The morning after the meeting, the air in the office had shifted. The whispers had changed tone—no longer murmurs of doubt directed at Kian, but rather hushed speculations about Harlow's misstep.
Kian walked through the hallways with a quiet confidence, feeling the weight of every glance. For the first time since this war began, Harlow wasn't the one in control.
But that didn't mean he wouldn't fight back.
And Kian knew better than to underestimate a man with nothing left to lose.
---
As soon as Kian settled at his desk, his inbox pinged with a new message. His stomach twisted as he saw the sender.
---
Subject: Private Discussion
Kian,
I believe we've had some misunderstandings. Let's talk. My office. 11 AM.
Best regards,
William Harlow
---
Kian exhaled slowly. He knew this wasn't a real olive branch. Harlow never extended a hand unless it was to pull someone into a trap.
