Page 37 of Falling for Mr. Ruthless

The blood drains from Wilton’s face.

"That sounds dangerously close to blackmail, Jakob."

"It's not blackmail." I smile—a cold expression that's made grown men flinch in boardrooms across Manhattan. "It's just clarity. You crossed a line when you targeted her. When you ignored my warning and decided to play detective anyway."

I let my gaze sweep the table, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "I don't make threats twice, gentlemen. The first time is courtesy. The second time is a promise."

The room goes silent. I can hear someone's watch ticking. Someone else's shallow breathing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chanel watching me. She's seeing a side of me I've hidden from her.

The ruthless operator who built Novare, not the controlled husband she knew. The man who exists in shadows and boardrooms, not in the light of family dinners and parent-teacher conferences.

Phillip clears his throat, breaking the silence. "Surely we can reach a compromise?—"

"There is no compromise." I cut him off, voice like ice. "You keep Ms. Warren on the audit. Period. Or I burn it all down."

I mean every word. They know it. I can see it in their faces—the calculation, the fear, the dawning realization that they've miscalculated badly.

Wilton breaks first. “We’ll need to deliberate further." He looks at Chanel. "In the meantime, perhaps a temporary leave of absence?—"

Chanel cuts him off. "No. I will continue leading this audit as scheduled. Or I walk. Not just from Novare, but from RSV entirely."

It's her line in the sand, drawn without consulting me, with no need for my protection.

Pride stirs in my chest as I watch the woman I've always known emerge under pressure. Unflinching when it matters.

Wilton looks between us, trapped between competing threats.

"Twenty-four hours," he says finally. “We need twenty-four hours to review the security concerns."

"Close of business. Today," I counter. "The White Glove Pivot won't wait."

He nods once, conceding. "You’ll have our response by five."

"Fine." Chanel picks up her portfolio. "If that's all?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, just walks out. I follow, not bothering with pleasantries.

In the hallway, she stops, turning to face me with contained fury.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"Step in. Take over. Make decisions about my career without consulting me."

"I didn't?—"

"You did." Her voice is low but intense. "You threatened RSV, forcing their hand. You made it look like I need your protection."

"You don't need my protection." I step closer, lowering my voice to match hers. "But you do need allies. And right now, I'm the only one you've got."

Chanel stands fuming, but knows I'm right—even if she hates it.

I continue walking, calculating my next steps, the weight of what just happened settling between my shoulders. We stop in front of the elevator.

"I was handling it," she says.