The morning after the slap, the world stopped pretending to be polite.
Sarah Windsor wasn't just a trending name anymore — she was a scandal.
Every business headline screamed it.
> "Heiress in Bed with the Mafia."
"Windsor Group Shares Drop 17% Overnight."
"Board Calls Emergency Meeting Following Sarah Windsor's Public Outburst."
By 8 a.m., her office was flooded with reporters.
By 9 a.m., her board of directors demanded her presence.
And by noon, the walls she'd spent years building began to crack.
---
The boardroom felt colder than usual.
Eight men and two women sat around the polished table, their faces stiff with judgment.
Her father's portrait hung at the far end — a reminder of the legacy she was expected to protect.
"Miss Windsor," began Mr. Halpern, the CFO, clearing his throat. "We're deeply concerned about recent events."
Sarah straightened. "I'm sure you are."
"Your public altercation with Mr. Vale has gone viral. The Windsor name is now tied to organized crime. Sponsors are backing out, investors are nervous, and the media—"
"I'm aware of the media," she interrupted.
He adjusted his glasses, unfazed. "Then you must also be aware that your leadership is under question."
A few murmurs of agreement followed.
The words stung — not because they were cruel, but because they were predictable.
She had inherited this empire, fought to prove she could run it, and still — one rumor, one scandal — was enough to unravel everything.
Mr. Crane, one of the older board members, leaned forward. "You have to make a statement, Sarah. Publicly deny any connection to Moretti."
Her lips tightened. "That would be a lie."
He frowned. "Then lie better."
The room went silent.
Sarah met each of their gazes, her heartbeat steady now. "I won't beg for forgiveness for a headline I didn't write."
"That headline could destroy the company," another member snapped.
"Then maybe the company should learn how to survive without cowardice," she shot back.
Gasps.
A few eyes widened.
The power balance shifted — just slightly, but enough to rattle the room.
Finally, Halpern sighed. "Sarah, we're giving you forty-eight hours to fix this. Or the board will vote on interim leadership."
She nodded once. "Fine."
Then she stood, collected her files, and walked out before any of them could dismiss her.
---
By evening, the crisis had only deepened.
One by one, partnerships dissolved.
Calls from clients ended with cold apologies.
Articles multiplied like wildfire.
Her office — once a place of control — now felt like a cage.
When the lights flickered, she pressed her palms against the glass wall, watching the city below.
It was beautiful — ruthless — alive.
And in its reflection, she saw herself.
A woman caught between ruin and rebirth.
---
What Sarah didn't know was that across town, in an office bathed in shadows, Dante Moretti was already at work.
Luciano dropped a folder onto his desk. "Windsor Group's stock is bleeding. Her partners are pulling out."
Dante didn't look up from his laptop. "Names."
"Four companies so far. ValeTech, Mason Holdings, Andros Capital, and—"
"Andros?" Dante cut in, voice low. "They still owe me a favor."
Luciano hesitated. "You want to call it in?"
Dante's lips curved faintly. "Consider it done."
He typed something, made a single call, and within minutes, silent transactions began moving — invisible hands shifting money and influence through digital veins.
By midnight, Windsor Group's most valuable contracts were reinstated.
Its losses covered.
Its partners "reconsidering."
To the world, it would look like a miracle.
To Dante, it was a quiet declaration.
He didn't protect her because she asked.
He did it because no one else was allowed to touch what he claimed.
---
The next morning, Sarah arrived at her office to a strange calm.
Her assistant, Lena, looked confused but relieved. "The partners called back. They're staying on. Apparently, some investor stepped in to cover the shortfall overnight."
Sarah frowned. "What investor?"
"They didn't say. Just that the funds came from a private entity — M. Enterprises."
Sarah blinked. "M?"
Lena shrugged. "Whoever they are, they wired the exact amount you lost."
She turned the paper over in her hands — a confirmation slip, stamped with a single letter.
M.
It wasn't hard to guess.
Her chest tightened. "Dante," she whispered under her breath.
Lena glanced up. "Ma'am?"
"Nothing," Sarah said quickly, folding the slip and slipping it into her bag.
Her thoughts spun.
He'd saved her company — quietly, efficiently, without her permission.
It should have comforted her.
Instead, it unsettled her.
Because this wasn't help.
This was control — silent, possessive, absolute.
And worse, part of her didn't want to fight it.
---
That night, Sarah sat alone in her penthouse, the city glowing beyond the glass.
She placed the check on the table and stared at it.
Her name.
His money.
His mark.
A knock broke the silence — soft, deliberate.
She didn't need to ask who it was.
When she opened the door, Dante stood there.
Dark suit. Darker eyes.
Neither spoke at first.
Finally, he said, "You should eat. You look tired."
She crossed her arms. "You bought my company."
"I protected your company."
"I didn't ask for that."
He stepped closer. "You didn't have to."
The air thickened — electric, dangerous.
"You can't keep fixing my problems," she said. "That's not protection. That's ownership."
Dante's gaze softened, but his voice didn't. "Then stop creating problems I have to fix."
Her pulse jumped. "You think this is a game?"
"I think this is war," he said quietly. "And I don't let my allies fall."
She stared at him, breath unsteady. "I'm not your ally."
He smiled faintly. "Not yet."
---
After he left, Sarah's phone
buzzed — a new message from an unknown number.
> M: "Next time, I won't just send money."
Her heartbeat quickened.
Because somehow, she knew he meant it.
Not as a threat.
But as a promise.