The glass doors of Sterling Global swing open, and the first thing I hear is the whispers.
"That's her."
"Richard's daughter? I didn't know he had a daughter."
"I heard she's an Illegitimate child."
The lobby is cathedral-high, marble gleaming under sharp white lights, the company name screaming in steel letters across the wall: STERLING GLOBAL. Everything about it says untouchable. Everything about me feels like an intruder.
But I don't let it show. I lift my chin, let my heels echo against the polished floor like I own it. Let them choke on the performance.
Carlos walks beside me, steady, infuriatingly calm, like he's done this a thousand times. Like he owns this place too. His stride matches mine perfectly, as if we rehearsed it — which makes me hate it more.
"Good morning, first day at work?" He murmurs beside me.
I shrug hm off pretending I didn't hear him which places an embarrassing smile on his face.
The whispers don't stop. They ripple as we pass through, each employee pretending to type faster when my eyes flick their way. Phones slide discreetly out, probably snapping photos, probably sending them to gossip sites before I've even made it to the elevator.
And then Carlos does it.
His hand brushes against the small of my back. Just the lightest touch, guiding me toward the private elevators. To anyone watching, it probably looks harmless. Polite. Protective.
To me, it feels like a claim.
My pulse spikes, hot and unwelcome. Rage coils in my chest. I want to spin on him, shove his hand away, remind him I don't need him steering me like some fragile glass doll.
But I don't. Because the eyes are everywhere, and the walls have ears, and the last thing I'll give them is a scene. So I keep walking, face cool, steps sharp, voice silent.
On the inside, though? I'm burning.
The boardroom is colder than the lobby, though the air hums with hidden heat. A table stretches nearly the length of the room, polished wood gleaming like it could swallow a person whole. Around it sit the Sterling Global board members — men and women in suits so sharp they could cut glass, their faces carved into masks of polite disdain.
At the far end, Adrian already occupies a chair like it's his throne. Vivian sits just behind him, pearls glinting as she leans forward, her expression unreadable but heavy. Watching. Judging.
I take my seat at the head of the table. My seat. My pulse thrums in my ears, but my chin stays high.
"Let's call this meeting to order," Adrian says smoothly before I can speak, his smile curving with practiced ease. "First, I'd like to welcome our… newest member of leadership."
The pause before "newest" is a knife.
The room chuckles lightly. I don't.
"Thank you," I say, voice clipped. "Though I believe I should clarify something upfront."
I lean forward, meeting Adrian's eyes. "I'm not just here as a member. I'm here as majority shareholder. Which makes me"—I let the words roll, slow and deliberate—"your rightful head."
The silence that follows is sharp.
Adrian's smile never falters, but his knuckles whiten where his hand grips the armrest. "Of course, sister. No one disputes the letter of the will." He tilts his head, mocking sweetness in his tone. "But this company isn't a playground. It takes years to understand its complexities."
"Years you've spent practicing speeches instead of running it," I snap back before I can stop myself.
A murmur runs through the table. Some board members smirk, others frown, most exchange glances like vultures circling a carcass.
"Miss Sterling," one of the older men says, voice heavy with disdain. "With respect, Sterling Global requires experienced leadership. The markets won't respond kindly to… inexperience."
Another woman nods, lips pursed. "The optics are concerning. Investors need stability, not scandal."
And there it is. Scandal. Illegitimate. Outsider. Unworthy.
My spine stiffens, rage boiling under my skin. "I didn't ask for this position. But I own it. My father made his decision, and whether you like me or not, I'm not leaving."
Adrian chuckles, shaking his head like he's dealing with a reckless child. "Confidence is charming, Isabella. Dangerous, but charming."
That's when I feel Carlos move beside me — not speaking yet, just a shift, subtle but strong, like the whole room recalibrates around him. His presence is a weight, a shield, a warning.
Adrian sees it too and his smile falters.
The boardroom hums with murmurs until Carlos finally speaks.
"Gentlemen. Ladies." His voice is calm, even, but it slices through the noise like a blade. "Richard Sterling's wishes weren't a suggestion. They were law. Isabella is the majority shareholder. She is your head. End of discussion."
The room falls silent.
Carlos leans back, expression unreadable, like he's said nothing more than a weather report. But the weight in his tone leaves no room for argument.
And just like that, the power shifts. I can feel it. The way the board members glance at me now — some wary, some resentful, but all… cautious.
It should feel like a victory. Instead, rage coils in my chest. Once again, he spoke for me. I grip the edge of the table so hard my nails press crescents into the wood. Not this time.
"Actually," I say, cutting through the silence, "I think I'll speak for myself."
Carlos's gaze flicks to me, dark and sharp, but I don't falter.
"My father didn't hand me this company because I begged for it. He gave it to me because he knew I could handle it. If any of you doubt that, I invite you to bring your concerns directly to me—privately, in writing, or on the record. But understand this…"
I stand, palms flat on the table, voice firm enough to rattle the glass water pitchers.
"…I'm not going anywhere. And if you think undermining me will weaken Sterling Global, you're wrong. You'll only make me stronger."
The room is dead quiet. For once, Adrian has no smirk. Vivian's lips press into a thin, unreadable line. And Carlos… Carlos watches me like I've just become something different in his eyes.
By the time the meeting adjourns, my blood is still buzzing. My heels click against the marble hallway as I walk, every step an echo of the words I threw back at them. For the first time, I feel like maybe — just maybe — I belong in that seat.
My phone vibrates in my clutch. I pull it out, expecting some vulture headline, maybe a snide message from Adrian. Instead, it's a number I don't recognize. No name. No photo. Just a single line.
Your father's death wasn't an accident. Don't trust anyone.
The hallway tilts under me, the words burning into my vision. My chest tightens, panic clawing up my throat.
I glance over my shoulder — at Carlos, who walks a step behind me, steady as ever. At the shadows where Sterling Global's walls seem to close in.
I wonder if stepping into this empire wasn't a coronation. But a trap.