(Damien Cross)
I'm still wired from last night, Isabella's slap stinging my cheek in my memory, her words, You kissed me when we were seven, cutting deeper than I want to admit. I'm in the summit's lounge now, nursing a black coffee, the buzz of investors and tech reps a dull roar around me. My phone's burning a hole in my pocket, but I'm not ready to deal with Evelyn's texts about the Horizon pitch. Not yet.
A man slides into the seat across from me, his suit cheap, his smile too wide. I recognize him, Langston, one of Moretti's board members. He's got sweat on his forehead, like he's nervous.
"Mr. Cross," he says, leaning in, "got a minute?"
I sip my coffee, eyeing him. "Depends. What's this about?"
He glances around, then pulls an envelope from his jacket and slides it across the table. "A proposal," he says, his voice low. "From the Moretti Group. We'd like you to back off Horizon. In exchange, you get this."
I don't touch the envelope, but I can guess what's inside. "A bribe?" I say, my voice flat. "You think I'm that cheap?"
Langston's smile falters. "It's generous, Cross. Two million. Walk away, and it's yours."
I laugh, short and cold, pushing the envelope back. "Tell Vivienne to shove it. I'm not for sale."
His face pales, and he grabs the envelope, standing fast. "You're making a mistake," he mutters, then hurries off, disappearing into the crowd.
I lean back, my jaw tight. Vivienne's behind this, no question. She's desperate to keep me out of Horizon, but why? She's not just protecting her company. There's something bigger at play, and I'm going to find it.
I'm back in my suite, my laptop open, digging through files Nate sent me. Vivienne's been a ghost in my life since I was a kid, but Carla's story about her saving me from that car bombing keeps nagging at me. If she pulled me out of that wreck, why's she trying to crush my company now? It doesn't add up.
My phone buzzes, Nate again. I answer, pacing the room. "What you got?"
"Something weird," he says, his voice tense. "Found a shell company buried under Moretti Holdings. Called Vantage Corp. It's tied to your mom's disappearance."
I stop pacing, my grip tightening on the phone. "My mom? You sure?"
"Dead sure," he says. "Vantage was set up the year she vanished. Payments went to a private account, then poof, nothing. Moretti's name is all over the paperwork."
My chest tightens. Mom walked out when I was five, left a note saying she couldn't stay. Dad never talked about it, but I always knew there was more. "Dig deeper," I say, my voice hard. "I want every transaction, every name."
"On it," Nate says, and hangs up.
I toss the phone on the bed, my mind racing. Vantage Corp. Mom's disappearance. Vivienne's bribe. It's not just business. It's personal. She's not just after my company, she's erasing my family's legacy, piece by piece.
I need to move, to do something. I grab my jacket and head to the summit's data room, where they keep archives for the big players. It's a long shot, but if Vantage is tied to Moretti, there might be a trail. The room's quiet, just a clerk at the desk and rows of servers humming. I flash my badge, and the clerk waves me in.
I'm scrolling through public records on a terminal when Evelyn finds me, her heels clicking loud. "Damien," she says, crossing her arms, "what are you doing? You missed the investor lunch."
"Working," I say, not looking up. "Got a lead on Moretti."
She steps closer, her voice low. "You're obsessed. This isn't about Horizon anymore, is it?"
I pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. "It's about my family," I say, my voice low. "Vivienne's hiding something. I'm finding it."
Evelyn sighs, grabbing a chair. "Then let me help. What's the lead?"
I glance at her, surprised. She's tough, but she's loyal. "Shell company," I say, pulling up Vantage's file. "Tied to my mom. Moretti's involved."
Her eyes widen, but she nods. "Okay. Let's crack it."
We dig for an hour, pulling records, cross-referencing names. Vantage was a front, funneling money to offshore accounts. One name keeps popping up: Marco D'Angelo, Moretti's CFO. The same guy who leaked my financials last year.
"Bastard," I mutter, saving the files to my drive. "He's in deep."
Evelyn grabs my arm. "Damien, if this is true, you're walking into a war. Vivienne's not just some CEO. She's ruthless."
"I know," I say, standing. "That's why I'm not backing down."
Later, I'm at the summit's bar, needing a drink to clear my head. The place is packed, but I spot Julian, my brother, at a corner table, sipping a beer. He's too clean-cut, his suit pressed, his smile easy. I don't trust it.
I slide into the seat across from him. "Didn't expect to see you here," I say, signaling the bartender for a whiskey.
Julian shrugs, his eyes flicking to me. "Networking. You should try it sometime, instead of picking fights with Isabella Moretti."
I smirk, but it's tight. "She's not the problem. Vivienne is."
He raises an eyebrow, leaning in. "Vivienne? What's she done now?"
I sip my whiskey, weighing how much to say. Julian's always been too smooth, too quick to play both sides. "She tried to bribe me," I say finally. "And she's tied to something from our past. Mom's disappearance."
His face doesn't change, but his fingers tighten on his glass. "Mom? Damien, that's old history. Let it go."
"Old history?" I snap, my voice low. "She's erasing us, Julian. Our family. You okay with that?"
He looks away, his jaw tight. "Just… be careful. Moretti's bigger than you think."
I stand, tossing cash on the table. "So am I."
I'm heading back to my suite, my head spinning with Vantage, Vivienne, and Isabella. The hallway's quiet, the summit winding down for the night. I'm almost at my door when I see it, a white envelope slid under the frame, my name scrawled in sharp handwriting.
I pick it up, my pulse kicking up. Inside's a single sheet, and the words hit like a punch: If we don't stop them together, they'll bury us both. It's signed Isabella.
I stare at it, my hand steady but my mind racing. She's reaching out. After the kiss, the slap, the accusations. Why? Is it a trap? Or does she know something I don't?