Alex's POV
From the moment I walked into the room, I knew Emma was out of her depth. It wasn't the way she sat so rigidly in the chair, or how her eyes flickered with uncertainty when I looked at her—it was the quiet desperation she tried so hard to mask. I'd seen it a hundred times before. People come to me when they've already burned through every option, hoping I'll be their salvation. They never realize that salvation has a cost.
And she? She was already lost.
I watched her as I spoke, reading every micro-expression on her face. She was trying to be brave, to stand her ground. Admirable, but ultimately useless. People like Emma, they cling to their principles, to their belief that they're still in control, but control is an illusion. One I've mastered dismantling.
I made my offer clear, laying out the terms with all the warmth of a contract killer—because in truth, that's what I was. The line between business and warfare blurred a long time ago for me. And like every deal before this one, I knew the moment she signed, the game would shift entirely in my favor.
Emma didn't know it yet, but I had already won.
Her eyes flicked to the contract, then back to me. I could see her calculating, weighing the risks, wondering if there was any way out of this where she didn't end up on her knees. She thought she still had choices, but the only real choice she had left was whether to accept the reality of her situation or fight against it.
And fighting me? A waste of time.
She signed, just as I knew she would. They always do. The ink dried, and with it, the last shred of her independence.
I studied her for a moment longer, watching the emotions play out on her face—the resignation, the frustration, the faintest spark of hope she was trying to hold onto. I'd give her that. For now. It's easier to control people when they think they still have something left to lose.
As I stepped toward the door, I could feel the tension in the air. She knew things had shifted. She didn't fully understand yet, but she would. They always do.
"Be ready," I said, my voice flat, knowing the weight those two words would carry for her. She didn't respond, just stared at the table, her mind already racing ahead, trying to prepare for what was coming.
I walked out, leaving her to sit with the decision she'd made. She thought she'd just saved her company. In reality, she'd handed it over to me, brick by brick.
The truth is, I don't save people. I give them just enough rope to hang themselves with, and when they realize it, they come to me for help again. By then, they're already mine.
Emma thought she could keep up. She thought this was just a deal, a way to keep her business afloat. She didn't realize yet that she wasalready sinking, and I was the one controlling the waters.
I stepped into the hallway, the sound of my shoes echoing against the polished floors. My mind was already moving past Emma and her struggling company. She was just another piece on the board, another player who didn't understand that the game had already been decided the moment she walked into my office.
But I had to admit, there was something about her—a fire that hadn't quite been extinguished, a determination that lingered, even as the weight of our deal pressed down on her. Most people came to me broken, worn down by their failures. Emma, though, she still had some fight in her. It was amusing, in a way, watching her try to hide it, trying to prove she could stand on her own when I already knew how this would end.
I've dealt with enough people like her to know that resistance doesn't last long. Once the pressure starts building, once they see the reality of their situation, they crack. She'd come to me again, just like they all do. She'd come, thinking there was still some part of her company she could save, still some corner of her world where she had control.
But control was mine.
I stepped into my office, closing the door behind me and letting the silence settle. I liked this part—this brief moment between taking control and watching them unravel. It was always the same. They'd resist, they'd tell themselves they were different, but in the end, they all made the same mistakes. They thought they could outlast me, that their ambition could match mine.
They never could.
Emma would be no different. She'd try to fight the changes I'd implement. She'd cling to her role, her ideas, thinking she could steer the ship even as I tightened my grip on the wheel. She'd fight to keep her head above water, and for a time, I'd let her. After all, it's more entertaining that way, to watch someone struggle, to see the moment when they realize they've lost everything and there's no way back.
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping lightly on the desk. I thought of her face as she signed the contract, the way her hand trembled just slightly before she steadied it. She knew, deep down, that she had just sold her soul to the devil, but desperation makes people ignore their instincts.
She'd thank me eventually, like they always do. When the dust settled and her company was a success again, she'd look at the numbers and tell herself it was all worth it. She'd justify the sacrifices, the control she'd lost, the compromises she'd made. That's what they all did—rationalized the damage as necessary.
But I'd know better. I always knew better.
I gave her a few months before she came to me again. By then, she'd be in deeper, more dependent, with fewer options. The fire I saw in her eyes today would have dimmed by then, beaten down by the weight of reality. I'd let her keep the illusion of control for now.
But when the time came, when she was ready to break, I'd be there. Always.
Because the truth was simple: I don't lose.