Chapter 13: The Empire-Breaker
Summary: Gideon Raithe resurfaces, not as a ghost from Kade's past—but as a calculated disruptor of Aria's present. With Kade vulnerable and the board uncertain, Gideon offers Aria a choice that could end the Ryuu legacy entirely. And the worst part? It's not vengeance he wants. It's partnership.
The café wasn't public.
It was the kind of place you only found if you were invited—hidden beneath the bones of the old Aurium train station, its windows frosted and its entrance disguised behind a service alley.
Aria arrived alone.
Gideon was already waiting.
He wore a gray turtleneck under a coat that looked like it cost more than some startups made in a quarter. His smile was slow and disarming, and it made Aria hate him all the more.
"Nice of you to come," he said. "I wasn't sure if Kade had locked you up yet."
"I'm not here to banter."
"No," he said, pouring her tea without asking. "You're here because you want to know what happens if the crown slips."
She didn't deny it.
He slid a folder across the table.
Inside: projected losses, exposed shell companies, and one damning document—the preliminary internal vote schedule for Kade Ryuu's removal as CEO.
Dorian. Liyan. Tei. Others.
She looked up. "You had this ready."
"Of course I did," he said. "You're not the only one who reads contracts."
Her voice was sharp. "You want him gone."
"I want him out," Gideon said. "But not ruined. I'm not Felix. I'm not petty. I want the empire intact. I want the name to survive. But with you at the head. Leaner. Smarter. More human."
He sipped his tea.
"You're the future, Aria. You speak the public's language. You understand emotional narrative. You don't carry the ghosts of a father's blood oath like Kade does."
She didn't respond.
So he leaned in.
"I'm not asking you to destroy him," he said. "Just… stop holding him up."
A pause.
Then, almost softly:
"Let him fall. You don't have to burn it alone. I'll help you rebuild."
The file from Gideon burned a hole in her bag all day.
Aria didn't touch it after the café. Didn't reread it. Didn't even pull it from its envelope. She hid it in a drawer beneath a scarf she hadn't worn since their first press event together.
She wasn't sure if she was hiding it from Kade.
Or from herself.
That night, she returned to the penthouse later than usual.
The lights were low.
Kade wasn't in the kitchen, or his office, or the library.
She found him on the balcony—sleeves rolled, tie undone, hands braced on the glass railing as if the city might collapse if he let go.
She didn't speak.
Not at first.
He did.
"You met with him."
Aria froze.
The wind shifted. He didn't look at her.
"He told Dorian."
Her stomach dropped.
Kade's voice was too calm.
Too flat.
"I should've heard it from you," he said.
"I was going to tell you."
"When?"
"I needed time to think."
He turned then.
Not angry.
Just distant.
"You promised me you wouldn't take anything from me."
"I didn't," she said. "Not yet."
"But you listened," he said. "And that's enough. That's where it starts. That's where it always starts."
She stepped toward him.
"I didn't agree to anything. I didn't leak the clause. I didn't pull the board into this. I didn't build any of it, Kade—you did. And I've spent months trying to stay upright inside something I didn't even ask for."
He didn't answer.
She lowered her voice.
"You want me to be loyal. But to what? To the version of you that doesn't let me in? Or the one who's so afraid of betrayal he keeps handing me loaded weapons just to see if I'll use them?"
A long pause.
Then he said, quietly:
"I wasn't testing you."
Aria's breath caught.
He looked up at her—finally—eyes tired.
"I was hoping you'd choose me anyway."