The next morning, the storm broke.
Evelyn stood before a digital wall of moving data inside Wolfe's command room. Names, accounts, shell companies—webs of deceit Rhys had spun over years, now unraveling.
Project Parallax wasn't just leverage. It was a map of betrayal. A buried dossier from Wolfe's early years with Rhys, cataloging every illicit transaction, every covert acquisition—most of which Rhys had kept off the books.
"This was never supposed to see daylight," Wolfe said, his voice cold.
Evelyn tapped the screen. "And now it will."
She forwarded a curated version to a journalist at The Sentinel, one of the last media outlets Wolfe trusted. The message was simple:
"Truth waits for no one."
They didn't need a public explosion—just the threat of one.
---
That evening, Rhys called.
Not a lawyer. Not a proxy.
Rhys himself.
Wolfe put him on speaker.
"You always were dramatic, Alex," Rhys said calmly.
"And you always underestimated me."
"You leak that file and you destroy the company's public trust—your own empire."
"No," Evelyn said, stepping in. "We leak that file, and we destroy you. The company survives. You don't."
A pause.
"I see Miss Hart has found her claws."
"She's not my weapon," Wolfe said. "She's my partner."
Rhys's voice dropped to a murmur. "Then you've already lost."
The call ended.
---
Later, Wolfe and Evelyn stood in his private lounge, silent firelight flickering between them.
"I've never let anyone this close," Wolfe admitted. "Not even Rhys."
Evelyn touched his arm. "Then let me stay."
He looked at her, and for the first time, there was no barrier.
Only truth.
She kissed him—soft, slow, certain.
He kissed her back.
The war would wait till morning.
Tonight, they reclaimed something Rhys could never touch.
Each other.