MAISIE
The Uber ride home is a silent, fuming blur. I push through the door of my penthouse, and the blessed, familiar quiet wraps around me like a blanket.
Roy glides over immediately, his optical sensors glowing a soft blue. He gently takes my clutch purse from my hand with his manipulator claws and whirs away to place it neatly on the console table. Good, reliable Roy. He doesn't abandon me to go hook up with random finance bros.
I kick off my deadly heels, wincing as my feet hit the cool concrete. The irritation is still there, a low simmer under my skin. That guy's hands, his smug face, the feel of his grip on my ass—it makes my skin crawl.
But layered over that, like a cold fog, is the memory of him.
Shinki Soma.
The unamused, deadly way he looked at that guy. It wasn't hot-headed anger. It was something far colder and more terrifying. It was the look of a predator assessing a rival, and finding him beneath contempt. A look that could freeze hell over. I can't shake it.
And then there's the traitorous, infuriating part of my brain that won't stop pointing out how… immaculate he looked. Standing there in that chaos of a club, in his perfectly tailored Kiton suit, he was an island of cold, calculated order. He was completely out of place, and yet he commanded the space around him effortlessly. It was… impressive. Damn him.
"Stop it," I mutter to myself, stalking toward my bedroom.
And Lena. My so-called best friend. A fresh wave of betrayal washes over me. She just left me. Ditched me to go fuck some guy she just met. I get it, we're adults, but a text? I'm stuck between being worried for her safety and wanting to strangle her.
I reach my bathroom, the anger a tight ball in my chest. I yank the sleek black bodysuit over my head and let the tiny leather skirt fall to the floor. I leave the fishnets in a tangled heap. I want every trace of that club, of that man, and of him, off of me.
I turn the taps on the deep stone tub, pouring in a generous amount of sandalwood bath oil. The scent is warm, earthy, and somehow clean. I need to feel clean.
I step into the scalding water, sinking down until it covers my shoulders. The heat stings, but it's a good pain. A cleansing one. I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the smooth stone.
But the images flash behind my eyelids anyway. The strobe lights. The man's leering face. And Shinki's ice-blue eyes, staring right through me. The war is everywhere now. It's in my boardroom, it's in the press, and now, damn him, it's in my bathtub.
– – –
The morning light in my office is too bright. I'm staring at a single, unremarkable spot on the white wall, as if it holds the answers to the universe. Or at least an explanation for why my best friend is a traitorous hussy.
Lena is perched on the edge of my desk, her fifth apology dying on her lips.
"Come on, Maisie. I'm sorry! The chemistry was just… it was nuclear! And you looked like you had it handled! And it's not like it's the first time I've dipped out on a night," she pleads.
She's right. It isn't. My mind, against my will, flashes back to that rooftop bar last summer. She'd vanished with a bartender named Phoenix, leaving me with his friend, a guy who exclusively talked about his cryptocurrency portfolio and called it "Crypto." I'd been annoyed, but I'd gotten over it.
This feels different.
I finally drag my gaze from the wall and look at her. The anger I've been nursing all morning boils over.
"It's not that you left, Lena. It's that you left me with a Grade-A creep. The guy was a human resource violation waiting to happen. He talked about his boat like it was a personality trait, his hands were sweaty, and he smelled like cheap cologne and entitlement. And when I told him I wasn't going home with him, he decided my 'no' was a negotiation and grabbed my ass."
Lena's face falls, the last of her playful defensiveness vanishing. "He what? That slimy—"
"And then," I cut her off, my voice dropping, "the bastard in the Kiton suit intervened."
Lena's eyes go wide. She leans forward, all traces of guilt replaced by sheer, unadulterated gossip-fueled glee. "Shinki Soma was there? Wait. Stop. Back up. On a scale of one to ten, how good did he look in a club? Be honest."
I scowl, but the image is burned into my brain. "He looked… immaculate," I admit, the words tasting like ash. I shake my head, trying to physically dislodge the memory. "But that is not the point!"
"Immaculate," Lena repeats, savoring the word. "I bet he did."
"The point is," I press on, my voice tight, "his eyes… Lena, his blue eyes looked like he was going to personally arrange for that guy to be dissolved in acid and fed to industrial pigs if he didn't take his hand off my ass. It was the most terrifying, ice-cold, murderous look I've ever seen. And it was aimed at someone touching me."
Lena's jaw drops. "No. Fucking. Way."
"Yes, fucking way," I snap, rolling my eyes so hard I see my own brain. "It was unsettling."
Before Lena can launch into the twenty questions I see brewing in her eyes, the door to my office opens. Sarah, my lawyer, stands there, her expression grim, a tablet clutched in her hand.
"Maisie," she says, her voice all business. "We have a problem. Kage Capital just filed their response with the SEC. They've escalated."
The club, the creep, Shinki's chilling gaze—it all vanishes, replaced by the cold, familiar grip of the corporate war. The other battlefield is calling.
"Elaborate. Now," I say, my voice low. The spot on the wall is forgotten. Lena straightens up, her playful mood vaporized, all business.
Sarah steps fully into the office, her heels clicking on the concrete floor. She doesn't sit. She looks down at the tablet in her hands, her face a mask of professional dismay.
"It's a masterstroke, in the most infuriating way possible," she begins, scrolling. "They aren't just defending against our lawsuit. They're using it. They've filed with the SEC to accelerate their takeover bid, citing our lawsuit as, and I quote, 'demonstrative proof of the current leadership's emotional volatility and reckless decision-making, which poses a clear and immediate threat to shareholder value.'"
The wooden pencil I'm holding lets out a sharp crack. I look down, surprised to see I've snapped it clean in two. I drop the pieces into the trash.
Sarah continues, her voice flat. "They've sweetened their offer by five percent. And the presentation deck they're sending to all our major shareholders is titled 'Sentiment vs. Solvency.' They're painting you as a grieving daughter who can't separate her heart from her balance sheet, and this lawsuit as your final, irrational tantrum."
"The nerve of that asshole!" Lena explodes, pushing off the desk. "He's turning your defense into his ammunition! That's… that's diabolical!"
A cold, hard knot forms in my stomach. He's good. I have to give that to him. He took my best punch and is now using my own fist to hit me back. It's so clean. So fucking logical. So him.
I lean back in my chair, the leather groaning. The initial shock solidifies into a grim resolve. "Okay. Fine. He wants to play it this way? What's our counter-counter? What's the move that puts him on the back foot?"
Sarah meets my gaze. "There is one. It's aggressive. We file a motion for a preliminary injunction to halt his takeover bid, arguing his entire offer is tainted by the alleged sabotage. To win that, we'd need to demonstrate a strong likelihood of success on the merits of our case. And the fastest, most direct way for a judge to assess that..."
She pauses, letting the implication hang in the air.
Lena finishes for her, her eyes wide. "...is a deposition. You'd have to sit in a room. Under oath. And he'd have to sit across from you. His lawyers, our lawyers. You'd get to question him directly about the sabotage. He'd get to question you about... everything."
The air leaves my lungs. The thought is physically repulsive. Being in a small, confined space with that ice prince for hours. His cold, analytical eyes on me, dissecting every word, every breath.
I close my eyes for a second, imagining it. The sterile legal room. Him, in another impeccable suit, looking at me like I'm a bug under a microscope. The memory of his gaze from the club—both terrifying and strangely possessive—flashes behind my eyelids.
I open my eyes. Lena and Sarah are both watching me, waiting.
I let out a long, slow breath, the fight settling deep in my bones. It's the last thing I want. But it's the only move I have.
"I hate it," I say, my voice rough. "I hate the very idea of being in the same breathing space as that man."
I look from Lena's worried face to Sarah's determined one.
"But I agree. Do it. File the motion. Let's get him under oath." A slow, sharp smile touches my lips. "Let's see how his logic holds up when he has to answer for it."
The door clicks shut behind Sarah, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I slump forward, elbows on my desk, and bury my face in my hands. The cool wood feels good against my suddenly hot skin.
Lena watches me for a long moment from her perch on the desk. Then she slides off and walks around to my side. She pulls up a chair, the legs scraping softly on the floor, and sits right next to me.
"Okay," she says, her voice gentle but firm. "Pour it out. All of it. I'm not moving until you do."
And the dam breaks.
"He's so fucking full of it, Lena!" The words tear out of me, ragged and loud in the quiet office. "He's a goddamn robot! He's obviously not capable of a single human emotion! He sees my father's life's work, he sees my grief, and all his sterile, fucking computer of a brain can do is calculate how to use it against me!"
I stand up, too agitated to sit, pacing behind my desk. "He's weaponizing my dad! He's taking the most painful, personal thing in my life and he's packaging it up in a PowerPoint presentation for shareholders! 'Look how sentimental she is! Look how she loves her dead father! Isn't that pathetic? Isn't that a liability?'"
My voice cracks. "What kind of person does that? What kind of cold, empty, soulless monster sees a connection like that and thinks, 'Ah, yes, a strategic vulnerability to be exploited'?"
Lena gets up and comes to me, placing a warm, steady hand on my back, rubbing slow circles. "I know, honey. I know. It's fucked up. It's so fucked up."
"It gets to me," I whisper, the fight draining out of me, leaving only a hollow, aching hurt. I feel the hot sting of tears welling in my eyes and I angrily wipe them away with the heel of my hand. "I hate that it gets to me this much. I want to be stronger than this. I want to be as cold as he is."
"Hey, no," Lena says, her voice fierce. She turns me to face her. "You listen to me. You have a heart. That is your superpower, not your weakness. It's what makes you a better leader than he could ever be. If that asshole sees it as a flaw, then he's a fucking idiot, and he is going to get it handed to him by the girl with a heart."
But the tears won't stop now. They fall in hot, silent tracks down my cheeks, and I keep swiping at them, frustrated and embarrassed. "He doesn't respect me at all. Not even a little."
Lena doesn't say anything else. She just pulls me into a tight, fierce hug. I stiffen for a second, then melt into it, my face buried in her shoulder.
"If my dad was here," I mumble into her blouse, my voice thick with tears, "Shinki Soma would have never dared. He'd have looked my father in the eye and seen a man he had to respect. But he looks at me and he just sees... a target. A thing to be acquired. He's not a businessman, Lena. He's a fucking predator."
Lena just holds me tighter. "I know, Maisie-girl. I know."
And for a few minutes, in the safety of my best friend's arms, I let myself cry for my father, for my company, and for the cruel, predatory world I now have to face alone.