CHAPTER 267: SHE’S AWAKE

The blood draining from their faces was nothing compared to the rush of heat that flooded mine. The blackmail, the power plays, the carefully constructed facade – it all felt insignificant, vaporized by those two words. She’s awake.

My gaze drifted to the photographs on the table, the evidence of their crimes, the insurance policy for my survival.

"Give me five minutes," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I’ll be there."

The call ended with the soft click of finality.

For a long moment, no one breathed.

The boardroom existed in that fragile silence between a man’s heartbeat and his breaking point.

"He was in the middle of a vote, for God’s sake— how dare he pick up a call... during a board meeting?" A short, incredulous laugh followed. "Unbelievable. You think you can just—"

I didn’t even look at him. I just pointed.

"Take him out."

The words were quiet, almost conversational. But they carried like gunfire in the still room.

Two security officers stepped forward without hesitation.

The man barely had time to register what was happening before a strip of black tape was pressed over his mouth and his chair scraped violently against the marble. His muffled protests cut off into pitiful grunts as they dragged him out — his heels skidding, his eyes wide and stupid with shock.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Silence returned. Dense. Trembling. Holy.

I rubbed two fingers against my temple, slow and deliberate. The pain there pulsed like a drum—sharp, rhythmic, insistent. My vision was starting to stutter at the edges again.

But I didn’t care.

The pounding in my skull, the warmth of blood soaking through the bandage beneath my shirt, the weight of betrayals I have encountered within this short period of time and calculation pressing down on my ribs — none of it mattered. She’s awake.

I closed my eyes for half a second. Just long enough to feel her name again in the dark behind my lids — Isabella — like a prayer I’d never dared speak aloud. Then I opened them, and the room snapped back into focus.

As I sat back in my chair, the room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of unspoken threats and unseen consequences. The folders, still unopened by most, lay like landmines across the polished table, their contents waiting to be detonated at my command. The men’s faces, once flushed with indignation and confidence, now resembled masks of varying shades of pallor.

Gray, ever vigilant, stood by the door, his eyes fixed on me with a mixture of concern and anticipation. I gave him a slight nod, and he moved to refill my glass with water from the jug on the sideboard. The soft clinking of ice against glass was the only sound for a moment, a mundane interruption to the tension.

I took a sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat, momentarily soothing the dryness that had developed during the confrontation.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the ache in my side pulse with each breath.

Then I spoke, voice low and measured:

"The vote you were so eager to hold," I said, my voice cutting through the air like cold steel. "Let’s have it now. A motion of no confidence in the current CEO. All in favor?"

Not a sound. Not even the whisper of fabric.

The silence was absolute — a silence that devoured air, courage, and ambition in equal measure.

I let it drag. Ten slow, brutal seconds. Long enough for each heartbeat in the room to count itself out.

"Motion denied."

The silence was a palpable weight. No one dared to meet my gaze. Their faces, a moment ago contorted by fear and hostility, were now blank masks of defeat.

I straightened, ignoring the sharp pull in my ribs. "Now here’s what’s going to happen," I braced a hand against the table for half a second—subtle, but enough to steady the tremor in my knees. "Resignations will be on my desk by close of business. You’ll cite personal reasons. You’ll keep your severance. Then you’ll vanish ── from evry industry, every contact list, every conversation.."

A pause.

"Forever."

The hum of the projector seemed to amplify in the sudden, absolute silence. It was a silence born not of fear, but of utter, dawning comprehension. These men, titans of industry, architects of empires, were suddenly reduced to cornered rats, their elaborate machinations laid bare, and their carefully cultivated reputations dissolving like mist.

I pushed back from the table, the polished mahogany groaning in protest. The movement was a deliberate show of strength, a performance to mask the tremor in my legs, the warm, insistent seep of blood beneath my shirt. Gray was at my side before my chair had fully cleared the table, his presence a silent bulwark.

"This meeting is adjourned," I said, my voice stripped of its earlier theatrical menace, leaving only a cold, exhausted finality. "Get out of my sight."

I didn’t wait to see them scramble. I turned my back on the ruin of my board, on the empire I had just scorched earth to protect, and walked toward the door. Cameron moved instantly, adjusting his crutch, his jaw set against the pain that flickered through his features. Gray’s steps fell in behind him.

My hand brushed the brass handle, cool against the fever burning under my skin.

Then—

"Adrien..." A fragile voice broke the stillness. An old woman at the far end of the table, wringing her pearls like a rosary. "Your father... he would never have—"

"Mr. Walton," I corrected without turning.

The door slammed behind us.

The echo of the slammed door was a full stop, a period at the end of a bloody sentence. The sterile silence of the executive hallway was a physical relief after the toxic atmosphere of the boardroom.

For three full steps, the facade held. Then my knees buckled.

The hallway outside swayed once before righting itself. My head rang—each heartbeat like a hammer against bone. I stumbled, my shoulder hitting the cold wall.

"Sir." Gray’s arm was under mine in an instant, taking my weight effortlessly, his grip firm and impersonal. "The car is downstairs. The private elevator is cleared."

"The hospital," I gritted out, the words tasting of copper and desperation.

"Already en route," he confirmed, steering me down the hallway. Our footsteps were the only sound, a frantic, hollow echo in the sterile, empty corridor of power. The security team ahead of us moved with lethal efficiency, clearing a path, their eyes scanning for any threat, any witness to this moment of vulnerability.

The elevator doors slid open and then closed, sealing us in a silent, descending tomb. I sagged against the wall, closing my eyes. The faces of the board, the damning evidence, the choked protests, every goddamn thing that’s happened—it all blurred into a meaningless smear. The only image my mind could conjure, the only thing that mattered, was her. Isabella. Awake.