Marcus chose the oldest battlefield.
Glass. Steel. Elevation.
The boardroom sat thirty-seven floors above the city, walls transparent on all sides, as if honesty could be manufactured by exposure. It was a room built to intimidate to remind anyone who entered that gravity always favored the one already standing.
I arrived alone.
That was deliberate.
Marcus was already there, hands folded behind his back, gazing out at the city like a man admiring something he believed he still owned.
"You look smaller from up here," he said without turning.
"So does everything," I replied calmly.
He smiled at the glass. "I wondered when you'd stop hiding."
"I'm not hiding," I said. "I'm finished explaining myself."
That made him turn.
Marcus Vale looked exactly the same
tailored suit, controlled posture, eyes sharp with practiced certainty. Fifteen years my senior, once my mentor, is always my shadow.
"You chose him," he said. "Over this."
I met his gaze. "I chose myself."
His jaw tightened. "You were never meant to do that."
He gestured toward the table. "Sit."
I didn't.
"We built something extraordinary," Marcus continued. "And you set it on fire for sentiment."
"For alignment," I corrected. "Sentiment fades. Alignment endures."
He laughed softly. "You think love makes you untouchable?"
"No," I said. "I think clarity does."
Marcus stepped closer. "You were untouchable before."
"And hollow," I replied.
That stopped him.
For a brief moment just one, I saw it. Not anger. Not dominance.
Fear.
"You don't get to rewrite the rules," he said.
"I already did."
He circled me slowly, like a man inspecting damage.
"You think decentralization protects you," he said. "It doesn't. It makes you disposable."
I finally sat, folding my hands calmly. "That's the point."
He frowned. "Explain."
"When no single piece matters," I said evenly, "no single strike can destroy the whole."
Marcus shook his head. "You've made yourself irrelevant."
"No," I replied. "I've made myself unownable."
Silence stretched.
"You were my greatest investment," he said quietly. "And you walked away."
"I outgrew the terms," I said. "You wanted loyalty without reciprocity."
"I gave you everything."
"You gave me leverage," I corrected. "And expected obedience."
His eyes darkened. "And he gives you what? Comfort?"
I leaned forward slightly. "He gives me truth."
Marcus scoffed. "Truth doesn't survive pressure."
I stood.
"Neither do lies."
He tried one last angle.
"They'll come for him harder," Marcus said. "They already are. He's the weakness."
My voice dropped. "Say his name carefully."
Marcus smiled thinly. "You've made him a target."
"I made him a partner," I replied. "Targets are temporary. Partners are permanent."
"And when he breaks?"
"He won't," I said simply.
Marcus studied me, finally seeing the difference.
"You're not bluffing," he said.
"No."
"You're prepared to lose everything."
"I already lost what didn't belong to me."
The realization settled in his eyes slow, bitter.
"You were supposed to be my legacy," he said.
"I'm not a monument," I replied. "I'm a man."
I turned to leave.
Marcus spoke again, softer now. "This ends badly."
I paused at the door. "It already ended. You're just catching up."
When I walked out, I didn't look back.
Elias was waiting in the car below.
He didn't ask how it went. He never did.
He reached for my hand instead, fingers warm, grounding, certain.
"Was it closure?" he asked quietly.
"No," I said. "It was confirmation."
"That he won't stop?"
"That he never understood," I replied.
Elias nodded. "Then neither will they."
I looked out at the city as we drove. "Let them come."
He squeezed my hand once. "We'll be ready."
Not defiant.
Certain.
That night, the first real blow landed.
A coordinated leak. A fabricated narrative. Screens lit up with speculation and distortion.
Elias read silently, jaw tight.
"They're escalating," he said.
"They always do when control slips," I replied.
He looked at me then
not for reassurance, but for truth.
"I won't ask you to shield me," he said. "And I won't step aside."
I stepped closer, resting my forehead against his.
"I don't want shields," I said. "I want you beside me."
His breath steadied. "Then we hold."
"Yes."
"And if it costs more?"
"Then it costs more," I replied. "I don't bargain with my core."
He smiled faintly. "You never did."
Later, as the city quieted, Elias lay with his head against my chest, listening to my heartbeat like it was proof of something solid.
"They can't touch this," he murmured.
"No," I agreed. "And that's what terrifies them."
I stared into the dark, fully awake, fully aware.
The war had shifted.
No more posturing.
No more shadows.
Just intent.
And as Elias's breathing evened, I understood something with absolute clarity:
This wasn't about survival anymore.
It was about ownership of the future.
And I wasn't surrendering a single inch.