Damon's POV
"You don't get to stall this any longer, Damon."
Marcus's voice cut through the boardroom like a blade. The tension was already thick enough to choke on, but his words sharpened it into something jagged.
Around the polished mahogany table, the shareholders leaned in, their faces hungry, impatient, predatory. Celeste was poised at the far end, her perfect smile curved like a knife.
The family empire—my father's legacy, my inheritance, and my battlefield—was on the table, and every pair of eyes wanted me to bleed for it.
"I'm not stalling," I said evenly, though my jaw ached from the restraint. "I'm calculating.
Which, I remind you, is what's kept this company standing while the rest of you are busy playing politics."
Celeste leaned forward, red nails tapping the table in rhythm with my pulse. "And yet, the board deserves clarity.
Who will hold the reins of Westin Industries? You've been dangling us long enough."
