The Blackwood Tower rose from the financial district like a blade aimed at the sky. Forty-seven stories of glass and steel, each one a monument to the man who'd built an empire from ambition and the willingness to destroy anyone who stood in his way.
Elara Vale stood in the lobby, watching her reflection ripple across polished black marble. When the meeting request arrived that morning—no agenda, no explanation, just a time and place—every instinct told her to refuse. But instinct had kept her in Lucas Harrington's shadow for years.
So she came.
The elevator ride to the top floor felt longer than it should have. The assistant who met her was impeccably dressed, professionally blank, and said nothing beyond necessary courtesies. They walked past rows of empty desks to a corner office where morning sun turned everything gold.
Adrian Blackwood Hale rose from behind his desk as she entered.
