Fall, Fight, Rise Again

The silence was deafening.

Rhea Sloane stood in the middle of her office—her empire—shattered pieces of trust and loyalty scattered at her feet. The tablet in her hand trembled as she scrolled through the damning report again. Numbers. Signatures. Backdated approvals. All pointing to one person.

Kayden Blake.

Her CFO.

Her childhood friend.

The same man who once punched a bully for calling her “trash in a tailored blazer” back in school. The man who toasted her first million. The man she trusted to guard the very walls of her empire.

He had sold her out.

And Damian...

Damian had known.

He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t fought to explain. Just stood there, jaw tense, eyes unreadable, and walked out of her life without a backward glance.

The betrayal from Kayden cut like a blade. But Damian’s silence? That was the twist of the knife.

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “So this is what it feels like,” she whispered. “To watch everything burn.”

Her phone vibrated on the desk. Another board member calling. She let it ring.

Emails poured in—speculation, panic, veiled threats of votes to remove her from her own company. The vultures were circling.

Rhea pulled her hair into a tight bun, her fingers trembling. She moved on autopilot, crossing the room to the liquor cabinet Damian had once teased her about—“Too fancy for whiskey, Sloane?”—and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass.

She downed it in one go.

No more time to cry.

No more time to break.

---

That Night

The city below gleamed like scattered diamonds—rich, cold, unreachable. Rhea stared out from her penthouse, her reflection a ghost in the glass.

She thought of every night spent building Sloane Ventures. The sleepless weeks. The sacrifices. The people she carried when they couldn't walk. The empire she had crafted from pure grit and spite.

They wanted to see her fall?

Fine.

Let them.

But she wasn’t staying down.

Rhea turned away from the glass, striding to her laptop. She brought up every transaction Kayden had touched, tracing threads of deceit with steady hands. Her mind shifted into strategy mode—clinical, sharp, ruthless.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, Damian lingered.

He’d stood by her through so many battles. His silence now, his choice to walk away, told her exactly where he stood.

She would not beg for him.

She would not break.

---

Three Days Later

The boardroom felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was just the way they looked at her—like a queen whose crown had tilted too far.

Seventeen executives. Five of them already aligned with Kayden. Three undecided. The rest? Watching. Waiting to see if the infamous Rhea Sloane would crack.

She didn’t.

She walked in, heels clicking, black suit sharp enough to cut. The smear campaign had worked overtime. Rumors painted her as reckless, manipulative, emotionally compromised.

She stood at the head of the table and didn’t blink.

“I won’t waste time defending myself,” she said, voice like frost. “Because I don’t owe defense—I owe results. Which I’ve delivered every quarter since this company’s inception.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

“I built this empire. From dirt. From nothing. I didn’t have a silver spoon or a dynasty backing me. What I had was vision. Hunger. And the ability to see ten steps ahead when most of you were still trying to read the map.”

A few chuckled.

But not all.

She tossed a file on the table. “And while you were all whispering about my supposed incompetence, I spent the last seventy-two hours uncovering every illegal transaction Kayden Blake funneled through our satellite firms.”

Gasps. A few brows lifted.

“Attached are copies of wire transfers, false vendor reports, and falsified valuations on three of our acquisitions—each one designed to tank the company while redirecting capital into his personal hedge fund.”

She leaned forward. “You can vote to remove me today. But know this—I’ve already alerted the authorities, and Kayden will be in custody before sunset. Any vote against me now will be viewed as complicity.”

One of the undecideds cleared his throat. “And Damian Vale?”

The name stung. She hid it well.

“Mr. Vale is no longer associated with Sloane Ventures,” she said, smooth and final. “His silence cost him his seat.”

---

Later That Evening

It was raining when she stepped into her private car. The city, once a cruel god watching her suffer, now felt like a battlefield she’d just survived.

But she couldn’t shake him.

Damian.

The one person who knew all her wounds—and still chose to turn away.

As the driver pulled into traffic, her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: You did it. Even I underestimated you.

Her heart thudded.

She knew that tone.

Damian.

She didn’t respond.

Let him sit with the silence this time.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t over.

He would come back.