Lucas Vale watched the room react.
It was subtle, at first—nothing more than the tightening of a jaw here. Lucas knew how to read power, and he could see it now in the boardroom like scent on blood. The scent of opportunity. Doubt. Weakness.
He had dropped the match. Now the fire would burn itself.
Nicholas had looked strong in front of them—his voice even, his posture erect, every inch the composed CEO. And Emery Clarke, standing beside him like a poised, unshakable ally. But Lucas had felt the quiver beneath the performance.
He'd seen Nicholas's knuckles whiten.
He'd heard the breath Emery held before she spoke.
They were losing control.
And Lucas was just getting started.
He left the boardroom without speaking another word, letting silence do what confrontation could not. That was the thing about power—if you chased it too hard, you looked desperate. But if you stood back, hands behind your back, as the world cracked open around you… people assumed you'd built the fault line.
And in a way, he had.
Weeks of planning. Months of surveillance. Quiet meetings with board members under the guise of performance reviews. He'd waited. Watched. Watched Nicholas stumble—too distracted by Emery Clarke's wide eyes and gentle spine to see the blade at his back.
Lucas didn't blame him. She was beautiful. Brilliant, even. But in the end, she would be Nicholas's undoing.
Not because she was weak.
But because she made him weak.
His office was two floors below Nicholas's—the "shadow floor," as it had once been called. Gifted to him during their third year working together, when Lucas had brokered the Lorne Acquisition and doubled Ashford Enterprises' valuation overnight.
Nicholas had toasted him with aged scotch and thrown him the key card like a king knighting a squire.
Back then, Lucas had believed in him.
Worshiped him, even.
But that was before he understood how Nicholas operated—calculating, isolating, offering loyalty like it was a lease with an expiration date. No one stood beside Nicholas forever. You either served him, or you were left behind.
Lucas had spent ten years serving.
Now, he was done waiting.
The lights in his office flicked on automatically, casting a sterile glow over the sleek, metallic surfaces. No personal items. No framed photos. Just a single monitor, a wall of black-glass shelves, and a long, polished desk.
He sat down, cracked his knuckles, and opened his laptop.
The email inbox was a battlefield of responses—board members, media reps, two carefully worded messages from legal that made his lips curl into a smile.
They were nervous.
Good.
He clicked open a folder marked "Initiatives." Inside: files. Memos. Audio clips. A copy of Nicholas's original contract addendum that restricted romantic relationships between executives and direct subordinates.
Signed by Nicholas himself, five years ago.
Lucas had made sure of that.
He leaned back in his chair, letting the moment breathe.
This was what he'd been building toward—not just a scandal. A shift. A rerouting of the company's soul.
Nicholas had always styled himself as irreplaceable. The empire builder. The visionary. But Lucas had seen something Nicholas didn't realize he was showing—fatigue.
He was tired.
Tired of fighting for the board's favor. Tired of balancing power with control. And most of all, tired of pretending he didn't care about Emery Clarke.
Lucas didn't hate her.
He resented her.
Not for being brilliant—but for being the one person Nicholas had chosen after everything they'd built together. After Lucas had sacrificed more than Nicholas would ever understand.
He still remembered the night Nicholas had first mentioned her. Some assistant from an interdepartmental team who was "sharp." "Efficient." "Unusually observant."
Lucas hadn't thought much of it at the time.
Until the meetings started getting shorter.
The emails more delayed.
The decisions made without him.
Emery Clarke hadn't replaced him on paper.
But in every other way, she had.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from the spiral.
He didn't look up. "Come in."
His new executive assistant, Julia, stepped in wearing dark red lipstick and a pantsuit that screamed both competence and ambition.
"The analysts have been asking whether they should pause Q2 projections until things settle."
Lucas tapped a finger against the desk. "No. Keep the wheels turning. If we stop, it looks like we're bleeding."
Julia nodded, then hesitated. "And the internal communications draft?"
Lucas turned in his chair to face her fully. "Send it out. But keep it neutral. Acknowledge the press, reaffirm our commitment to stability, and say nothing about disciplinary action. Yet."
He could see the question flicker in her eyes, but she was smart enough not to ask it.
He waited until she left before returning to the folder labeled Succession.
Inside it was a single-page document.
Lucas Vale – Interim CEO Contingency Proposal.
It was unsigned. Unofficial. A draft he'd slipped to two board members after a closed-door dinner last month. Back then, they'd been noncommittal. Sympathetic, but cautious.
Now?
They were watching Nicholas unravel.
And Emery?
No matter how steady she stood beside Nicholas in the boardroom, Lucas knew it couldn't last.
The media was circling.
The shareholders would soon ask questions.
And no matter how ethically clean their relationship had been, perception would eat them alive.
Lucas didn't even need to push anymore.
Just wait.
The storm would finish the work.
He leaned back again, exhaling slowly.
He remembered what it felt like to be twenty-five and wide-eyed, standing in front of Nicholas Ashford's desk for the first time. How Nicholas had looked at him like a mirror of himself—ambitious, dangerous, hungry.
"Don't get attached to people," Nicholas had said. "Only ideas. People will always betray you."
Lucas had taken the lesson to heart.
So when Nicholas had stopped looking at him like a mirror—and started looking at him like a rival—Lucas had made a choice.
He would never serve someone else's empire again.
He would be the empire.
His phone buzzed.
Text message.
From a blocked number.
"You've made your move. Don't forget—I know what you've buried to get here."
Lucas stared at it for a moment.
Then typed back:
"And I know how to dig deeper. Your move."
He didn't know who sent it.
Could've been Nicholas. Emery. Someone else entirely.
Didn't matter.
Let them dig.
He had fireproofed his past long ago.
Later that night, when the building had mostly emptied and the city burned orange through the glass, Lucas walked back to the boardroom.
The table was still covered in half-finished coffee cups and wrinkled printouts. The air smelled like tension.
He walked to the head seat.
Nicholas's seat.
Ran his hand along the polished surface.
Then sat down.
Not to gloat.
Not yet.
Just to see how it felt.
He could almost taste it.
The future.
His.