[POV Sloane]
Ari Winters was the kind of woman who didn’t raise her voice—she sharpened it. Refined it. Turned it into a goddamn scalpel. And I was bleeding from it every day.
The office had become a battlefield, and she was everywhere. Fixing things I hadn’t asked her to fix. Questioning decisions I hadn’t given her permission to question.
Her presence was like static electricity in a storm—you couldn’t see it, but you could feel it humming under your skin.
She wasn’t afraid of me. That alone made her a threat.
Then on a random Tuesday I had scheduled a high-stakes meeting with two national advertisers—contracts worth millions. My calendar was locked. Rooms booked. The board prepped.
Then I arrived to find the meeting rescheduled.
I stormed through the glass corridors, already knowing who was behind it.
I found her in the event hall, standing in front of a large screen being set up for a slideshow. Staff members fluttered around her, setting up chairs and lighting candles.
“What the hell is this?” I snapped.
She didn’t even look at me. “Richard’s memorial.”
“I had a meeting.”
“Which I rescheduled,” she said calmly, clipboard in hand.
“You didn’t have the authority—”
“I had the decency,” she shot back. “Richard built this company. He mentored this staff. You want to erase him from the records, that’s your prerogative. But not today. Not on his day.”
I stepped closer. Too close.
“You just tanked a meeting with two ad partners.”
“They were happy to move it to tomorrow,” she replied smoothly. “Somehow, they didn’t find it unreasonable to honor the man whose name is still on the building.”
I gritted my teeth. “You crossed a line.”
She met my stare without blinking. “So assign me another punishment project. I’m sure you’ve got one locked and loaded.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. I turned and walked away—but not before I saw her smirk. That infuriating, tiny smirk she tried to hide behind professionalism.
I hated how much I noticed it.
That night, I sent her an email at 11:46 p.m.
Subject line: Let’s see how fast you really are.
Body: I want last year’s internal financial records compiled, coded, and categorized by tomorrow morning. Complete executive summary included.
I expected her to push back. I expected a bitter remark.
What I didn’t expect was a full report on my desk at 8:04 a.m. exactly on the next day. She didn’t even drop it off in person. Just left it there.
Like a silent mic drop.
It was flawless. Organized down to the decimal. She’d even caught three errors in the Q4 2021 ledger no one else had noticed.
I should’ve been impressed. Instead, I was pissed. So I did something petty.
No, screw that—something messed up.
Friday evening, I brought Madison to the office. Blonde. Glossy. The kind of woman who giggled when I ordered her drinks and said she “just loved powerful men.”
She wasn’t the type I usually brought anywhere serious, but that was the point. I let her trail behind me in four-inch heels, her perfume too sweet, her laugh too loud.
Let the staff see it. Let Ari see it.
I brought her to my office, closed the door behind us, and locked it. Then I pushed her up onto my desk, hands already undoing my belt as she wrapped her legs around my waist.
It was selfish. Reckless. But I wanted to feel nothing. And Madison didn’t know enough to make me feel anything.
Twenty minutes later, we were buttoned up again. Madison pouting, lipstick smudged, asking if I could get her a cab.
And when I opened the office door, there she was. Ari. Standing across the hall, arms folded, eyes sharp.
The executives were gathered in the meeting room behind her—waiting. The meeting I had scheduled. The one I was now late for.
“Hope the desk was worth it,” she said under her breath as she brushed past me into the conference room.
Madison giggled and disappeared down the hall. I didn’t care. But Ari’s words—they clung to me like barbed wire.
The meeting ended in record time. Mostly because I didn’t say a word.
Afterward, Ari followed me back to my office and closed the door behind her.
“You just humiliated the entire senior staff,” she said. “They waited thirty minutes for you while you—” she paused, nostrils flaring, “—entertained a guest on company property.”
“I don’t recall giving you authority to manage my schedule or my private life.”
“This isn’t about your private life,” she snapped. “It’s about respect. For the people who actually keep this company running.”
“I’m the CEO.”
“You’re an asshole,” she shot back, stepping closer. “Your father gave a damn about the people who worked here. You’re burning every bridge he built.”
Something in my chest twisted.
“I’m not him,” I said flatly.
“No. You’re not. Because he—”
“He lied,” I interrupted, my voice suddenly colder, sharper. “He made deals with the mafia. Did you know that? Did he tell you that your perfect mentor used dirty money to start this empire?”
Her mouth parted slightly.
“Don’t look so surprised,” I said, bitter. “He paid them off. Covered it up. Buried it. My mother and fiancée died because of his choices. So forgive me if I’m not interested in building a shrine to the man who destroyed my life.”
A long silence stretched between us.
And for a second—just a second—my walls cracked. I felt it. That unbearable ache I hadn’t let anyone near in six years. It slid through my ribs like glass.
Ari’s expression softened, just slightly. Like she was seeing me for the first time. Not the headlines. Not the bastard son. Just the man underneath.
But before either of us could speak again, the intercom on my desk buzzed.
It was Ellen from legal.
“Mr. Wayne,” she said, voice tight, “we need you and Ms. Winters in conference room three. Now. It’s urgent.”
I looked at Ari. She looked at me.
Truce? No. But something worse.