Chapter 536:

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Allison worked with intense focus, her fingers steady as she secured the fresh dressing around Adam’s upper arm. The raw, angry wound was a stark reminder of the violence that had brought them here. Her touch was gentle, practiced, a stark contrast to the declaration she had made only hours before.

Adam watched her, his head propped against a pillow. Her words from the night before echoed in the quiet space. I will be your weapon. He had seen the fire in her eyes, the transformation from a woman fighting for survival to a queen ready to burn down a kingdom.

He let the silence stretch, observing the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the slight purse of her lips.

“The first lesson for any weapon,” he said, his voice a low rasp, rough from sleep, “is learning to choose your battlefield.”

Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second. She lifted her eyes, meeting his gaze. They were clear, calm, waiting.

“Wall Street is still in a fever over that statement,” he continued, his voice flat and analytical. “Inside Montgomery Group, Baker will react like a cornered animal. They will throw everything they have at you, slander, threats, corporate sabotage.”

He held her gaze, his eyes dark and serious. “Your mission today is to return to the center of that battlefield and do nothing.”

Allison’s brow furrowed deeper, this time in confusion. “Nothing?”

Dі𝘴𝖼o𝘃е𝗋 n𝖾𝗐 ѕt𝗈𝘳𝗂e𝗌 𝗼n 𝗴𝗮𝘭𝗇𝘰𝗏𝖾𝘭s.𝘤𝘰𝗺

“Your silence will be their torture,” he explained, the strategist in him taking over. “Your calm will be their chaos. They will expect you to fight back, to issue denials, to scream. When you don’t, they will start to panic. They’ll wonder what cards I’ve given you, what ace you’re holding. That uncertainty will make them sloppy. Your restraint, Allison, is your power.”

She understood instantly. It was psychological warfare. A cold, determined light replaced the confusion in her eyes. She nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. She finished taping the bandage, her movements once again fluid and efficient.

An hour later, after a silent breakfast of coffee and toast, Juan Dotson had the armored sedan waiting. The engine hummed, a low thrum of power in the misty morning air.

As she stood by the door, pulling on her trench coat, Adam came up behind her. He reached out with his good hand and straightened the collar of her coat, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck. The brief touch sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

“Remember,” he said, his voice low, for her ears only. “You are not alone.”

The scene cut.

Finn Kensington woke to a jackhammer pounding inside his skull. A sliver of brutal sunlight pierced the gap in his blackout curtains, stabbing directly into his eye. He groaned, a raw, guttural sound of misery.

The sheets felt wrong. Silk. He hated silk, Cheyanne must have stripped his bed and replaced his cotton with this slick, suffocating fabric while he was passed out.

The air was thick with the cloying scent of a woman’s perfume and the sour, acidic tang of spilled red wine.

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