Chapter 25
“I won’t go into details. Not because I’m afraid. But because some wounds are better. healed in silence. What I will say is this–there was an attempt on my life. There was betrayal at the highest level of blood and business. And I am still standing.”
They shouted questions. I ignored all of them.
“I’m resuming my position as head of Winslock and RodrigonHoldings. Effective immediately. This city will not crumble because its crown got a little scorched. It will rise, just like I did.”
That earned a pause. A collective inhale.
“I may be bruised, bandaged, and burned,” I continued, voice dry but firm, “but trust me when I say this: I am not broken. Not even close.”
I stepped down from the podium before they could swarm me. Luther was already opening. the car door. Always three steps ahead, always watching.
As I climbed into the backseat of the Bentley, a reporter yelled out, “Miss Rodrigo–what is your relationship with Mr. Luther Vance?”
Luther looked at me. I looked at him.
I smirked. “Professional,” I said flatly, and shut the door.
But we both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
Two Days Later – My Office
My new office was all glass and height. Seventy–six floors up. If I squinted, I could see the edge of the city where the Rodrigo estate had burned.
I didn’t go to the trial.
Couldn’t
Wouldn’t
But I watched every second from the high–rise, legs crossed, a cup of jasmine tea cooling on the table beside me. The screen showed Caroline in court–gaunt, shaking, eyes wild. She pleaded insanity.
Claimed I poisoned her, manipulated her, made her do it.
She muttered my name like it was a spell.
Then screamed it like it was a curse.
At one point, she lunged at her own attorney.
The judge ordered her restrained.
The whole world watched her unravel on live television.
Later That Night – My Apartment
Chapter 24
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The text came first. From Adrian.
You see this shit? She’s dead. Caroline’s dead. Found in her cell. “Suspected suicide.” You win, sis. So… now what? You gonna breathe finally, or what? How ‘bout let’s go maldives?”
I didn’t respond. Just clicked the news.
> BREAKING: Caroline Rodrigo found dead in holding cell. Authorities suspect suicide. Further details pending.
There was a grainy photo of her being wheeled out under a sheet. I stared at it for a long time.
Then I closed the laptop. Poured myself another cup of tea. I sat back in my chair, exhaled slow, and whispered into the silence:
“The only thing she ever did right… was leave.”
A beat later, Adrian’s voice echoed from the hallway as he stepped in, peeling off his coat. “That’s cold, A.”
I didn’t turn around. “So was she.”
He walked closer, dropped onto the armrest of the couch. “What now? You gonna build a little shrine to the fire you crawled out of, or are you done with the ashes?”
I sipped my tea. Let the silence stretch.
Then said softly, “I’m not lighting any more matches, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since the fire couldn’t kill me,” I said. “Now I burn for me.”
Adrian smiled, slow and sharp. “There she is. You really are my sister.”
And for the first time in a long, long time,
I let myself believe
maybe I really was free.
It was raining the night I saw him again.
That thick, cold rain that felt like it could slice straight through bone. The kind of storm that soaked through glass and made cities look like haunted snow globes. I was in the backseat of Luther’s car, half–listening to some quarterly report drone on in my ear from my phone speaker, when we pulled up to a red light near Fort Street Station.
And there he was.
Favio Rodrigo.
The golden boy who once owned skyscrapers, who used to walk into boardrooms and make grown men shrink. Now barefoot, coatless, wild–eyed. Hair matted. Talking to himself and swinging at shadows on a cracked street corner.
He was holding a Styrofoam cup full of nothing, yelling something about ghosts and betrayal and a woman with fire in her lungs.
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He didn’t even see the Bentley glide by. Didn’t even flinch as the rain soaked through his hoodie and onto his bones.
Luther, in the driver’s seat, barely glanced at me before saying, “You want to do something about him?”
I didn’t blink.
“No,” I said, voice calm as the rain. “Let the wolves eat their own.”
A week later, a video of him leaked. Blurry footage. Favio on the ground outside a subway station, screaming my name like a curse. Ranting about conspiracies and knives in the dark. Saying I’d ruined him, burned him alive from the inside out.
I didn’t watch it twice. Didn’t have to.
He’d already killed himself long before Caroline tried.
They tried to buy me out not long after that.
Some men in suits–sleek, arrogant, reeking of money and desperation–invited me to some marble–floor rooftop brunch and dropped a number so big it made the skyline look small.
“We want your new company. Everything. Full rights, full exit package. You walk away a billionaire and never have to look back.”
I took a sip of my espresso, leaned back in my chair, and looked each of them dead in the
eyes.
“Let me guess,” I said slowly. “I take the money, sign a few NDAs, let the world think I cashed out. Quiet little exit. No questions, no truth.”
The lead guy smiled. Too slick. Too rehearsed. “Exactly. You win, Amelia. Now rest.”
I laughed. Loud and sharp.
“You think I built this for money?” I said. “You think I crawled through fire, with my skin peeling off my bones, just to walk away once it got easy?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but I raised my hand and cut him off.
“I don’t want your money. I don’t want your silence. I want your fear.”
Then I stood. Pulled the folder from my bag and dropped it on the table. Their contracts. Their fake merger clauses. Their offers and threats dressed up in gold trim.
I pulled out a lighter. One of Caroline’s, actually. Took it off her desk the night before she got arrested. Still smelled like her perfume and madness.
Lit every page,
The wind carried the ashes off the rooftop like confetti at a funeral.
The next day, I stood in front of my staff. No suit. No script. Just bandages and a black dress.
“I’m not selling,” I said. “I’m not stepping down. I’m not hiding.”
Chapter 25
12:44 Tue, 24 Jun M.
I looked at them, row by row, and watched their fear turn to awe.
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“This isn’t Winslock Holdings. This isn’t Rodrigo Dynasty. This is mine.” A pause. breath.
“Ash & Wren Holdings. Named for what they burned and what rose.”
I stepped closer to the mic, letting every syllable land heavy.
“I don’t owe anyone silence. I built this empire bleeding.”
And they didn’t just clap. They stood. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t
surviving anymore.
I was reigning.
12.44 Tue, 24 Jur
