Rina's POV
I fired him without blinking.
"Effective immediately," I say, my voice steady, stripped of softness, stripped of mercy. "Your position with the Vale Consortium is terminated."
The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, slicing through the glass-walled boardroom.
Harold Whitmore stares at me like I've just spoken a foreign language. His lips part slowly. His face, once flushed with authority, drains of color inch by inch. He is a powerful man, mid-fifties, expensive gray suit, gold cufflinks engraved with his initials. A man who built his reputation on fear and favors.
"You're joking," he says, forcing a laugh that doesn't quite land. "This is… this is some kind of performance, right?"
I don't answer.
Lucien Drake sits beside me, calm and unreadable, his long fingers resting on the table like he's watching a predictable movie. Lucien is danger wrapped in elegance, dark eyes, darker intentions, and a voice that can cut without ever being raised.
Across from me, Clara Bennett straightens her glasses. Her posture is perfect. Her face is sharp. Clara never misses details. That's why she survived in this world. That's why she works for me.
"Ms. Vale," Harold says again, this time more carefully. "I've given this company nearly three decades of my life."
I lean back in my chair. "And you stole from it for five years."
His jaw tightens. "That's an accusation."
"It's a fact," Clara says, tapping her tablet. "Shell companies. Inflated contracts. Offshore accounts."
Harold spins toward her. "You little…"
"Enough," I say quietly.
The room freezes.
Harold looks back at me, searching my face for hesitation, for doubt, for weakness. He finds none. What he sees instead unsettles him.
"This can be handled privately," he says, lowering his voice. "We don't need to make a scene."
I tilt my head. "You already did."
Lucien chuckles softly. "You underestimated her."
Harold scoffs. "She's new. She doesn't understand the cost of this."
I lean forward now, palms flat on the table. "I understand exactly what it costs."
Silence.
"You diverted funds meant for employee pensions," I continue. "You cut safety corners. People lost jobs. Families suffered."
"That's business," Harold snaps.
"No," I reply. "That's greed."
I press a button on the table.
The doors open immediately. Two security officers step inside.
Harold's eyes widen. "You wouldn't dare."
"I would," I say. "And I did."
He stands abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You'll regret this. Men like me don't fall quietly."
Lucien finally looks at him, his gaze cold. "You already fell. You just didn't hear it."
Security escorts Harold out as he shouts promises of revenge that echo uselessly down the hallway.
When the doors close, the room exhales.
Clara looks at me. "Termination logged. Access revoked."
"Good," I say.
Lucien studies my face. "You didn't blink."
"I wanted to," I admit.
"That's the part you kill first," he says. "The wanting."
The boardroom empties slowly. Executives avoid my eyes. Assistants move quickly. Power shifts always leave people unsettled.
When I'm alone with Clara and Lucien, the silence presses in.
"You did well," Clara says.
"I don't feel like I did," I reply.
"That means you still have a conscience," she says. "It won't last long if you keep this job."
Lucien stands. "Walk with me."
We move through the corridors of Vale headquarters. Glass walls reflect my image back at me, tailored suit, hair pulled tight, expression sharp. I barely recognize myself.
"You hesitated," Lucien says.
"I didn't," I argue.
"You did," he replies. "For half a second."
I stop walking. "Because I remembered who I used to be."
Lucien turns slowly. "That woman was weak."
"She was human," I snap.
"And she was destroyed," he says evenly.
The words hit harder than he intended or maybe exactly as intended.
Later, alone in my office, the city stretches endlessly below. Lights glitter like distant stars. Power hums through the walls.
Clara knocks once and enters.
"You have a private meeting," she says.
"With who?"
"Victor Hale."
My chest tightens.
"Send him in."
Victor Hale enters like he owns the room. Tall. Broad shoulders. Silver hair slicked back. His smile is slow and knowing, the kind that never reaches his eyes.
"Rina Vale," he says. "You're younger than I imagined."
"I find imagination overrated," I reply.
He laughs. "I like you already."
He sits without asking, crossing his legs. "Let's talk numbers."
He slides a folder across my desk.
I open it. My stomach twists.
"This will shut down three factories," I say. "Thousands will lose their jobs."
"Yes," Victor agrees calmly. "But profits will triple."
I close the folder. "No."
His smile thins. "You'll learn."
I meet his gaze. "I am learning."
Victor leans forward, studying me closely, his voice dropping.
"You remind me of someone I destroyed."