The city stretched endlessly outside Kyle's office window, glass and steel glittering against the night. His office was dim, lit only by the low glow of a desk lamp and the faint amber reflection from the whiskey in his glass. He held it lazily, swirling the liquid as if it could stir the answers he sought.
On speakerphone, his father's voice filled the room—measured, heavy, the voice of a man who had spent decades carrying the weight of empire. "Kyle, this isn't the time to be careless. MoonScents is at a turning point. The Valmont Group won't wait for us to make up our minds. They're looking for confidence, stability, a partner who won't falter. And Obsidian Essence is already moving fast."
Kyle leaned back, his chair creaking softly under his weight. "I know what Matthew is doing, Father. He's always circling, always pushing, always trying to prove something. But Valmont doesn't want desperation. They want dominance. And dominance is mine."
His father sighed, the kind of sound that was half exasperation, half caution. "Confidence is useful. But arrogance—"
"—is what got me here," Kyle cut in smoothly, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
His gaze drifted past the glass walls, out toward the city. Matthew. The name alone always carried a bitter taste. He could almost see him in his mind's eye: polished, charming, dangerous. The kind of man who thrived in shadows.
Matthew Sterling had always been there, lurking in his life like an unwanted mirror. Their rivalry wasn't born in boardrooms—it had been forged in classrooms, locker rooms, and whispered comparisons from parents who demanded nothing less than perfection. Kyle had grown accustomed to the competition, but Matthew… Matthew had been consumed by it.
He remembered how it started. School debates, sports tournaments, even social gatherings—it didn't matter what it was. Matthew was always placed against him, always straining, always trying to prove he could measure up. Kyle won more often than not, and Matthew had worn those losses like branding scars, silent but burning.
And then came the betrayal.
Kyle's jaw tightened as he remembered those early years—back when MoonScents was just a seedling of an idea, something delicate and hopeful. Matthew had been close then, pretending camaraderie, sharing drinks, sharing dreams. Kyle had trusted him. And Matthew had stolen from him—an unfinished formula, raw but promising, twisted into something that made Matthew's name glitter before Kyle's could take root.
That was when the lines were drawn.
MoonScents became the language of memory—gentle, evocative, built on the idea of fragrances that made people feel safe, nostalgic, alive. Matthew built Obsidian Essence as its deliberate shadow—dark, exclusive, seductive. Everything Kyle wasn't, everything Matthew thought the world wanted more.
It had worked. Investors loved the danger. Customers loved the allure. And yet, Kyle knew the truth: Matthew's entire empire existed only because of him. Without Kyle, Matthew had no identity. Without Kyle, there was no rival to measure himself against.
His father's voice dragged him back. "The Valmont sponsorship is everything. Whoever secures them will dominate not just nationally, but internationally. Europe, Asia, the Middle East. This is dynasty-building, Kyle. Don't underestimate how far Matthew is willing to go."
Kyle raised the whiskey to his lips, the burn sharp on his tongue. "Matthew's entire existence is about me. He copies, he shadows, he pretends at being my equal. He's a man who would rather play villain than admit he's irrelevant. Let him try. The sponsorship will be mine."
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of the speaker. Then his father's tone shifted, more weighted. "And what about Emberly?"
The name cracked across the silence. Kyle's grip tightened on the glass. "What about her?"
"You know very well," his father pressed. "Her attempt. Her scandal. Society has not forgotten, and neither have investors. They whisper, Kyle. They wonder. A man fighting for international dominance cannot be weighed down by a wife who drags his name through the mud. The simplest solution is divorce. Clean, decisive. Then a remarriage—something beneficial, politically sound. A union that restores confidence."
Kyle's laugh was sharp and humorless, more like a blade than a sound. He set the glass down with a soft clink. "Divorce. Of course. That's always your answer, isn't it? Cut ties. Replace. Rebrand. Like women are contracts to be terminated and renewed."
His father's silence was heavy, expectant.
Kyle leaned forward, voice dropping lower, colder. "I don't need another wife. Unlike you, I know how to keep one. If it means chaining her down and disciplining her until she remembers where she belongs, then so be it."
There was a long, dangerous pause on the other end. Finally, his father's voice came back, slow and deliberate. "Be careful, Kyle. Pride has destroyed better men than you. If Emberly drags this family down, you will stand alone in the ruin."
The line went dead.
Kyle stared at the screen, his reflection faint in the dark glass. The whiskey sat untouched now. He rubbed his jaw, the weight of the conversation pressing heavy against his ribs.
Divorce. Remarry. A clean slate. The words circled him like vultures. He had heard them whispered from investors, murmured by shareholders, even hinted at by friends of the family. And now, openly from his father.
And yet—he thought of Emberly.
He thought of the report earlier in the day: Emberly's mother visiting. For once, no shattered porcelain, no raised voices spilling down the hallways. That alone was unusual. But stranger still was the change he kept hearing about Emberly herself.
She had cooked for Kayden. She had comforted him when he cried. She had even—unbelievably—allowed him to call her mama.
The Emberly he knew was cold, distant, a woman who wore motherhood like an ill-fitting garment, discarding her son to staff and nannies without a thought. To imagine her now, bending to Kayden, holding him close, offering him comfort—it was laughable. And yet…
Kyle pressed a hand to his temple, scowling. He couldn't decide what unsettled him more: the idea that Emberly was faking this change as some elaborate scheme, or the faint, dangerous possibility that it was real.
The faint memory of her smile flickered unbidden in his mind—hesitant, fragile, as Kayden clung to her. Something about it didn't feel like the old Emberly. Something about it whispered… different.
But people didn't change overnight. They didn't erase years of indifference in a matter of days. It was impossible. It was dangerous to even entertain the thought.
He shook it off, standing and pouring another drink. The sound of liquid hitting glass filled the silence. He couldn't afford to get distracted. Emberly was Emberly. Eventually, her mask would slip. And when it did, he would be ready.
The soft chime of an incoming email interrupted his thoughts. Kyle set the glass down and turned back to the desk, clicking the notification.
The subject line glared up at him.
"Invitation – Matthew Sterling & Fiancée"
Kyle's brows lifted slightly as he opened it. Elegant script spilled across the screen, an official invitation to Matthew's engagement party. Both he and Emberly were named guests.
For a moment, Kyle was still. Then, slowly, a smile curled across his lips.
Of course. Matthew had never been able to resist making a spectacle. He had spent his entire life competing against Kyle, chasing after him, and now he wanted to flaunt this supposed triumph. His fiancée. His empire. His carefully curated life.
Kyle leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together, his smirk deepening.
Matthew had just handed him the perfect stage.
The perfect battleground.
And Kyle had never been one to walk away from a fight.