Dominic's office was a temple of silence.
But not for long.
The door swung open, uninvited. Arielle entered like a storm in heels, her expression thunderous, her eyes blazing.
Dominic looked up slowly from behind his desk.
He didn't ask why she was there.
He knew.
"What is it?" he asked calmly, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled. He was in another charcoal suit, no tie, always crisp, always unreadable.
She didn't sit.
"I heard what the board said about me," she snapped. "The leash. The PR play. The babysitting."
His eyes darkened, but he didn't speak.
She stepped closer, hands on her hips. "Is that what this is? Am I just a pet project to you? An heiress to keep busy while the men run the real business?"
He stood now, slowly, deliberately.
"No," he said evenly. "You're a wildcard."
"Oh, how flattering."
"You're unpredictable. Reckless. Entitled." He walked around the desk, eyes fixed on hers. "But you're not useless, Arielle. And you're not a joke. At least… not anymore."
Her breath hitched. "So you were playing along."
"I kept you close to keep control." He shrugged. "And to see what you'd do when the leash came off."
She froze. "What?"
He stopped in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume—jasmine and spice and defiance.
"You want power?" he asked quietly.
Her jaw clenched.
He held out a folder. Sleek, thick, sealed with a red band.
"Take it," he said. "It's your first real assignment. One that could either make you—"
"Or break me?" she finished coldly.
His lips quirked, almost a smile. "Something like that."
She snatched the folder from his hand. "You don't think I can handle it."
"I know you can. The question is—will you do it your way, or the smart way?"
She stepped back, clutching the file like a weapon. "Watch me surprise you."
"I'm counting on it."
There was heat in his voice now. Not anger. Something deeper. Something dangerous.
For a beat, neither of them moved.
Then she turned and stormed out, her heels clicking with purpose.
But inside?
Arielle Sinclair wasn't just angry anymore.
She was awake.
And that folder?
She was going to bury them with it.
All of them.
Even if Dominic Raine was the last man standing.
The folder was heavier than it looked.
Not in weight—but in consequences.
Arielle sat in her apartment that night, legs crossed on the velvet couch, still in her pencil skirt and blouse from earlier. Her stilettos were on the floor beside an untouched glass of wine. The only light came from the chandelier above and the laptop screen glowing in front of her.
Inside the folder was a dossier.
A merger proposal. High stakes. High visibility. High risk.
Arielle skimmed through it with a scowl, then again slower—this time reading between the lines.
Dominic hadn't handed her busy work.
This was the kind of deal that could shake up sectors. Make headlines. Tank reputations.
Or crown legacies.
And he'd trusted her with it.
Or maybe he was testing her again. Either way, she didn't care.
This time, she'd play her way.
By morning, she was at the office before even the security guards had finished their coffee. She didn't wear red. She wore black. Sleek, fierce, businesslike—but sharp enough to bleed anyone who underestimated her.
Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her heels quieter than usual, her eyes sharper.
When Dominic entered the building at 8:43 a.m., he paused.
She was already in the boardroom.
Laptop open. Presentation prepared. Proposal refined.
He walked in silently and leaned against the glass.
"Ambitious start," he said, arms crossed.
She didn't look up. "I'm not here to be ornamental."
His brow lifted slightly. "I never said you were."
"You didn't have to. Your board already did."
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing with interest. "So what's your angle?"
She turned the screen toward him, her voice cool and collected. "We don't play it safe. We flip the script. We go direct to the smaller firm's CEO with a counter-offer that looks like sabotage but is actually a partnership. It'll cause a stir, but it'll work."
He stared at the screen, reading.
His silence stretched.
She hated that she cared what he thought. Hated it more that her pulse raced when he finally nodded.
"You want to turn this into a media coup," he said.
"I want to turn this into my debut."
That made him smile. Just a little. Not the polite kind. The dangerous kind.
"And what if it fails?"
She met his gaze, unwavering. "Then I'll go down swinging."
Dominic circled the table slowly, hands in his pockets. "You remind me of someone."
"Your past self?" she asked.
He stopped behind her chair. "No. My worst enemy."
She grinned. "Sounds like a compliment."
Then, his voice dropped just behind her. "Don't get cocky, Sinclair."
She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him over her shoulder. "Don't get scared, Raine."
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, the boardroom felt like something else entirely.
A battlefield.
A ballroom.
A fuse waiting for the spark.
But then he stepped away. Cool as ever.
"Prepare for war, then," he said. "We present this tomorrow."
As he left, Arielle exhaled—barely.
Because for the first time, she wasn't sure who was really in control anymore.
And worse?
She didn't care.
The conference room on the top floor of Raine Enterprises was a sleek battlefield of glass and steel.
Long table. City skyline behind it. Thirteen men in suits.
And one woman in black, standing tall at the head of the table.
Arielle Sinclair.
Her palms didn't sweat.
Her pulse didn't race.
She had trained herself overnight like a soldier prepping for war—scripts, angles, counterarguments, even the headlines she wanted to read. If she failed, it wouldn't be because she was underprepared.
It would be because she'd underestimated them.
But she didn't.
She knew the kind of room she was walking into.
And she'd worn the kind of heels that made sure they heard her coming.
Dominic stood a few paces back, arms folded, eyes fixed on her. He hadn't spoken once since they walked in. He didn't need to.
His silence was its own kind of endorsement.
And his presence—ice-calm and unflinching—was a promise.
She wasn't alone.
But she was in charge.
Arielle clicked the remote, the first slide flashing behind her: a sharp diagram of market shares, brand value, and merger opportunities.
"Gentlemen," she said, her voice smooth but firm, "Let's talk about disruption."
A scoff came from the left. One of the older board members leaned back. "Miss Sinclair, this isn't the first time we've reviewed this deal."
Arielle smiled coolly. "That's because you've been looking at it the wrong way."
There was a flicker of amusement on Dominic's face. Only she saw it.
She pointed to the screen. "We don't need to acquire them. We need to invite them. Not a takeover. A twin-brand. Shared equity. Cross-promotion. Lower risk, higher visibility."
"You're suggesting they keep control?" another man barked.
"I'm suggesting we look ten years ahead, not ten months. Gen Z doesn't want monopolies—they want transparency. We buy the whole company, we look like wolves. We partner with them, we look like visionaries."
She clicked again. Stats. Trends. Headlines from their own PR teams backing her pitch.
It was bold.
It was her.
And it was the first time the room didn't just listen—they leaned in.
One man turned to Dominic. "You support this?"
Dominic didn't hesitate.
"I do."
Another added, "Then we'll need to move fast."
Arielle nodded. "Already drafted a tentative agreement. Legal's reviewing it now."
Silence.
Then, slowly, the suits began to nod.
Approval.
Respect.
Shock.
And then, the CEO spoke: "Welcome to the real game, Miss Sinclair."
The room began to clear.
One by one, the power players left the table.
But Dominic remained where he was, watching her.
When the door finally closed, Arielle turned to him, arching a brow.
"Well?" she asked.
He walked toward her. "You did more than hold your own."
She smirked. "Admit it. You're impressed."
His eyes glittered with something unreadable.
"I'm not just impressed," he said. "I'm reconsidering how dangerous it would be to underestimate you again."
Her smile faltered for a second. Heat flickered in the space between them.
But before either could speak again, his phone buzzed.
A reminder.
Reality.
Business first.
But as he walked out, he said one last thing over his shoulder—
"Dinner tonight. Seven. Don't be late."
Arielle blinked.
Not a request.
A command.
And somehow, the thought of it sent a shiver straight down her spine.