Morning cut through the Vanquez glass wall and thick curtains like a blade.
Milan woke to the morning sun sitting pretty on her face. She walked towards the balcony and stood before the window, trying to clear her mind before the day fully commence.
She moved towards the boardroom immediately she got to the office, her body poise, elegant outstanding.
She entered the boardroom in a full motion. She didn't sit when her executives entered. They didn't expect her to.
"Update," she said simply, voice low and measured.
Reports slid across the polished table — quarterly numbers, expansion summaries, contract renewals. Everything she had built in the years since leaving the Milwaukees ran on precision and quiet efficiency. Still, she could feel the unease hanging beneath their composure, as though the air itself had shifted overnight.
When the last file closed, Dario stepped forward. He didn't use titles here — he was both a friend and confidant, but in business hours, formality ruled.
"There's movement from Milwaukee Enterprises," he said. "They've acquired Seveston Logistics through a front in Prague. Small company, but… it handles a good portion of our west-bound shipments."
Milan turned from the window, her gaze steady. "That's not coincidence."
"No," Dario agreed. "And that's only the upper layer. There's talk that one of Ryan's old enforcers — a man named Clyde Beckett — has been seen recently and around our Baltimore docks. Someone's repositioning assets. Quietly."
For a moment, the hum of the boardroom remained still. Milan's fingers brushed the edge of the table — a soft sound, but enough to draw every eye in the room. Her control was precise, elegant — and lethal.
"Let's not assume recklessness," she murmured. "Ryan never moves without structure. If he's reopening channels both legitimate and underground, then he's not posturing. He's reclaiming."
Dario's expression darkened. "Do we hit back?"
"No," she said, cold and decisive. "We don't react — we redirect."
She walked elegantly to the display screen, pulling up a map of their global branches. A web of crimson lines spread across continents, converging in the city. "If Ryan wants Seveston, we'll let him have it. But we'll re-route our cargo through Danzic Maritime — use the merger I finalized last quarter. Quietly." She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "As for the docks… double our internal audits. Pull Beckett's record. I want his finances, his contacts, his family. Anyone he speaks to, I want logged."
Her tone didn't rise — it never did. But the temperature in the room dropped by degrees.
Dario nodded, his professional façade unwavering, but there was admiration in the glance he gave her. Milan had the gift her predecessors never mastered — she didn't rule by fear; she ruled by precision.
"Anything else?" she asked, turning back to the table.
"One more thing," Dario said. "Your name came up in the last Milwaukee shareholder call."
Milan's brow arched faintly. "From whom?"
"Ryan himself."
That earned silence. Even the air-conditioning seemed to hesitate.
Her lips curved, almost imperceptibly. "Then it's official," she said softly. "He's making this personal again." She sighed.
By the time the meeting ended, the sun streamed across her desk, gilding her papers in pale gold. She leaned back, studying the city skyline — that sharp glitter of glass and metal. To the outside world, it was beauty; to her, it was a chessboard.
So Ryan wanted to play both sides. She could respect that — but she wouldn't tolerate it.
Her phone buzzed once. A message from the security chief confirming Liam's safe arrival at school. She read it twice — a subtle exhale left her lips. That small boy, all stubborn eyes and silent defiance, had his father's spirit and her patience. A dangerous combination.
For a split second, her hand hovered over the photo on her desk — the one she kept turned face-down. She didn't flip it. Instead, she stood up, straightened her jacket, and walked out.
The Vanquez Building lobby greeted her like an extension of her will — sleek marble, dark steel, and employees who knew better than to meet her eyes for long. Her heels clicked against the floor as Dario followed beside her.
"Everything's in motion," he said. "Shall I have our contact in Seveston report to you directly?"
"No," she replied. "Run it through Emil. I don't want my fingerprints anywhere near the re-route."
"Understood."
They stepped outside, the city's hum swallowing them whole — horns, wind, and the faint scent of rain. Her driver opened the car door, but Dario lingered. "Milan," he said quietly, "he's testing you. You know that right?"
She gave a thin, elegant smile. "Then let's give him a test worth failing."
The door closed, muffling every other thing else to silence. She exhaled quietly.
The car glided through the traffic, tinted windows muting the chaos outside. She let her thoughts spiral — not toward Ryan, but toward patterns. Moves and counter-moves. For years she had lived by the rule that emotion was a luxury — the moment you let it dictate business, you lost both. But today, a faint thread of unease lingered beneath her calm.
Ryan's mention of her name wasn't a coincidence. It was bait. He wanted her reaction, her attention — perhaps even a memory of what they once were. She would give him none.
The city blurred past —When the car finally stopped outside Westfield Academy, she had already rebuilt her composure.
Liam was waiting by the gate, a little storm cloud in uniform. He saw her car, straightened immediately, and tried to look unimpressed. The sight coaxed the smallest curve of amusement from her lips.
"Rough day?" she asked as he climbed in.
"Not really," he muttered. "They just… talk too much."
She smiled faintly. "Girls, I presume?"
He looked out the window, cheeks flushed, just enough to confirm it. "One of them said I look like I own the school."
"And what did you say?"
"That maybe I do."
She hid her laugh behind a graceful exhale. "Confidence looks good on you," she said softly.
For a moment, the silence between them wasn't cold — just still. She reached out to him and pulled close to her, placing his head on her bossom. Even though the world she built demanded distance, even from what she loved most—in this life, it is just she and her baby.
The car pulled into the driveway of their estate, engines fading. Liam jumped out before the driver could open the door, racing toward the main steps with his usual silent rebellion. Milan followed more slowly, her gaze catching on the horizon.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of rain and jasmine. She paused in the foyer, fingers brushing the edge of a marble table — an old habit, grounding herself in texture and control.
Dario's message came through just then: "Milwaukee's next move confirmed. Beckett's setting up shop on our side of the port."
Milan stared at the message for a long moment before typing her reply: "Good. Let him think he's winning."
Then she deleted the message entirely.
That night, when the house had fallen quiet, she stood at her balcony again. The city was a scatter of lights below her — beautiful, treacherous, alive. Somewhere across it, Ryan Milwaukee was pulling his strings, setting his stage.
But Milan Vanquez had built her empire on betrayal and rebirth.
And if Ryan wanted a war dressed as business — she would give him one, dressed as elegance.