The morning after the talk in Emily's room felt different. The air in the manor was lighter, and for the first time in my life, the future didn't look like a battlefield—it looked like a home. But I knew better than to think the world would simply let me be happy.
When I arrived at the Aegis Global headquarters, William was waiting for me in the executive lounge. Beside him stood a woman I hadn't seen before.
"Oliver," William said, his voice professional but tinged with his usual analytical coldness. "This is Sloane Vance. She's the new Senior Director of Corporate Communications. Given the recent media circus regarding the 'Hotdog' rumors and the FBI inquiry, the board felt we needed a specialist to manage our public image."
I stopped, my eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly at the name. Vance. It was a common enough name, but in my world, coincidences were usually just well-hidden traps.
Sloane stepped forward. She was striking—dark hair, sharp features, and dressed in a tailored crimson suit that was a shade too bold for a Monday morning. She didn't offer a polite nod; she walked right into my personal space, the scent of her heavy, expensive perfume clashing with the sterile air of the office.
"Mr. Thompson," she purred, her voice a practiced, smoky alto. "I've spent the morning reading your file. Or at least, the version of it the world is allowed to see. You're a very... mysterious man."
I didn't look at her face. I walked past her, headed straight for my desk. "I don't hire people for their curiosity, Ms. Vance. I hire them for results. Is the press release for the new medical wing ready?"
Sloane didn't seem bothered by the cold reception. She followed me into my office, closing the door behind her with a soft click that felt intentional.
She walked over to my desk and leaned over it, ostensibly to hand me a tablet, but her posture was deliberate. She let the fabric of her blazer shift, her eyes locked onto mine with a predatory playfulness.
"The release is perfect," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "But I think the CEO needs a more... personal touch. The public thinks you're a statue, Oliver. I'm very good at making statues feel alive."
I didn't even blink. I continued scrolling through my emails, my expression a mask of bored indifference. To me, she wasn't a beautiful woman; she was an annoyance, a smudge on a clean window.
"If you ever call me 'Oliver' again, you'll be escorted out by security before you can finish the syllable," I said, my voice like a sheet of ice. "And if you're looking for a statue to bring to life, I suggest you visit the museum down the street. I have a company to run."
Sloane's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flash of irritation crossing her eyes before she masked it with a light laugh. "So the rumors are true. The Ice King of New York."
She reached out, her fingers hovering near my hand on the desk. "I've heard you're a man who values loyalty. I'm very loyal to my... favorites. I'm sure we could find a way to make these long office hours much more enjoyable."
I finally looked up, but not with interest. I looked at her with the same cold, tactical gaze I used on my enemies before a strike. It was the gaze of a man who was already deeply, irrevocably in love with someone else.
"Ms. Vance," I said, my voice dangerously low. "There is a reason I am successful. It's because I can spot a distraction a mile away. You are a distraction. A loud, poorly timed one. Leave the tablet on the desk and get out of my office. If I see you in this wing without a scheduled appointment again, you're fired."
The silence in the room became brittle. Sloane straightened up, her face hardening into a polite, professional mask, but her eyes were burning with a dark, vengeful fire. She had come here expecting to wrap the billionaire around her finger, and she had been treated like a stray hair on a suit.
"Of course, Mr. Thompson," she said stiffly. "I'll see myself out."
As she turned to leave, her eyes landed on a small, framed photo on the corner of my desk—a candid shot of Emily laughing in the hospital garden. Sloane lingered on it for a second too long, a cold, calculating smirk touching her lips.
She didn't need to break me. She just needed to find the person who could.
The door shut, and I immediately hit the intercom. "William, come in here."
A moment later, William entered. "She's quite the personality, isn't she?"
"Run a deep background check on her. Again," I ordered. "Check her bank accounts, her phone records, and her family tree. I want to know if she has any connection to Detective Vance. And William?"
"Yes?"
"Tell security she is restricted to the communications floor. She is not to step foot on the executive level without me knowing. She's a snake, Will. And I don't like snakes in my garden."
I looked back at the photo of Emily. The peace we had found was already under threat, but this time, the enemy wasn't coming with a badge or a gun. She was coming for our hearts.