Page 40 of The Rival’s Obsession (The Black Ledger Billionaires #3)

A full 3D model of the Wolfe Complex blooms into view, cast holographically between the board members.

The city skyline surrounds it—elevations, shadow play, green space integrations.

With one flick, Dante brings up the sustainability overlays.

Another flick and the usage flow animates in real time, people moving through the structure in translucent motion.

It’s architectural porn.

Gasps break the silence.

Chairs lean forward.

Whispers start immediately—awed and reverent.

Even Corrine leans in—jaw clenching as she eases back in her chair. She knows we’re nailing this, and she hates it.

Dante’s voice cuts through, cool and assured. “Sustainable energy isn’t a feature. It’s the foundation.”

I take over seamlessly. “This design incorporates solar membrane skin, geothermal cores, and fully adaptive shading. Energy-positive. Carbon-negative. And built for resilience.”

We keep going—like we’ve practiced for years. Revolutionary tech integration. AI-responsive infrastructure. Spaces designed not just for function but for culture, collaboration, and legacy.

The questions, the discussions, the pull-ins to show the detail and bring them into the building in a way they’ve never before seen on a pitch—couldn’t have gone more perfectly.

By the time we finish, the room is quiet again—but this time, stunned into silence.

Then Damien Wolfe rises.

He crosses the room with purpose and extends his hand—first to Dante, then to me.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” Wolfe says, his voice low but definitive. “The city’s top project deserves the city’s top firm. We’ll be in touch.”

A man like Damien Wolfe doesn’t wait for pleasantries or salutations. Those take time and—as the old saying goes—time is money.

Wolfe, Marcus, and their team exit, leaving behind a boardroom humming with murmurs and thinly veiled excitement.

Corrine doesn’t move.

She’s seated halfway down the table, her posture rigid, lips slightly parted like she still might try to reclaim the floor. But it’s gone. The moment has passed, and she knows it.

Dante steps forward first, his tone calm but resolute. “For those still uncertain, allow me to clarify what just happened.”

He gestures briefly toward the door Wolfe just exited through, then levels his gaze on the room.

“That was the most influential client in the city—and he just entrusted his legacy to ours.”

I pick up from there, standing taller as the final echo of the presentation settles in the room. “Marchesi and Harrow will continue to lead as New York’s premier architectural firm. That is not up for debate.”

I pause—let it land.

“If the board sees fit to remove us as co-CEOs, we’ll start a new firm. And our clients—Wolfe Industries included—will come with us. Because it’s our names on these buildings. Our vision they’re investing in.”

Dante nods once. “And we’re not giving that up.”

“So you either side with us or find a new table to sit around.” I finish and we look each member in the eye.

Silence stretches, taut and charged.

Then applause breaks like a wave—spontaneous and growing.

Several board members rise to their feet. A few cross the room to shake our hands. Someone claps Dante on the back. Bottled waters are lifted like toasts. It’s not just approval—it’s victory.

Corrine doesn’t clap.

She sits perfectly still, a half-laugh caught in her throat like a misfire. Her fingers twitch once before balling into a fist in her lap.

No one looks to her for input. No one waits for her commentary.

The board has made its decision.

Eve rises last—slow and graceful—the only one to glance Corrine’s way. She leans in, voice a velvet dagger.

“My boys knocked it out of the park,” she murmurs. “Just like I always knew they would.”

Corrine’s jaw ticks, but she says nothing.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

I don’t even need to turn to see Corrine’s face. I can feel the heat of her fury from across the room. She’s seething. Practically steaming through her designer silk.

Beside me, Dante leans in and murmurs, “The second this room clears, I’m pinning you to that table and making you scream my name.”

My mouth drops open in pure disbelief.

He glances down at my slack jaw, then grins. “Invitation accepted, Lucciolina .”

Before I can gather a reply, his hand slides low across my back—casual, practiced. It could almost be mistaken for professionalism… until it dips just low enough to cup my ass. A firm squeeze. Entirely unrepentant.

No one notices.

No one except Corrine and she narrows her eyes like I stabbed her in the back.

Dante steps away, all smooth swagger and lazy power, but he tosses the final dagger over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold:

“My office. Ten minutes?”

I nod, a small grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. It feels good—earned.

“Need to make a call first,” he adds, and then he’s gone.

The doors shut behind him, and the room begins to clear.

Corrine just stands there—on the outside. Looking in.

And for the first time… I think she understands.

This isn’t just the end of her control. It’s the beginning of something new.

Something she’s not going to be a part of.

Not anymore.