Rina's POV
Lucien Drake enters my boardroom uninvited.
The glass doors slide open without a knock, without permission, without warning. Conversations die mid-sentence. Papers stop rustling. The soft hum of the air conditioner suddenly sounds too loud.
I don't look up immediately.
I don't have to.
I know who it is by the way the room tightens, by the way my assistants stiffen, by the way power shifts without a single word being spoken.
Lucien Drake does not announce himself. He never has.
"Stop the meeting," he says calmly.
His voice is smooth, deep, unhurried, the voice of a man who has never been told no and lived to care about it.
Clara freezes beside me.
I finally lift my eyes.
Lucien stands at the far end of the boardroom table, hands in the pockets of his tailored black suit. No tie. Top button open. Dark hair neatly combed back, sharp cheekbones catching the overhead light. His eyes, cold, observant, and dangerous are locked on mine.
"This meeting is private," I say.
He smiles slightly. "So is what I have to say."
One by one, the executives look between us like trapped animals.
"Everyone out," I say.
Clara hesitates. "Rina…"
"Now."
Chairs scrape back. Papers are gathered too fast. People avoid Lucien's gaze as they rush past him. He doesn't move to make space. They move around him instead.
When the doors slide shut, it's just the two of us.
And the glass walls that make privacy an illusion.
"You're late," I say.
"I wasn't invited," he replies.
"You never are."
"And yet," he says, walking closer, "I'm always welcome."
I stand. "State your business."
Lucien stops across the table from me. "You fired Harold Whitmore," Lucien said calmly, as if he were stating the weather.
He didn't wait for my reaction.
"It crossed my desk before the ink dried on your signature."
"Yes."
"You shut down Victor Hale's proposal."
"Yes."
"You froze three offshore accounts tied to Vale subsidiaries."
"Yes."
He tilts his head. "You're making enemies quickly."
"I'm not afraid of enemies."
"I know," he says softly. "You're afraid of becoming them."
The words land too close to something raw.
I straighten my shoulders. "If you're here to threaten me, save it."
Lucien laughs under his breath. "Threaten you? No. I'm here because you interest me."
"That's unfortunate."
"For you, maybe."
I gesture toward a chair. "Sit or leave."
He chooses neither. He leans against the table instead, close enough that I can smell his cologne dark, clean, expensive.
"You've learned how to fire people," he says. "How to cut without shaking."
"I learn quickly."
"Yes," he agrees. "But you're still soft."
My jaw tightens. "You don't know me."
"I know pain when I see it."
I step closer. "Pain doesn't make me weak."
"No," Lucien says. "It makes you predictable."
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
"It should."
We stare at each other, neither willing to blink.
"You think power is loud," he continues. "But real power is quiet. It watches. It waits. It lets others burn first."
" My people flagged the dismissal the moment the call was made," Lucien continued.
"Executives like Harold don't fall quietly, they scream on the way down."
"I don't watch fires," I say. "I start them."
His smile widens. "That's why you're dangerous."
"Well I don't start fires," Lucien said.
"I watch them. I learn who burns the fastest."
I fold my arms. "Why are you really here, Lucien?"
He straightens, seriousness settling over his features like a shadow.
"Because the Vale Empire doesn't forgive mistakes," he says. "And you're making them publicly."
"I don't answer to the Vale Empire," I reply.
He chuckles. "You are the Vale Empire."
The words echo in the room.
"You're bleeding allies," he continues. "Men who would've protected you are backing away."
"Good," I say. "I don't need protection."
"No," he agrees. "You need leverage."
I meet his gaze. "Then give it to me."
Lucien studies me for a long moment, like he's deciding how much truth I can survive.
"You want to hurt the Ashfords," he says.
My heart stutters.
I don't move. I don't react. I don't give him anything.
"You don't say their name," he continues. "You flinch when it comes up in reports. You kill contracts tied to them without explanation."
"That's business."
"No," Lucien says quietly. "That's personal."
I turn away, walking toward the window. The city stretches endlessly below cold, ruthless, alive.
"You're here to accuse me?" I ask.
"I'm here to warn you," he replies.
I face him again. "About what?"
"Revenge done blindly destroys the hand holding the knife."
"I don't plan to be blind."
"Then stop pretending you don't remember."
My chest tightens. "I remember everything."
Lucien's voice drops. "Then you remember how they erased you."
Silence swells between us.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I say.
"I know exactly what I'm talking about," he replies. "Because I watched it happen."
My breath catches.
"You watched?" I repeat.
"Yes."
I step closer, my voice low. "Say that again."
"I watched," he says, unflinching, "as they took everything from you."
The room feels smaller. Hotter.
"You weren't there," I whisper.
Lucien's eyes darken. "I was closer than you think."
My hands curl into fists. "Then why didn't you stop it?"
"Because," he says calmly, "you had to die for Rina Vale to live."
Anger surges, sharp and burning. "You don't get to justify it."
"I'm not justifying it," he says. "I'm explaining it."
I shake my head. "Get out."
"Not yet."
"Get. Out."
Lucien steps closer instead. "You're standing where you are because of what they did."
"They destroyed me."
"And they made you untouchable," he counters.
I laugh bitterly. "I was left in the rain to die."
"Yes," he agrees softly. "And you survived."
My voice cracks despite my effort. "Barely."
Lucien watches my face closely now. "You still bleed."
"I don't."
"You do," he insists. "Just not where people can see."
I turn away again, pressing my palm against the cold glass.
"I didn't come here to reopen wounds," he says. "I came to tell you something."
I don't answer.
"The Ashfords are watching you," Lucien continues. "They know you're different."
I swallow. "They think I'm dead."
"They think you were weak."
My fingers tremble slightly. I curl them tighter.
Lucien steps beside me, his reflection appearing in the glass.
"They don't know," he says slowly, "that the woman they buried learned how to be cold."
I finally look at him.
"Why are you helping me?" I ask.
His eyes soften for just a second. "Because I hate watching fires without choosing a side."
I study his face. "And which side are you on?"
Lucien leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I know what the Ashfords did."