Chapter 3: Five Years Later

LAS VEGAS, DOMINION EDGE HEADQUARTERS

The boardroom hung in silence, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound as Isabel clicked the remote and transitioned to the final slide.

Projected profits are up twenty-five percent this quarter,” she said, her voice calm and composed. “We’ve exceeded expectations.”

The numbers glowed on the screen behind her, neatly aligned graphs and coloured bars that told the story of her tireless labor. Her imprint was on every slide. Every result.

She let the silence linger. Let them absorb the numbers.

Her fingers didn’t tremble.

Her voice was steady.

This wasn’t five years ago.

She was no longer the girl who stuttered through meetings or held her breath waiting to be dismissed.

She clicked the final slide, letting the Dominion Edge logo rest on the screen like a final signature. Her voice didn’t waver as she asked, “Questions?”

Silence answered her.

But it wasn’t the awkward kind.

It was loaded with respect, maybe and fear, even more likely.

And she welcomed both.

Then, as if breaking a spell, someone clapped. Another joined in. And then the entire boardroom rippled into applause. It was not forced. It was not polite.

It was earned.

Her boss nodded, eyes gleaming. “Well done, Isabel. You carried this.”

She gave a tight smile. “Thank you.”

More handshakes followed. More murmurs of praise.

She gathered her files with practiced grace, as she exited the room.

Behind her, the applause faded.

She had rebuilt her world. Alone. From dust and ashes. And no one here knew the fire she’d walked through to get here.

The applause still echoed faintly in Isabel’s head as she slipped into her office, shutting the door behind her. Finally, some quiet.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Dropped the folder onto her desk and rubbed her temples.

Another presentation done. Another victory sealed

But the weight never eased.

A soft knock disrupted the silence.

Emily’s familiar face peeked through the door, a coffee cup in her hand and her face wearing a mischievous smile. “You crushed that. Again.”

Isabel leaned back in her chair, allowing the corners of her lips to twitch in response.

Emily stepped fully inside, her heels clicking as she perched herself on the edge of the desk. “I swear, half those men looked like they’d hand you their bank accounts if you asked.”

Isabel chuckled softly. “Fear keeps them efficient.”

“Oh please,” Emily laughed. “You could have them eating from your hand. But no, you wear your ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign like a crown.”

Isabel’s smile faded, just a little. “Some of us need boundaries.”

Emily raised her brows. “Ah, right. The ‘men are trash’ mantra continues.”

Isabel said nothing. Her eyes flicked to the stack of reports waiting on her desk. Sometimes, distractions worked better than explanations.

But Emily wasn’t done. “One day,” she said, with a knowing tilt of her head, “someone’s going to slip under that ice you wear.”

Before Isabel could respond, another knock came, this one much softer and hesitant.

The intern hovered in the doorway, chewing his lip. “Miss Silvarro… Mr. Donovan wants to see you. He said it’s urgent.”

Emily let out a low whistle. “Uh-oh. The great Donovan beckons.”

Isabel stood, fixing her skirt, her expression unreadable. “The great Donovan can keep dreaming.”

She followed the intern down the hall, calm and collected. Her manager, Damian Donovan, had been circling her like a vulture for years, touching her inappropriately, showering her with lust-laced compliments and offering drinks she never accepted.

Men like him were all the same.

Reaching his office, she knocked once and entered. Donovan’s office carried the scent of whiskey and a hint of his cologne. His eyes drank Isabel the second she stepped inside.

He didn’t bother standing. Just leaned back in his chair, eyes raking over her as if she were a product he’d ordered.

“Isabel,” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

She remained standing. “You wanted to see me?”

His grin curved like smoke. “You’ve been ignoring my invitations.”

“I’ve been working,” she said flatly.

He let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re missing out. I make excellent dinner company.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

The smile slipped, just slightly. He reached into his drawer, pulled out a folder, and tossed it across the desk.

She caught it mid-slide. Her brows furrowed as she flipped it open.

“What is this?” she frowned, scanning the numbers.

“Buyout,” Donovan said simply.

Her head snapped up. “We’re not for sale. Dominion Edge is thriving. I just showed you the numbers.”

He shrugged, but his fingers twitched.

“It’s not about revenue, Isabel. Sometimes people buy companies for leverage. For power. And sometimes… to send a message.”

Her heart stilled. “Who?”

****

Isabel paused, her pen hovering midair over the paperwork. But her mind was far from the reports on her desk. She couldn’t stop thinking.

Five years. She’d poured her soul into this company, every sleepless night, every scarred piece of herself stitched into its rise. The company's revenue had skyrocketed, more growth has been achieved under her watch than the past three decades combined.

And now some faceless buyer wanted to swoop in and claim it?

She clenched her jaw. No. Not without a fight.

What unsettled her most was Donovan. The shake in his hands. The tightness in his jaw.

He was afraid.

And men like Donovan didn’t scare easily.

Her spiraling thoughts were interrupted as Emily’s head popped into her office without knocking.

“It's past closing hours already, Isabel! You are such a workaholic,” she said, retrieving Isabel from her thoughts.

Isabel rubbed her temples and glanced at the window. Indeed, it was already late, Darkness had crept in unnoticed. How long had she been buried in work?

“I’d wait for you, but I’ve got a date,” Emily added, her voice playful but laced with apology.

Isabel waved her off. “Go. Have fun.”

“Goodnight, workaholic.” Emily’s heels clicked down the hallway, leaving Isabel in silence again.

After finishing her tasks, Isabel grabbed her keys and made her way to the garage. She walked towards her car, opened the door and started the engine. The car sputtered, coughed, then died.

She tried again. Nothing.

“Not again,” she muttered, popping the hood and staring at the engine like it held all life’s answers. She couldn't find what the issue was.

“Anything seem to be the problem?” Donovan asked.

Isabel stiffened as his sleek car slid up beside hers, window down, his eyes trailing over her like a hawk circling a prey.

She ignored him, biting back frustration.

“Isabel,” he called again, dragging her name out.

She turned at last. “My car broke down and I don't know what is wrong.”

Donovan shook his head, his eyes gleaming with something as he stared at her from top to bottom. “I've told you to change that car of yours Isabel, haven't I?” He questioned. “I mean, you are earning so much, you are more than this.” He said, gesturing towards the car as if it was a garbage chunk.

Yes, although she earned a lot from her salary, she needs the money to pay off her mortgage. A new car is a luxury she couldn't afford to have now.

“Come on, I’ll drop you,” he offered smoothly.

A ride from her manager? That was the last thing she wanted.

“No, I’ll order a ride.”

“And how long is that going to take, hmm?” Donovan asked, smirking. “Get in, I insist”.

Isabel's eyes darted around. She didn't trust this Donovan.

“Don't worry, I won't do anything to you, if that's what you are worried about.” He chuckled. “Unless you beg me to,” he muttered under his breath.

Her teeth clenched.

She didn’t want to owe him anything. Didn’t want to be near him.

But tonight, options were few.

Reluctantly, she slid into the passenger seat, hand curled tightly around the pepper spray in her purse.

“See?” Donovan said. “That wasn’t so hard.”

He drove in silence.

When they reached her street, he killed the engine and turned to her.

“Invite me in?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

Isabel’s smile was razor-thin. “Next time,” she said, stepping out of the car. “Thank you”.

Donovan waved her away, “anytime.” He lingered in the driveway, watching until she disappeared inside.

That one word –next time– swam in his mind like a promise.

But before he could drive off, a knock came at his window.

He frowned. Turned.

A figure stood outside, face hidden in the shadows.

The passenger door opened.

Donovan scowled. “Who the hell are you?”

The figure stepped inside.

And smiled.