So What If I’m Arrogant?

There was a different weight in her walk now.

Not the heaviness of defeat, nor the burden of betrayal. But the quiet, controlled confidence of a woman who had burned down the illusions around her—and built something indestructible from the ashes.

Rhea Sloane stepped onto the stage of the Global Leaders Summit, her name displayed behind her in gold.

Not attached to a man.

Not questioned.

Not doubted.

Just Rhea Sloane.

The applause was thunderous, but she didn’t smile yet. Not until she reached the mic, not until she looked out into a sea of faces that had once written her off, whispered behind champagne glasses, or plotted to erase her from the empire she built.

She smiled then. Sharp. Arrogant. Glorious.

“Power,” she began, “isn’t always handed to you. Sometimes, you have to bleed for it.”

Silence. Captivated.

“I was called many things. Too young. Too cold. Too ambitious. Arrogant.”

A pause.

“And maybe I was. I still am.”

She let the words hang.

“But let me ask you this—if a man refuses to back down, he’s decisive. If a woman does the same, she’s arrogant. If a man takes up space, he’s confident. If a woman takes what’s hers, she’s intimidating.”

She scanned the crowd. Some shifted uncomfortably. Others—mostly women—nodded.

“Well, I’ll own that. I am arrogant. Because I’ve earned it. Every title, every boardroom win, every broken barrier... I didn’t get there by shrinking.”

Applause erupted.

Damian was in the crowd. Of course he was. Leaning against the wall in his usual tailored black, unreadable as ever. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look twice.

He hadn’t seen the whole of her yet. But he would tonight.

---

Later That Evening

The afterparty was filled with polished grins and overpriced whiskey, but Rhea floated above it all.

She no longer needed to network. She was the network.

Everyone came to her.

As she walked toward the rooftop terrace, heels clicking on marble, she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her.

“Leaving without saying anything?”

She didn’t have to turn. That voice had been branded into her blood.

Damian.

She took her time turning, letting him stew in the silence the way he’d left her drowning in it months ago.

“Thought we were done playing those games,” she said coolly.

He studied her. “I wasn’t ready then.”

“No,” she agreed. “You weren’t. But I was.”

“I didn’t betray you, Rhea.”

“No. But you watched it happen.”

That landed. His jaw flexed. “I thought stepping back was what you needed. To find your strength.”

She stepped closer, the city lights painting her in gold and fire.

“Let me make this clear,” she said, voice low. “I never lost my strength. I lost people who thought they were stronger than me. People who assumed I’d fall apart without their presence.”

He stepped closer, heat rising between them. “And do you still think you don’t need me?”

“I don’t need you,” she said, eyes locked on his. “But I want someone who stands with me. Not above me. Not behind me. With me.”

A beat passed.

And then—finally—his lips curled into something raw, almost reverent. “God, I missed your fire.”

She let herself smile, just a little. “Good. Because that fire’s never going out again.”

---

One Week Later

The Sloane Foundation opened its newest wing: an incubator for female entrepreneurs. It was sleek, state-of-the-art, filled with the same hunger she once had when she started with nothing but a vision and a chipped desk.

She cut the ribbon with the kind of grace that came from surviving war after war in the business world.

Cameras flashed.

Reporters swarmed.

But the moment that mattered came quietly—when a young woman approached her with shaking hands, notebook clutched to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” the girl said, eyes wide. “I just... I’ve followed you for years. Everyone said you were too harsh, too proud. But... you inspire me.”

Rhea looked down at her. Saw her. Saw the same fire waiting to be fed.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Lena,” she whispered.

Rhea took the girl’s hand, firm and sure. “Then start writing your story, Lena. And don’t you dare apologize for the way you tell it.”

---

That Night

In her office, high above the city, Rhea poured herself a glass of wine and leaned against the window. The skyline shimmered. Her empire was still hers.

The battles had changed her. But they hadn’t broken her.

Her phone buzzed.

Damian: Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere you don’t control the menu?

She laughed. Arrogant and soft all at once.

Rhea: Only if I pick the wine.

Damian: Deal.

She set the phone down, her gaze returning to the stars.

This wasn’t a happy ending.

It was just the next beginning.

Because Rhea Sloane wasn’t chasing a fairytale. She was building a kingdom.

And if the world still called her arrogant?

So be it.