Page 103 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

"What do you want?" Her voice drops, stripped of pretense. "There must be something. Some arrangement we can make."

"I want you gone."

The words land between us, simple and absolute. Not a negotiation. Not an opening gambit. The endgame, laid bare.

"From Novare? Fine. I'll sign whatever you need. Full renunciation of?—"

"From the country," I clarify, cutting through her desperate bargaining. "Twenty-four hours. New identity. New life. No contact. No return."

She laughs—a brittle, disbelieving sound. "You can't be serious."

"The file contains enough evidence to trigger investigations into tax evasion, securities fraud, and corporate espionage." I step away from the desk, giving her space to absorb the reality of her position. "Your choice is simple: disappear voluntarily, or I ensure the system swallows you whole."

"This is because of her." Megan's voice curdles with contempt. "Your precious Chanel. The woman who couldn't handle what building this company required."

I feel something shift inside me—not anger, but a deeper, colder certainty. "Don't say her name."

"She made you weak, Jakob. Always did. Made you think there was something better than power. Something more important than winning." Megan steps closer, desperation bleeding into calculation. "We built this together. Everything you have, we created. You'd throw that all away for a woman who left you?"

"No." I meet her gaze directly, letting her see what I've kept hidden for years. "I'm not throwing anything away. I'm reclaiming what matters."

"And what about the others?" Desperation creeps into her voice. "My family? My team? They had nothing to do with this."

"They're collateral damage in a war you started." I walk back to the window, turning my back to her—the ultimate dismissal. "But once you're gone, they'll be left alone."

Silence stretches between us, taut with unspoken history. With promises broken and trust betrayed. With the knowledge that we were never friends—only temporary allies in the pursuit of power.

"You know I'll never stop," she says finally, voice lowered. "Wherever I go. Whatever name I take. I'll find a way back. To this. To you."

I turn to face her, unmoved by the threat. "If you try, I will make you disappear."

Five words. No inflection. No rage. Just quiet certainty that lands like a death sentence.

Megan stares at me, searching for weakness, for hesitation, for the man she once manipulated. Finding only the one she created instead—ruthless, unflinching, willing to burn what he built to protect what he loves.

"Twenty-four hours," I remind her, voice soft as a blade against skin. "Then everything in that file goes public."

She stands frozen for a moment longer, pride warring with survival. Then something breaks in her posture—the slight drop of shoulders, the tightening of her jaw. Acceptance, not surrender.

"You'll regret this," she says, but the words carry no weight. Empty threat from a disarmed opponent.

"No." I meet her gaze one final time. "I only regret not doing it sooner."

She leaves without another word, the door closing quietly behind her. No slam. No final barb. Just the whisper of defeat.

I stand motionless, watching the space she occupied, feeling nothing but quiet certainty. The knowledge that some threats can only be neutralized through complete excision. That some cancers require radical treatment to prevent spread.

My phone vibrates. A text from Chanel:We need to talk. The Met. Egyptian Wing. Noon tomorrow.

Her message hits with the precision of a blade—direct, clean, purposeful. The place where I once tried too hard to impress her. Where I memorized exhibit details just to watch her smile at my effort. Where she first looked at me like I might be more than my name or my wealth.

Neutral ground. Her choice, not mine.

I don't respond immediately. Instead, I move to the bar cart in the corner of my office, pour a finger of scotch. Not to drink—just to hold. To feel the weight of crystal in my palm. To remind myself that some containers are designed to hold dangerous things without breaking.

I set the untouched glass down, straighten my tie, and send a simple response.

I'll be there.