The board meeting had devolved into a low-level buzz of panic as Drake's legal team began projecting the evidence of Silas's fraud onto the wall. Drake watched his brother, fascinated. Silas was sweating a sight Drake hadn't seen since they were children and Silas had accidentally broken their father's favorite antique.
But Silas wasn't looking at the numbers. He was looking at Alisha.
Under the table, Alisha hadn't moved. Her hand was steady, the blade still a cold promise against Silas's thigh. She was a statue of professional malice.
Silas leaned back slightly, ignoring the sting of the steel. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze traveling from Alisha's sharp, dark hair down to the way she stood. A slow, sickening realization dawned on his face. The fear in his eyes shifted into something uglier: recognition.
"Alisha Miller," Silas whispered, the name coming out like a curse. "I knew the name sounded familiar when I saw the payroll. Miller. As in Miller & Sons Custom Carpentry?"
Alisha's hand didn't shake, but the air in the room seemed to freeze. Drake looked from his brother to his secretary, his brow furrowing. "Alisha?"
Silas started to laugh, a wet, jagged sound that cut through the legal jargon being shouted by the lawyers. "Oh, Drake. You really are a fool. You think she's here to save you? You think she's your loyal little shadow?"
He turned his head to look Alisha dead in the eye, ignoring the knife. "How is your father, Alisha? Last I heard, the bank took the workshop after Drake signed the acquisition order. Did the old man ever recover from the stroke, or is he still staring at the walls of that state-funded nursing home?"
Drake felt the world tilt. He looked at Alisha, waiting for her to deny it. But she didn't. Her face, usually full of snark and fire, had gone completely blank. It was the face of a professional killer.
"He died three months ago, Silas," Alisha said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Drake flinched as if she'd struck him. He remembered the acquisition. It had been one of his first moves after taking the CEO chair—a ruthless, calculated takeover of a small family business to secure a plot of land. He hadn't even looked at the names on the deed. To him, it had been an asset. To her, it had been her life.
Silas grinned, sensing the fracture between them. "She's not here to protect you, little brother. She's been waiting for the moment we were both in the same room. She doesn't want to save your empire. She wants to watch the Wright bloodline end."
Under the table, Alisha finally withdrew the knife. The pressure was gone, but the damage was done. She stepped back from the table, tucking the blade into her sleeve with a flick of her wrist.
"He's right about one thing, Drake," Alisha said, finally looking at him. Her eyes were no longer playful; they were dark with years of fermented rage. "I did come here to ruin you. I spent two years learning your coffee order, your passwords, and your deepest fears just so I could be the one to hand you the pen when you signed away your life."
The board members were silent. Silas was gloating. Drake felt the familiar, cold hollow in his chest—the one he'd lived with in the cellar. He had finally trusted someone, and she was the daughter of a man he had destroyed.
Drake stood up. He didn't look at Silas. He walked right up to Alisha, stopping so close their chests almost touched. The "Iron Predator" was gone; there was only a man who had been tortured by his past, facing a woman who was a product of his own cruelty.
"Then do it," Drake whispered, his voice cracking. He reached into his blazer, pulled out a fountain pen, and held it out to her. "The papers are on the table. If you want to finish what Silas started, sign my name. Take the company. Take it all. I won't stop you."
Alisha looked at the pen, then at Drake's eyes. She saw the scars—the real ones, the ones Silas had left on his soul. She saw a man who was willing to let her destroy him because he realized he deserved it.
The comedy was gone. The game was over. Now, there was only the dark, jagged edge of the truth.
Alisha's fingers closed around the pen, but she didn't turn toward the papers. She turned toward Silas.
"I said I wanted to watch the Wright bloodline end," she said, her voice low and terrifying. "But I think I'll start with the brother who enjoyed the torture, rather than the one who survived it.