The days that followed were brutal. The gentleman assigned Ryan mentors--fighters who pushed his body to the brink, scholars who buried him in texts about demons, and advisers who spoke to him about Grotech. The company was massive, sprawling across industries he had never even touched. He had to learn, quickly, how to command not only his body, but also businessmen.
His nights belonged to combat. His mornings, to company boardrooms. Every hour in between, to study.
Ryan had thought he knew exhaustion from working for the Whintrops, but this was worse. Yet, strangely, he felt alive for the first time. Each bruise, each scar, each decision in the boardroom chipped away at the man who had been mocked and cast aside.
Still, shadows clung to his thoughts. Clarissa. The humiliation she inflicted on him. The way she'd spat in his face, the contempt in her eyes. And Matthias, always Matthias, smirking like he owned the world.
Ryan swore he'd never have anything to do with them.
But fate had other plans.
One evening, as he sat reviewing reports in Grotech's study, a name caught his eye. A familiar one. His pulse spiked.
Whintrop Holdings.
The report detailed a request for partnership--again. The Whintrops had reached out to Grotech, their desperation bleeding through polite business language. His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
They had no idea. No idea that the man they discarded, mocked, and tried to destroy was the very one they were now begging for mercy.
For a moment Ryan just sat there, staring at the papers, the humiliation of the past colliding with the power in his hands now.
He leaned back in his chair, the shadows flickering faintly again across his arm.
"They've come to me," he murmured.
Not as a husband. Not a pawn.
But as their master.
---
Clarissa Whintrop was radiant with smug satisfaction as she scanned the sleek envelope on her desk. The embossed seal of Grotech shimmered under the office light. Invitation Accepted. Her lips curved into a victorious smile. At last, she thought. Salvation. After all the setbacks, after the whispers of debt and cracks in the Whintrop image, here was the lifeline her family desperately needed.
She dressed to impress for the meeting--pearls at her throat, she wore her sharpest designer suit, every inch the perfect heiress prepared to conquer another boardroom. As she swept through the revolving doors of Grotech's towering headquarters, she carried herself with the air of someone arriving to collect what was rightfully hers.
The boardroom was all steel, glass, and quiet menace. Executives shifted papers, murmurs running low across the table. Clarissa barely spared them a glance. She was here to meet the person in charge. The one who would bend, finally, to the Whintrop name.
And then the door opened.
Ryan walked in.
For a heartbeat, she froze. Then her eyes narrowed, contempt twisting her features. "You?" The word dripped like venom. "What is this? Did you weasel your way into their good graces? Playing errand boy now?"
The executives shifted uncomfortably. Ryan didn't flinch. He strode calmly to the head of the table and took his seat, the one reserved for the host. His gaze locked on Clarissa, unblinking, cool.
"You'll have to address me," Ryan said evenly, his voice carrying quiet authority.
Clarissa's lips parted, then curled into a mocking laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I came here to speak with the one in charge. Whoever actually makes decisions in this company, not... you." She gestured at him with disdain, her diamond bracelet catching the light as if to remind him of the worlds that separated them.
But Ryan didn't move. He simply leaned back in his chair, his silence heavier than any argument. The weight of the room pressed in on her. Finally, with reluctance and no small measure of scorn, Clarissa turned her eyes back to him.
"Very well," she said tightly, her words laced with venom. "Let's proceed. Since Grotech apparently thought you fit to sit in this meeting, I'll make my case."
She launched into her pitch, all charm and polish, her condescension slipping through every glance in Ryan's direction. But Ryan wasn't listening to the numbers or projections. He was studying her. The lift of her chin, the way she carried herself with entitlement sharp enough to cut glass. She hadn't changed. Not one bit.
Still the same woman who spat in my face and called me nothing, he thought, a quiet ache beneath his composure. Still blind to everything but her name, her power.
When the meeting ended, Clarissa swept from the room with her usual haughty grace, convinced she'd made her mark. She didn't look back. She never did.
Ryan sat in the silence that followed, his hands folded tightly together.
The Gentleman stepped from the shadows of the room, his presence as steady as ever. His eyes followed the closed door before settling on Ryan.
"Be careful," he said, his voice low but firm. "Your enemies will exploit any weakness. Especially the ones tied to your heart. You've stepped into a world where demons wear many faces. And some of them know exactly how to get close."
Ryan exhaled slowly, the words sinking into him. He knew the Gentleman was right. This world was darker, sharper, than any he had ever known. And lurking in its corners, waiting for his next step, were enemies who would not hesitate to strike.