Ashley stared at Adrian as if her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing.
No.
Not him.
Not the quiet man who rarely raised his voice. Not the one who stood behind her father during meetings, hands folded, listening more than speaking. Not the one who had corrected her shooting stance when she was sixteen and told her calmly, "Breathe before you pull the trigger."
Not the man she had called Uncle since she was a child.
"You…" Her voice came out hollow. "You did this?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly, studying her expression with something close to amusement.
"Ashley," he said softly, almost fondly. "Very smart. Of course it's me. Who else could pull this off?"
"Who else would have access to every floor, every override code, every blind spot in this building?"
Her disbelief hardened into anger so quickly that it surprised even her. The sound of gunfire outside the boardroom seemed distant now, as if the real war had shifted into this room.
She drew her gun in one fluid motion and closed the distance between them before anyone could intervene. The barrel of her gun pressed firmly against his temple, her arm steady, her eyes locked onto his.
"You sat at our table," she said, her voice shaking not with fear but with fury. "You ate in our house. My father trusted you!"
Adrian did not attempt to move away from the weapon. He did not raise his hands. He simply watched her, studying her face as though assessing a student during an examination.
Adrian didn't flinch. Instead... he smiled.
"You're emotional," he murmured. "That's your weakness."
Ashley searched his eyes for something—fear, regret, guilt.
There was nothing.
Not even a flicker.
Then she noticed his gaze shift slightly, just past her shoulder. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was deliberate.
A second later, she felt the cold circle of a gun barrel press firmly against the back of her head.
"I suggest you lower the weapon," a familiar voice said behind her.
Her body went rigid. The voice was not distorted by panic or anger. It was calm. Controlled.
She turned her head slowly, refusing to drop her gun first.
When she saw him, something inside her chest seemed to collapse.
"Marcus?"
Marcus Vale stood directly behind her, his arm extended, his grip steady. He had been one of the youngest rising men in their organization, ambitious but outwardly loyal.
For months he had pursued her persistently, sometimes clumsily, sometimes with surprising sincerity. He had spoken of partnership, of standing beside her in the future. He had looked at her as if she were the only person in the room.
Now his expression was stripped of all warmth.
There was no affection in his eyes. No hesitation.
"Even a man has limits, Ashley," Marcus said evenly. "Did you think I would keep chasing you indefinitely while you treated me like a convenient distraction?"
Her mind replayed every conversation, every smile, every late-night discussion about the future of the syndicate. Each memory now felt contaminated.
"You were never serious," she said quietly.
"I was serious," he replied. "Just not about you."
The words landed harder than she expected.
"I was serious about power. About position. About not spending the rest of my life bowing to a man who refuses to step down."
He looked past her toward Matthias.
"Your father built an empire," Marcus continued, "but he never planned to share it. Men like me were always meant to remain beneath him."
Matthias had been watching in silence, but the moment he saw the weapon pressed against his daughter's head, the restraint in his posture vanished. He stepped forward with controlled fury, his presence filling the room.
"Remove the gun from my daughter," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
Marcus did not immediately comply. "With respect, sir, that is no longer your decision to make."
The air in the room thickened. Outside, gunfire still erupted through the building, but inside the boardroom, everything felt suspended.
Matthias closed the remaining distance in two strides and seized Marcus by the collar, dragging him backward with such force that the younger man's balance broke. The gun shifted away from Ashley's head as Marcus stumbled. Matthias drove him against the wall, forearm pressing into his throat.
"You forget who you are speaking to," Matthias said, his voice no longer raised but sharpened to something lethal. "Everything you have, I gave you!"
Marcus struggled but did not drop his weapon. His face flushed with anger rather than fear.
"You gave me scraps," he shot back. "You kept the throne for yourself while we did the bleeding."
Marcus was someone Matthias had collected down the streets. He had been abandoned by his family and had nowhere to go. Seeing him speak in this manner made the older man tighten his hold on his neck.
Marcus struggled to break free but the man was just too strong for him to handle.
Just when he thought he would pass out, someone spoke,
Across the room, Adrian lifted his gun and aimed it steadily at Matthias.
"This is unnecessary," Adrian said. "The outcome has already been decided."
Matthias never knew this day would come. Adrian was pressing the gun close to his temple and his hands loosened their hold on Marcus.
The young man gulped the air as if he had found a life saving straw.
Matthias calmly turned towards Adrian and asked in a very task yet called tone, "Why?"
Adrian laughed, "Why?
He paused,
"It is because you are an eyesore and I simply want everything that you own!"
"After all, I have been by your side all these years. What better man to take up the throne if not me! Hahahaha!"