My first day at Welch Industries, and I've already staged my first coup.
"I'm keeping Maeve," I announced over coffee, cutting Alexander off before he could call me Olivia. "I've been Maeve for twenty years. Olivia is a stranger's name."
He looked like he wanted to argue, his jaw tensing. But then he just nodded, his eyes softening. "Maeve Welch it is. Your choice. Always."
The building is glass and steel, a monument to ruthless power, so different from the Dareth estate's dusty, old-money pretension. This place doesn't apologize for existing. Neither do I anymore.
Alexander's giving me the tour, introducing me to department heads who look at me like I'm either a threat or a joke. "This is my daughter, Maeve. She'll be shadowing me, learning the business."
As we walk, Caelen murmurs descriptions meant only for me, his voice a low vibration near my ear. "That's Jeffries, head of legal. Loyal, but risk-averse." A beat. "And that's Jenkins, finance. He's an ass."
I bite back a smile. "Noted." His dry, brutal honesty is becoming something I rely on in this sea of corporate sharks.
The skepticism is palpable. The ex-orphan charity case playing dress-up in daddy's empire. One director—some finance bro with a Patek Philippe and an attitude—clears his throat.
One finance bro with a Patek Philippe clears his throat. "Ms. Welch, do you have any relevant background?"
I smile, all teeth. "Art history from Princeton, specializing in art market economics."
His smirk starts, so I keep going. "I spent two years at Sotheby's acquisitions analyzing investment portfolios and three years consulting for galleries.” The smirk vanishes.
“Turns out, reading people trying to screw you on art deals translates perfectly to corporate warfare." Alexander's grin is feral.
"Good," Alexander says, his grin fading as we enter the main boardroom. "Because we're walking straight into the fire."
The room is filled with men twice my age, the "old guard" of Welch Industries. The air is thick with tension. The topic: a hostile takeover attempt we are initiating.
"Ms. Welch," Jenkins says, clearly not ready to concede, "your thoughts on the hostile takeover?" He’s testing me, trying to make me look like a fool in front of the board.
I feel a flash of panic, but then I feel Caelen's presence beside me. He doesn't speak, he doesn't touch me. He just exists, calm and steady, and it's like a silent anchor.
I meet Jenkins's gaze. "The valuation's inflated," I say, my voice steady. "They're overextended in three markets and hemorrhaging capital. We wait two quarters, they'll be desperate and we'll get them for half the price."
Silence. Jenkins looks like I've slapped him. One of the old guard nods slowly. "Aggressive. I like it."
"She's right," Caelen says, his voice cutting through the silence. He projects new data onto the screen. "Her analysis of their asset valuation is correct. They're bluffing, and poorly."
He's not speaking for me. He's validating me. The difference is staggering. Kael would have pulled me aside and told me to be quiet "for my own good."
"But their counter-offer," Jenkins sputters, "it guarantees—"
Caelen slides a tablet in front of me, his fingers brushing mine. The contact is brief, but my skin zings. His finger is pointing at a single clause.
"They're not guaranteeing anything," I say, cutting Jenkins off. I read the line. "You're hiding the liability clauses in subsection B. You're trying to fuck us."
The room goes dead quiet. Jenkins turns white. Alexander looks like he might applaud.
By afternoon, my head is swimming. That boardroom victory was intoxicating, but now, alone in the strategy room, I'm in the strategy room staring at merger projections until the numbers blur.
For a second, I'm not Maeve Welch, heiress. I'm just the orphan from Queens, waiting to be found out.
"You're thinking too loud," Caelen murmurs. I jump, not hearing him enter. He places a fresh coffee on the desk.
"You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes." "I don't belong here," I whisper, the admission tasting like failure.
"I'm an art historian, Caelen, not a CEO. They're all waiting for me to fail."
He doesn't coddle me. He leans against the desk, forcing me to look at him, his dark eyes intense.
"Good. Let them wait. You read people, Maeve. That finance bro this morning? You gutted him with a smile."
"That was different." "It's never different." He leans in, and I can smell his cologne—something dark and expensive that makes my head fuzzy. It’s not sandalwood and safety, like Kael’s. It's smoke and leather and something dangerous, but it feels... honest.
"You survived the Dareths. This boardroom is nothing. Stop trying to be them. Be you."
His confidence is a physical thing, wrapping around me. And I realize, Kael never did this. Kael protected me from the world. Caelen is showing me how to conquer it.
He points to a line on the document. His hand covers mine, his thumb brushing my knuckle. "Right here. That's the lie. Stop looking at the numbers and read the intent."
His touch is warm, solid, and sends an electric shock straight up my arm.
I pull my hand back, the contact burning.
"This is fake," I stammer, needing to say it out loud. "The engagement. It's strategy." "The engagement is strategy," Caelen agrees, his eyes holding mine, not moving away.
"Me teaching you how to spot a shark is just smart business. Unless you want me to stop?" I don't. And that scares me more than anything.
My phone buzzes. A text from Alexander: "Turn on the news, newlyweds."
Caelen's already in the doorway, remote in hand. He flicks on the massive screen. It's us. Photos from yesterday's press conference.
"WELCH HEIRESS ENGAGED TO CAELEN RHYS: NY'S NEW POWER COUPLE?" The anchor is giddy.
"Sources are calling it the most shocking strategic alliance of the decade!" I scoff. "They make it sound so romantic."
"It's PR, Maeve," Caelen says, his voice quiet, but he's watching me, not the screen.
"It's supposed to." My hand instinctively goes to the emerald on my finger. A tactical weapon.
"It's just... strange. Seeing it. It makes it feel..." "Real?" he finishes for me.
I can't answer. I'm still married to Kael. This is strategy. My marriage to Kael felt real, but it was a transaction. This engagement is a transaction, but his support today felt... real.
The lines are blurring, and I'm terrified. But my heart is hammering, and it's not from fear.
Caelen takes a step closer. He doesn't touch me. He just looks at me, his gaze so intense it feels like a physical touch.
"It doesn't have to be," he says, his voice a low rumble. "But at the engagement party, we should probably make it look convincing."
"Convincing?" "Very convincing." He holds my gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Let's give them a show, Maeve. Let's make Kael Dareth watch us look like the realest thing he's ever seen."