Working With The Devil.

fth floor of Vance Global Enterprises. But inside my newly reassigned office, a spacious, glass-wall

f Sterling Global Holdings. Every vulnerable debt portfolio, every undervalued subsidiary, every leveraged asset my father had spent forty

e traitor inside Sterling wasn't just some anonymous middle-manager; the leaked access codes pointed straight to a senior director with deep, long-standing ties to our b

keys right back to me, appointing me as

ped against my open glass

anned forearms corded with muscle. He held a thick manila folder in one hand and a fresh cup of black coffee in the other. He didn't knock again or ask f

vel that always seemed to short-circuit my concentration. "Did you spend the entire

h a mask of absolute, professional composure. I couldn't af

the complex spreadsheet glowing on my left monitor. "If we strike there first, we cut off thirty percent of their i

ing in the steel-blue depths. He pushed off the desk, stepping closer

. "Most analysts panic when they realize the scale of this acquisition. They start second-guessing every

ly, the words carrying a double meaning he

es brushing lightly against the back of my hand where it rested on the mouse pad. A jolt of pure static electricity raced up my arm, making my breath hitch in my throat. "And the

epleting oxygen supply, the private line on my desk buzz

ling hand, desperately needing the distr

len

d fury that chilled me to the bone. He wasn't yelling; he was speaking with the d

s futile. Julian didn't step back; instead, he folded his arms across his broad chest

blueprints. It was Marcus. After forty years... Marcus sold us out. He's already in Zurich. But that's not the worst of it, Elena. The acqu

m now, the war would go public, and my father's empire would be fighting for

ng my suffocating silence. "Drop the charade at that wretched firm t

rming in my throat as I looked up into Julian's unblink

r down onto the cradle

steady rhythm of the rain outside against the glass. Julian pushed himself up

e asked, not as a request,

something safe, something corporate, something detached. But looking into his intense, unyielding eyes, I realized

p slowly from my chair, facing h

a whisper, yet ringing with a sudden, reckless courage. "Why do you hate them so much? Wh

tor vanished in an instant, replaced by a dark, terrifying storm of old, fe

waist and lifting me effortlessly, backing me hard against th

y years ago, Sterling Global destroyed my family with a rigged buyout that drove my father to an early grave. I didn't build Van

y together, chest to chest, the raw, violent history between o

into the fabric of his shirt instead. The hatred and the fury rolling off him were intoxicating, but undernea

straight into his eyes, refusing to flinch as my heart hammered a wild, chaotic rhythm against hi

own my spine. His hand moved from my waist up to the back of my neck,

his voice dropping to a rough, breathless r