A D R I A N

The same sea that hammered the glass behind the boardroom is still there now, steady as punishment. The room smells of paper and panic and the faint ozone of the camera flashes. Everyone’s gone, chairs skewed, microphones still red-tipped from questions that won’t stop echoing. I should feel vindicated, I did what the heir does, took responsibility, cut rot from the bone, made it clean. But nothing about it feels clean.

My reflection stares back in the window, tie gone, shirt half-open, the Valcrosse crest on the wall behind me like it belongs to someone else. I don’t even remember unbuttoning my cuffs. I just remember Elara’s face when I stepped down, the way she mouthed my name like it could stop the fall.

The sea hits the wall again, a dull, rhythmic thud, outside, reporters have been herded off the terrace, but I can still see the pulse of their lights beyond the palms. Ethan said he’d handle press until I’m ready, I told him I’m fine, but I’m not.

The audit will show his name on every forged invoice, every fake vendor, every vanished cent. And mine? Right there next to him. Whether they call it carelessness, failure, or just a family curse, it sticks the same. I run a hand over my face and feel salt under my skin. It’s not from the ocean, it’s sweat, maybe tears, it’s hard to tell which. The door clicks open, I hear Ethan’s voice: “He’s asking to speak before he’s escorted off island.”

I don’t even turn. “Bring him in.”

The door shuts again, and I hear the shuffle of shoes, the metallic clink of cuffs. Callum still looks like money, slick hair, gold cufflinks, arrogance that won’t wash off. He grins when he sees me.

“Family reunion already?” he says. “Did the cameras get enough of your noble sacrifice?”

“Sit.” My voice comes out flat, lower than I intend. He doesn’t, he sprawls into the nearest chair, eyes flicking to the board logos still glowing on the wall. “You think this absolves you? We built this together, I covered your debts, you covered mine. That’s what family does.”

“That’s what parasites do,” I say. “Family protects the house, not hollows it out.” Ethan stands by the door, silent, solid. The security detail hovers behind Callum, waiting for my nod. I press the control pad, the screen behind me lights up with the audit report, page after page of forged authorizations, false vendor accounts, wire transfers into an offshore shell.

His name, in black and gold, stamped across every page, for a moment he actually looks afraid. Then the grin slides back. “You think they won’t drag you with me? You signed half of it.”

“I’ll answer mine,” I say quietly. “But you’ll answer first.”

“You’re not the law, cousin.”

“No,” I tell him, “but I am the Valcrosse who still gives a damn about what the name means.”

Silence stretches until it hurts, then I say the words that end him. “Effective immediately, Callum Valcrosse is terminated from all Valcrosse Luxe holdings, pending criminal proceedings. By order of the acting board chair.”

He laughs, short, incredulous. “You’d cut your own blood for her?” Ethan moves before I can. He grips Callum’s arm, firm, professional, Callum jerks free, eyes bright with hate.

“This isn’t about her,” I say, though my throat burns on the lie. “This is about the family you sold.”

“Sold?” Callum spits. “You mean saved, you think investors want a moral prince? They want profit. They want sharks, not saints. But you.. ” he laughs again, mean and wet, “You found your pretty little doctor and suddenly you’ve got a conscience. You used to be like me. Cold. Effective. Now look at you.”

I don’t answer. I can’t. The words land like fists because some part of me knows he’s right, at least about the change. I used to bleed for margins, not people. Then she walked in and everything I built on control started shaking.

“Tell me,” he keeps going, louder, knowing the microphones are still hot even if the cameras are gone. “Does she know what you did to stay in power? How many lies you buried before you learned how to kiss?”

“Enough,” Ethan warns. Callum leans across the table, chains clinking. “She’ll leave you, cousin. They all do when they see the rot underneath. You’ll end up like the old man, alone, pretending duty is love.”

I move before I think. Chair hits the wall with my hands slamming the table between us, rattling glasses. “You’re finished.”

He smirks. “Maybe. But I’ll still be Valcrosse. You can’t erase blood.”

I step closer, drop my voice until it’s only for him. “Watch me.” For a second, real fear flashes in his eyes. Then he covers it with the same grin that’s always gotten him out of trouble.

“Enjoy your fall, Adrian,” he says. “I’ll be there when you hit bottom.”

Ethan signals the guards, they haul him up, still laughing. The sound follows him down the hall, echoing like surf against steel. When the door finally closes, I realize my hands are bleeding from where my nails bit into my palms.

The boardroom empties like a slow bleed. One by one, advisors shuffle out, their shoes soft on polished wood, their eyes carefully not meeting mine. No one wants to stand too close to a man who just ripped open his own bloodline.

Isabella doesn’t speak, she just passes me a cloth napkin from the refreshment tray and walks away, her heels clicking like a metronome on tile. I don’t know if that’s approval or goodbye.

I stare at the smear of red on my palm, my body’s finally registering the pain, tiny crescents in the skin from where I clenched too hard. I sit down because if I don’t, I’ll start pacing and I won’t stop. I’ll tear this whole room apart, page by page, table by table. Callum’s words still echo, sticky in the back of my throat. You’ve gone soft. She’ll ruin you.

He doesn’t get to say her name, not after what he did, not after what he risked. And yet, some part of me still hears him, still wonders if he’s right. The weight of it all settles like wet stone. The loss of control. The guilt. The fear I can’t voice, not to the board but to Ethan. Maybe not even to her.

I press my hands flat to the table and stare at the reflection of the Valcrosse crest on the polished surface. Then I stand, I don’t know where I’m going until I’m already outside.

The balcony off the executive wing is empty, wind slapping off the sea like it’s trying to pull secrets from the stone. I lean into it, the salt stings my skin, fresh where it scraped under Callum’s words.

I don’t hear her footsteps, just the shift in air behind me.

“Don’t,” I say without turning. “I can’t..”

“I know.” Her voice is soft, careful. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal. Maybe she is. She steps up beside me anyway, says nothing for a while. The silence stretches, taut as a cable. Below us, the surf crashes against the cliffs,  I used to think this view meant power. Now it feels like a warning.

“Was it worth it?” I ask.

“For the truth?” she says. “Yes.”

“And what if the truth burns everything down?”

She looks at me then,  “Then we rebuild. But we don’t rebuild on lies.” I want to believe her, I want to believe there’s something left to rebuild. But all I see is ruin of family, of trust, of the future I was taught to inherit. She reaches out, touches my chest, just above my heart. Her fingers are warm. “You didn’t fail the island,” she whispers. “You cut the rot. That’s what leaders do.”

Her touch anchors me in a way nothing else does. I don’t say anything, I just let my head drop forward, let her lean into me, and for a breath, I stop falling.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, I don’t want to answer. Not now, but something about the sound, it’s not a call. It’s a coded vibration. One I set up for internal security alerts. I pulled it out and the screen lit up with a message. No contact. No subject.

Just a photo.

It was Elara, in her clinic, taken through the glass. Candid. Alone. Vulnerable. And beneath it, a line of text.

“You took my name. I’ll take yours.”

The air leaves my lungs like a punch, she sees my face pale. “What is it?”

Her mouth parts. “When was this taken?”

“I don’t know,” I say, voice like gravel. “But I know who sent it.”

My hand tightens around the phone, the waves slam harder now, or maybe I just hear them louder. He’s not finished, and this time… he’s coming for her.