investment… Not an acquisition."
"Exactly," I say quickly. "Two contracts. One for him to invest, one to guarantee our place in the company. He gets his foothold. You keep control."
He leans back in his chair, silent, and I can see the battle in his eyes. The weight of years spent building Vassel Group from the ground up. The fear of losing it all. The hope that maybe, just maybe, there's another way.
Finally, he exhales, long and weary. "Very well. We'll draft it. Two contracts. And pray that Ivanov is desperate enough to consider."
Relief floods me, loosening the knot in my chest. I nod, already gathering the papers into order. "It'll work, Papa. It has to."
Later that night, I leave him with the glow of the desk lamp still burning behind him, his pen scratching across fresh pages.
By the time I sink into bed, the plan plays on repeat in my mind. Two contracts. Two chances. One hope.
Tomorrow, everything might change.