The executive floor of Reed Global was unusually quiet.
Damien signed the last document and glanced at the clock.
11:47 a.m.
Without thinking, his eyes drifted toward the city skyline.
By now...
Catherine would usually be having lunch.
His fingers paused over his phone before he pressed a single contact.
"Lucas."
His assistant answered immediately.
"Yes, Mr. Reed."
"The usual restaurant."
A brief pause.
"Is Mrs. Reed there?"
Several seconds of silence followed.
"No, sir."
Damien frowned.
"Check again."
"I already have."
Another pause.
"Mrs. Reed never arrived."
Damien ended the call without another word.
...
Across the city, inside Kingston Enterprises, Catherine sat in a conference room surrounded by architects, engineers, and executives.
Blueprints covered the table.
"The revised budget has been approved," one director announced.
Catherine nodded.
"Good. Let's move to the next phase."
Her phone remained face down beside her.
Silent.
She never looked at it.
...
Back at Reed Global...
Damien found himself staring at the same document for nearly five minutes.
He hadn't read a single line.
A knock came at the door.
Lucas stepped inside.
"I checked again, sir."
Damien looked up.
"And?"
"Mrs. Reed hasn't left Kingston Enterprises all day."
"She had lunch there with the project team."
Silence.
Damien simply nodded.
"You may go."
Lucas left.
Damien leaned back in his chair.
For the first time...
He realized he had expected to see her today.
And for the first time...
She hadn't given him the opportunity.
The clock on the wall reached 1:07 p.m.
Lunch hour.
Michael finally pushed his chair back from his desk, rubbing his tired eyes as he glanced at the drawings spread across his workstation.
Around him, the architectural firm had begun to empty.
Some employees headed toward the elevators.
Others gathered their things, already discussing where they were going for lunch.
Michael slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his messenger bag.
He was halfway toward the elevators when the receptionist called after him.
"Michael?"
He turned.
"Yes?"
"There's someone here to see you."
Michael frowned.
"Who?"
The receptionist glanced toward the waiting area.
"A woman. She said she's an old friend."
Michael's expression changed slightly.
"Did she give you her name?"
The receptionist nodded.
"Emily Dawson."
Michael stopped walking.
For a moment, the noise of the office seemed to fade around him.
Emily.
He hadn't heard that name in years.
Slowly, he turned toward the waiting area.
And there she was.
Sitting comfortably in one of the leather chairs, dressed far more elegantly than anyone visiting an architectural firm had any reason to be.
Her dark hair fell over one shoulder.
Her fingers rested around a coffee cup she hadn't touched.
But the moment their eyes met—
She smiled.
Not politely.
Not cautiously.
Like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Michael stared at her.
"...Emily?"
She stood.
"Hi, Michael."
He didn't move.
"What are you doing here?"
Emily's smile widened.
"I came to see you."
"Here?"
"Where else would I find you?"
She walked toward him slowly.
Michael glanced around the office, suddenly conscious of the curious looks from several coworkers.
"Emily, I have lunch in twenty minutes."
"Then I'm lucky."
She stopped directly in front of him.
"That gives me twenty minutes to remind you why you used to like me."
Michael let out a disbelieving breath.
"You haven't changed."
Emily smiled.
"Neither have you."
She reached up and lightly touched the collar of his shirt.
"You're still terrible at pretending you don't remember me."
Michael gently caught her hand and lowered it.
"I remember you."
"Good."
Her eyes softened.
"Because I never forgot you."
He hesitated.
"Emily..."
"I know."
She smiled.
"You have someone."
Michael nodded.
"I do."
"Andrew Anderson."
There was something unmistakably bitter in the way she said his name.
Michael noticed.
"You know about him."
"Everyone knows about him."
Emily looked him over.
"New York's Andrew Anderson."
"The billionaire who apparently owns half the city and thinks the other half belongs to him."
Michael smiled despite himself.
"That's not entirely inaccurate."
Emily's smile disappeared.
"You really love him."
"Yes."
The answer came too quickly.
Too naturally.
Emily looked away.
"That hurts."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
She looked back at him.
"You don't owe me an apology for being happy."
Michael nodded.
"Thank you."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Emily stepped closer.
"Do you remember college?"
"Of course."
"You used to walk me home."
"You lived three blocks away."
"You still did it."
"You were afraid of walking alone at night."
"I was."
She smiled.
"And you always carried my books."
Michael laughed softly.
"You had half the library in those bags."
"You never complained."
"I complained constantly."
"But you still carried them."
Her voice softened.
"That's what I remember."
Michael's smile faded.
"Emily..."
"I still like you."
She said it simply.
No hesitation.
"I still like you, Michael."
"I tried not to."
"I really tried."
"But I couldn't."
Michael looked at her carefully.
"You're remembering the past."
"I'm remembering you."
She stepped closer.
"There's a difference."
Her fingers touched his forearm.
"You were the first man who ever made me feel safe."
Michael's expression softened.
"And you were one of my closest friends."
"Friends."
She repeated the word with a quiet laugh.
"That's all I ever was to you."
"Emily..."
"Did you ever look at me?"
"Really look at me?"
"I did."
"Then why didn't you choose me?"
Michael was silent.
"Because I didn't feel what you felt."
Her eyes glistened.
"I wish you had."
Before Michael could respond, Emily suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Michael froze.
"Emily."
She held him tighter.
"Just let me have this."
"I missed you."
Her voice trembled against his chest.
Michael carefully placed his hands on her shoulders.
"You shouldn't do this."
"I know."
"I just..."
She pulled back enough to look at him.
"...wanted to know if it still felt right."
Michael's expression hardened slightly.
"It doesn't."
That answer hurt.
He could see it.
But Emily didn't move away.
Instead, her eyes drifted toward his phone.
A photo was visible on the screen.
Andrew.
Michael instinctively turned the phone over.
Emily noticed.
"He's everywhere, isn't he?"
Michael frowned.
"What?"
"Your phone."
"Your face when you talk about him."
"The way you smile when his name comes up."
She laughed bitterly.
"I hate that."
Michael shook his head.
"Emily, don't turn this into something it isn't."
"How can I not?"
She stepped closer again.
"I spent years wondering if I had made the wrong choice."
"And now I finally find you..."
"...and you're completely in love with someone else."
Michael's voice softened.
"Yes."
Emily looked directly into his eyes.
"Would you choose him if I kissed you?"
Michael immediately stepped back.
"No."
The answer was firm.
"I wouldn't let you."
Her lips parted slightly.
Then she gave a small, almost amused smile.
"You're very loyal."
"I love him."
"I know."
She looked down.
"That's what makes me jealous."
A voice from behind them interrupted.
"Michael?"
He glanced over.
One of his coworkers stood near the elevators.
"We're heading out for lunch."
Michael nodded.
"I'll be there in a minute."
The coworker glanced between Michael and Emily before leaving.
Emily watched him go.
"You have twenty minutes."
Michael looked at his watch.
"Fifteen now."
She laughed.
"Then give me five."
"Five what?"
"Five minutes where you don't think about him."
Michael stared at her.
"Emily..."
She smiled.
"Relax."
"I'm not going to steal you."
"I just want to remember what it felt like to stand this close to you."
She stepped forward.
Michael remained where he was.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Emily slowly rested her forehead against his shoulder.
Michael sighed.
He didn't embrace her.
He didn't pull her closer.
He simply stood there.
Emily whispered,
"I still can't forget you."
Michael answered quietly.
"And I can't give you what you want."
She lifted her head.
"Because of Andrew?"
"Because of my choice."
That silenced her.
Michael reached for his bag.
"I have to go."
Emily nodded.
"Of course."
He started walking toward the elevator.
Then she called after him.
"Michael."
He turned.
She smiled sadly.
"If things ever change..."
"They won't."
She laughed under her breath.
"Still brutally honest."
"Always."
The elevator doors opened.
Michael stepped inside.
Emily remained in the lobby watching him.
Just before the doors closed, their eyes met.
She gave him one last smile.
Michael disappeared.
Emily's expression remained fixed for a few seconds.
Then the smile slowly faded.
She looked down at her phone.
A message sat waiting.
Brittany Kingston:
Well?
Emily typed back.
He's completely in love with Andrew.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Even better.
Emily frowned slightly.
Another message arrived.
Now tell me...
How angry do you think Andrew will be if he hears his boyfriend's ex was hugging him during lunch?
Emily stared at the message.
Then smiled.
For the first time that afternoon, she understood.
This wasn't about getting Michael back.
Not anymore.
It was about the game.
And somewhere in Florence, Brittany Kingston was already enjoying herself.
Because to Brittany, this was nothing serious.
Just a little temptation.
A little jealousy.
A little chaos thrown into Andrew Anderson's perfectly controlled world.
She wanted to see him lose his composure.
Nothing more.
At least...
That was what she believed.
------
The Kingston estate stood beneath the quiet afternoon sky, its towering gates opening as two lines of black luxury vehicles entered the grounds.
The first convoy belonged to the Rodriguez family.
At its center, a long black Rolls-Royce came to a smooth stop beneath the grand portico.
Moments later, the rear door opened.
Alejandro Rodriguez stepped out first.
His presence was calm but commanding, the kind that required no introduction. Beside him, Isabella Rodriguez emerged with effortless elegance, her expression composed as she looked toward the enormous Kingston mansion.
Behind them came the elder patriarch of the Rodriguez family.
Don Rafael Rodriguez moved slowly, supported by a polished silver cane, yet there was nothing fragile about him.
Age had softened his features.
It had not weakened his authority.
For decades, his name had carried weight across international markets, political circles, and the private world of old-money families.
A Kingston butler approached immediately.
"Mr. Kingston is expecting you."
Rafael gave a brief nod.
"Then we should not keep him waiting."
The Rodriguez family began walking toward the entrance.
Before they reached the doors, the sound of another convoy echoed across the estate.
Alejandro turned.
A second line of black vehicles passed through the gates.
The crest displayed on the lead car was unmistakable.
Sinclair.
Isabella's expression shifted slightly.
"They weren't expected."
"No," Alejandro replied.
"They weren't."
The Sinclair vehicles stopped beside the Rodriguez convoy.
The rear door opened.
Victor Sinclair stepped out, followed by his wife, Margaret Sinclair.
Victor adjusted the sleeve of his dark suit before his gaze moved toward the Rodriguez family.
For a brief moment, silence settled beneath the portico.
Two powerful families.
One estate.
Neither had expected the other.
Don Rafael rested both hands on his cane.
"Victor."
"Rafael."
The greetings were polite.
Nothing more.
Victor glanced toward the Kingston entrance.
"I didn't realize the Rodriguezes had business with the Kingstons today."
Alejandro answered before Rafael could.
"Some family matters are better handled privately."
Victor gave a faint smile.
"Apparently, the Sinclairs agree."
Neither man explained further.
The butler returned, looking between the two families.
"Mr. Kingston has requested that everyone proceed to the main drawing room."
The doors opened.
The Rodriguez and Sinclair families entered together.
---
The main drawing room reflected generations of Kingston influence.
Tall windows overlooked the private gardens while portraits of former Kingston patriarchs covered the walls.
At the center of the room sat Old Mr. Kingston.
Roger Kingston stood beside the fireplace, while Lydia Kingston remained seated nearby.
The moment the two families entered together, Roger's expression tightened.
"Well," he said quietly.
"This is unexpected."
Old Mr. Kingston looked first toward the Rodriguezes.
Then toward the Sinclairs.
"Unexpected meetings are often the most interesting."
Don Rafael stepped forward.
"Thank you for receiving us."
Old Mr. Kingston gestured toward the seating area.
"Please."
Everyone took their places.
For several moments, servants moved silently around the room, placing tea and refreshments before the guests.
No one touched them.
The atmosphere was too tense.
Finally, Don Rafael rested his cane beside his chair.
"We have known each other for many years."
Old Mr. Kingston nodded.
"Our families have shared business interests for decades."
"And respect," Rafael added.
"Which is why I preferred to speak to you directly."
The room grew quieter.
Rafael continued.
"My grandson, Nikolas, has made his intentions clear."
Roger looked toward him.
"Regarding Brittany."
"Yes."
Rafael's voice remained steady.
"He wishes to marry her."
Lydia folded her hands neatly in her lap.
"Nikolas has always been respectful toward our family."
"He has," Roger agreed.
Alejandro leaned slightly forward.
"Our son has no interest in another arrangement."
"He has chosen Brittany."
"And he has no intention of changing his mind."
Old Mr. Kingston studied the Rodriguez family.
"A marriage between the Kingstons and Rodriguezes would unite two powerful families."
"It would," Rafael replied.
"But my grandson is not asking for an alliance alone."
"He wants Brittany."
The words settled heavily across the room.
Old Mr. Kingston remained silent for several seconds.
Then he turned toward Roger and Lydia.
"You have heard their intentions."
Roger nodded.
"We have."
Lydia's expression softened.
"Nikolas has cared for Brittany for a long time."
Old Mr. Kingston looked back toward Rafael.
"And your family is prepared to accept her?"
Isabella answered calmly.
"She would enter our family as a Rodriguez."
"Not as a guest."
"Not as an outsider."
"She would have our name, our protection, and her place within this family."
Rafael gave a slow nod.
"Then the matter is simple."
The room became completely silent.
Old Mr. Kingston rested both hands against the head of his cane.
"The Kingston family accepts."
Roger looked toward his father.
"Father—"
"The decision is made."
His voice was calm.
Final.
"No family could offer Brittany greater security or standing."
He turned toward the Rodriguezes.
"The marriage will proceed."
For the first time since entering the estate, Alejandro allowed himself a faint smile.
Isabella lifted her teacup.
"To the future."
Don Rafael nodded.
"To the union of our families."
The agreement had been made.
No negotiations.
No delays.
No uncertainty.
The Kingston and Rodriguez families had decided the future.
Then Victor Sinclair cleared his throat.
"I believe," he said calmly, "our family has a matter to discuss as well."
---
Victor Sinclair cleared his throat.
"I believe the Sinclair family also has a matter to place before the Kingston family."
The room's attention shifted toward him.
Old Mr. Kingston inclined his head.
"Proceed."
Victor rose from his chair.
"My son, Robert Sinclair, has developed a great respect for Arthur Kingston."
"He believes Arthur is a man worthy of joining our family."
"My daughter, Lenora Sinclair, has also expressed no objection to such an arrangement."
He paused before continuing.
"On behalf of the Sinclair family, I have come to formally request the hand of Arthur Kingston in marriage to my daughter, Lenora Sinclair."
Silence settled over the drawing room.
Even Alejandro Rodriguez looked toward Victor.
Two marriage proposals.
One afternoon.
One family.
Old Mr. Kingston rested both hands upon the head of his cane.
"A significant proposal."
Victor nodded.
"It is."
"Our families have conducted business for generations."
"We believe a marriage would strengthen not only our relationship but also the future of both houses."
Roger Kingston exchanged a brief glance with Lydia.
Neither spoke.
Old Mr. Kingston remained silent for several moments.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of absolute authority.
"The Rodriguez proposal concerns my granddaughter."
"It has been accepted."
He turned his attention fully toward Victor.
"Your proposal concerns my grandson."
"Arthur Kingston is the future head of this family."
"The decision regarding his marriage cannot be made today."
Victor remained composed.
"May I ask whether the Kingston family refuses our proposal?"
"No."
Old Mr. Kingston shook his head once.
"I refuse only haste."
"My answer is simple."
"I will speak with Arthur."
"I will consider what is best for this family."
"When that is done..."
"...the Sinclair family shall receive its answer."
Victor slowly inclined his head.
"That is all we ask."
The room relaxed slightly.
One alliance had been sealed.
The other...
Remained uncertain.
Old Mr. Kingston turned toward the Rodriguezes.
"The engagement between Nikolas Rodriguez and Brittany Kingston will be announced once the families agree upon a date."
Don Rafael nodded.
"Agreed."
Old Mr. Kingston then looked toward the Sinclairs.
"As for your request…"
His expression remained unreadable.
"I will consider it."
Victor gave a slow nod.
"Then we will await your decision."
The meeting slowly came to an end.
But as the two families rose from their seats, the atmosphere remained tense.
The Rodriguez family had secured a marriage.
The Sinclair family had left with uncertainty.
And somewhere beyond the walls of the Kingston estate, the decisions made that afternoon were already beginning to reshape the future of New York's most powerful families.
Obsidian Room – Private VIP Lounge
Night settled over New York, but the Obsidian Room was only beginning to come alive.
Beyond the reinforced doors of the private lounge, music pulsed through the nightclub. Laughter mixed with the clink of crystal glasses as New York's elite filled the lower floors—CEOs, politicians, old-money heirs, celebrities, and investors.
Inside the VIP lounge, however, silence ruled.
Damien Reed stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering skyline of New York, a glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand.
Andrew Anderson lounged on a leather sofa, absentmindedly flipping through a financial report.
Neither of them spoke.
The elevator chimed.
A second later—
The lounge doors burst open with such force they slammed against the wall.
Nikolas Rodriguez strode inside.
His face was devoid of its usual calm.
Only rage remained.
Damien turned.
"Nikolas."
Without a single word—
Crack.
Nikolas's fist slammed into Damien's jaw.
The force sent Damien stumbling backward into the marble bar.
His whiskey glass slipped from his hand and shattered across the polished floor.
Blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Andrew shot to his feet.
"Nik—"
Nikolas was already moving.
He grabbed Damien by the front of his shirt.
"You hurt her."
The room fell silent.
Damien slowly lifted his head.
"What?"
Nikolas's grip tightened.
"You heard me."
"You hurt Brittany."
For a long moment...
Damien simply stared at him.
Then his expression changed.
His eyes grew cold.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
Nikolas shoved him harder.
"I know enough."
"No."
Damien's voice hardened.
"You know one video."
"One hospital."
"One moment."
"You don't know what happened before it."
"You don't know what happened after it."
"You don't know a damn thing."
Nikolas's jaw clenched.
"I know she suffered."
Damien stepped closer until they stood almost chest to chest.
"So did I."
Nikolas laughed bitterly.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe."
Damien's voice rose, every word sharper than the last.
"What happened between Brittany and me..."
"...was our decision."
"Ours."
"Not yours."
"Not anyone else's."
Andrew immediately stepped forward.
"Damien."
But Damien ignored him completely.
"You think one video gives you the right to judge me?"
"You think throwing a punch makes you some kind of hero?"
"You know nothing about what Brittany and I lived through."
Nikolas's fists trembled.
"The only thing I know..."
"...is that she walked into a gynecology department with you..."
"...and walked out without your child."
Silence crashed over the room.
Damien's face hardened.
"It was a decision we both made."
"I have regretted it every single day."
"But don't stand there pretending you understand it."
Nikolas shook his head.
"You failed her."
Something inside Damien finally snapped.
"And where the hell were you?"
Andrew's eyes widened.
Damien continued before anyone could speak.
"You weren't part of her life then."
"You weren't there."
"You don't get to rewrite the past because you suddenly care now."
Nikolas's breathing became ragged.
"You don't get to say her name."
"I'll say her name whenever I want."
Damien took another step.
"Because unlike you..."
"I was there."
Crack.
Nikolas's second punch landed square across Damien's face.
Damien answered immediately.
His own fist slammed into Nikolas's jaw.
The two men collided.
Punch after punch echoed through the lounge.
Andrew rushed forward, grabbing Nikolas's shoulder.
"Stop!"
Neither listened.
Damien shoved Andrew away.
Nikolas drove forward again.
A leather chair overturned.
A marble side table crashed onto the floor.
Glass exploded beneath their feet.
Andrew caught Damien this time.
"Enough!"
Damien broke free.
Nikolas swung again.
Another punch.
Another.
Blood stained expensive suits.
Neither man cared anymore.
The fight burst through the lounge doors.
Outside, conversations stopped instantly.
Music continued to play, but every eye turned toward the commotion.
Members of New York's elite stood frozen.
Executives.
Politicians.
Business tycoons.
Socialites.
Influential families.
Everyone watched in disbelief.
Damien Reed and Nikolas Rodriguez—
Two of the three men known as Trio Fire—
Were beating each other in the middle of the Obsidian Room.
Whispers spread through the crowd.
"They're fighting..."
"That's Damien Reed."
"And Nikolas Rodriguez."
"What happened?"
"Is Trio Fire falling apart?"
Andrew finally forced himself between them with all his strength.
He shoved Damien backward.
Then Nikolas.
"ENOUGH!"
His voice thundered across the nightclub.
For a moment...
Silence.
Damien wiped the blood from his mouth.
Nikolas's knuckles were split open.
Both men glared at each other.
Andrew looked from one to the other.
His face held neither anger nor frustration.
Only disappointment.
"I spent years believing nothing could break the three of us."
His voice was quiet.
"But I was wrong."
Neither Damien nor Nikolas spoke.
Andrew shook his head.
"If this is what we've become..."
"...then maybe Trio Fire deserves to end."
The words landed harder than any punch.
Without another glance, Andrew turned and walked away.
The crowd instinctively moved aside for him.
No one dared speak.
No one dared stop him.
Nikolas looked at Damien one final time.
His voice was cold.
"We're done."
He turned and walked toward the elevator.
The doors closed behind him.
Damien remained standing alone in the middle of the ruined nightclub.
Broken glass.
Broken furniture.
Broken trust.
Around him, whispers had already begun spreading through New York's most powerful circles.
By morning...
Every boardroom.
Every private club.
Every influential family...
Would know the same thing.
Trio Fire had fallen.