The conference room holds Ward Enterprises' board of directors, and they assess me like sharks scenting chum.
Five faces around a mahogany table that probably costs more than Jake's entire barn. Crystal water glasses. Leather chairs. The smell of expensive cologne and barely concealed contempt.
Zachary positions himself at my right shoulder, tablet in hand, and begins the introduction I've been dreading.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Adison Ward." His voice carries the weight of practiced authority. "Richard Ward's heir and his chosen protégé for interim CEO during his medical leave."
Three of the men laugh.
Not chuckles. Not polite acknowledgment. Actual laughter, like I've just told the funniest joke they've heard all quarter.
Gideon Willis. Jax Palmer. Camden Martin.
I know their names from Zachary's files. Know their positions, their investments, their vulnerabilities.
Know that Gideon's mistress is on the company payroll as a "consultant." Know that Camden's financial projections have been consistently wrong for six quarters. Know that Jax's son just got arrested for his third DUI.
They don't know I know any of this.
"Gentlemen." A woman's voice cuts through the laughter like a blade. Victoria Snyder, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, sits at the far end of the table. "Perhaps you'll outgrow your conviction that women can't run the world. Miss Ward, please continue."
Gratitude floods my chest, quickly replaced by steel. I can't afford gratitude right now. Can't afford anything except control.
Juliana Bell says nothing. She sits three seats from Victoria, watching me with an expression I can't read. According to Zachary's notes, Juliana rarely speaks—but when she does, people remember.
I suppress the fury clawing at my throat and deliver my opening statement.
"I'm not here to earn your approval." My voice comes out cold. Precise. Unapologetic. "I'm here because my father built this company from nothing, and I refuse to watch you dismantle it while he fights for his life. Whether you like it or not, you will cooperate with the transition. Now, shall we proceed to actual business?"
The laughter dies. What follows is a gauntlet.
"What experience do you have with quarterly projections?" Camden leans forward, feigning concern. "Surely you understand the complexity—"
"I understand your projections have been fifteen percent optimistic for six consecutive quarters." I pull the data from memory, watching his face pale. "Perhaps we should discuss why the board hasn't addressed that pattern."
Gideon tries next. "The Bowman acquisition requires delicate negotiation. Your father and I were discussing—"
"The Bowman acquisition is dead." I cut him off without flinching. "Due diligence revealed liabilities that weren't disclosed. Unless you'd like to explain why you pushed so hard for a deal with hidden debt, Gideon."
His jaw tightens. "That project has my personal endorsement—"
"Then your personal endorsement will receive a full board review." I let the threat land. "I'm sure there's nothing concerning in the details."
Juliana's lips twitch. Almost a smile.
Zachary and Victoria counter where they can, redirecting hostility, smoothing edges I've deliberately sharpened. But I realize, somewhere between Gideon's sputtering and Camden's silence, that I'm fighting this battle myself.
And winning.
I meet Juliana's silent stare without flinching. She still hasn't spoken. But something in her expression shifts—curiosity, maybe. Or recognition.
The meeting concludes forty-five minutes later. I've made enemies. I've made exactly one ally. And something uncomfortable settles in my chest as I gather my notes.
I'm becoming my father.
The thought tastes like betrayal and triumph in equal measure.
I exit first, needing air, needing Jake—
He's right there. Standing exactly where I left him, cowboy hat in his hands, expression tight with concern.
"You alright?" The question is immediate. Genuine. His eyes scan my face like he's checking for wounds.
Before I can answer, the conference room doors open behind me. Board members begin filing out, their conversations carefully modulated, their assessments of me probably already forming into gossip that will spread through Manhattan by dinner.
Gideon spots Jake.
His face splits into something that looks like amused contempt—the expression of a man who's just found a new target for his humiliation.
"What's this?" Gideon's voice carries across the executive floor. Deliberately loud. Deliberately cruel. "Cowboys in the corporate office?"
Everyone stops. Watches.
The silence is a living thing, hungry for blood.
Zachary steps in smoothly, positioning himself between Gideon and Jake with practiced diplomacy. "This is Jake Sullivan. Mr. Ward's childhood friend. He's here to assist Miss Ward during her father's illness."
I see Jake's shoulders tense. See his jaw clench at the careful, diminishing description of who he is to me. The words reduce him to something manageable. Something unthreatening. Something that isn't the man I love, the man I'm engaged to, the man who holds my entire heart in his calloused hands.
Gideon's smile widens. "So you're the babysitter." He looks Jake up and down like he's assessing livestock. "How charming."
Jake's voice is ice. "You have a problem with something, friend?"
My heart stops.
The word "friend" comes out like a threat. Like a promise of violence wrapped in politeness. Like everything Jake is—honest, direct, allergic to pretense—refusing to be contained by Manhattan's unspoken rules.
He couldn't hold back. Not even once. Not even for me.
Gideon's expression flickers—surprise, maybe, at being challenged by someone who doesn't play the corporate game. Someone who doesn't care about his position or his wealth or his carefully cultivated power.
The silence stretches. Every board member frozen in place, watching this collision between two worlds that were never meant to meet.
I should intervene. Should smooth this over, redirect, deploy the diplomatic skills I've been practicing since I could walk.
But part of me—the part that's still the woman who ran into a flooded pasture to save a drowning calf—wants to see what happens when Jake Sullivan refuses to bend.
Even if it destroys everything I just built