Milo Kelly sucked in a slow breath and went quiet.
He turned the idea over in his mind, but he didn't dare say it out loud. If word got around, it would wreck his reputation in the industry. Falling for someone new was common enough, but snatching someone else's company in the process? That would make him look terrible. The cleanest outcome would be for Ariyah Griffin to accept a buyout and walk away on her own. After all, she hadn't actually run the company in years; it was only fair. If people talked, they'd only say the spark had died between them—nothing scandalous.
He knew Alyssa Jenkins was the woman he truly cared about now. Alyssa was soft-spoken and understanding, never raising her voice or acting like a spoiled brat. She'd started out as an assistant sent by the partner company during the merger, helping him organize materials. Somewhere between late nights at the office and too much coffee, they'd fallen into each other's arms. Before long, they'd brought a child into the picture.
“I don't want this turning ugly, Ariyah,” Milo said, his voice carefully diplomatic. “I'm not asking you to vanish. I'll take care of you—more than generously. You'll still live comfortably. It won't be much different from now.”
Ariyah let out a dry laugh. She could read every simple thought written all over his face. All those years she'd spent grooming him, and he still hadn't matured one bit.
“I've already given you your option. There is no alternative,” Ariyah said, steel in her voice. “Milo, don't forget—we may not have had the wedding yet, but when those shares were transferred, we filed our marriage license at City Hall.”
“Your mistress will not take my place unless I agree. And you won't walk away with those assets until I sign off. Think it over.”
Ariyah signaled Joan with a single glance. Her eyes turned icy. “Mr. Kelly, take your things and leave.”
By “things,” she meant Alyssa—the woman who'd actually had the nerve to challenge Ariyah.
As the words landed, the dozen security personnel waiting outside filed in and cleared a path toward the door.
“Ariyah, I don't want this getting messy. A fight would only end in mutual destruction—nobody wins. Think it over,” Milo said, pulling Alyssa and their daughter along as he made his exit.
The office fell into quiet chaos. Several outside meetings had been scheduled around Milo's return, and now the young secretary hovered, unsure who had the authority to sign off on the paperwork.
Ariyah fixed the hesitant secretary with a pointed look and raised her voice. “Bring the files to me. From now on, every document comes through me.”
Her words weren't meant only for the secretary—they were for everyone in that room.
The secretary exhaled in relief and rushed over with the stack of documents, silently praying she wouldn't get caught in the crossfire of a power struggle.
Milo's first stop with Alyssa was the countryside manor, only to find that Ariyah had already changed the door code remotely. They were locked out.
Frustrated, he pounded on the door, expecting Belen Howell to be home around the clock. “Weird. She should be here,” he muttered, kicking the door once more. Still no answer.
“Daddy, I'm hungry,” the little girl whined, restless from the drive.
His patience already wearing thin, Milo decided to take them to his parents' place instead.
Alyssa was thrilled. After seeing the sprawling manor with its gardens, she wanted the title Mrs. Kelly more than ever. She already had the daughter. A little effort to give him a son, and her position would be secure!
Lost in her fantasies of wealth, she jolted back to reality when the car rolled to a stop in a modest neighborhood.
“Where are we, Milo?” Alyssa asked, confused, scanning the bustling outskirts—the kind of place teeming with street vendors and dirt.
Suspiciously, she hesitated, one foot already out the door, then pulled it back like the sidewalk might stain her shoes.
Milo, too wrapped up in his own excitement to notice her discomfort, beamed. “Alyssa, this is my parents' place. Come on—I'll introduce you to them!”
...
“What?” Alyssa's dreams hit a speed bump.
She'd imagined a Wall Street darling like Milo would come from old money, not... this.
Inside the dimly lit apartment cluttered with odds and ends, Alyssa grimaced, stepping carefully. Worse, there was no elevator, and they had to climb five flights of stairs.
“Milo, why haven't you moved your parents somewhere nicer?” she asked, unable to keep the dissatisfaction out of her voice.
“They've lived here forever. They know everyone, and they don't want to move,” Milo explained, shifting the child in his arms. He conveniently left out the part where his mother had lived with them at the manor for a while—until Ariyah's endless complaints drove her storming back home.
His mother, thrilled by her son's call, had prepared a feast. When she saw her granddaughter at the door, she lit up.
“Such a lovely child! That Griffin woman didn't want kids and wasted my son's best years. Awful woman!” she huffed, kissing the child.
“Mom, let's not bring that up. This is Alyssa,” Milo said quickly.
Alyssa stepped forward with a warm smile, relieved to find that Milo's mother didn't look like the loud, rough women she'd seen outside.
Milo's mother was equally pleased. Compared to that demanding heiress and her never-ending grievances, Alyssa seemed gentle and easy to handle.
After dinner, as Alyssa dutifully washed the dishes, Milo's mother whispered to her son.
“Have you spoken to Ariyah? What's the plan?”
“She turned down my offer. Told me I should leave empty-handed.” Milo frowned. “Mom, maybe those assets aren't worth it. I can start over. It wouldn't be that hard.”
“Don't talk nonsense!” she interrupted. “You didn't get this far just to give it all up. You built that empire. Why would you walk away?”
She hesitated, then leaned in and whispered, “If it comes down to it, pretend to make nice with Ariyah, find a lawyer, and quietly move the assets.”
Milo glanced toward Alyssa in the kitchen and nodded slowly. In the end, it was all for the good of his family.
As night settled, Ariyah sought refuge at a nearby bar with Joan, nursing their drinks in contemplative silence.
“Ariyah, tell me you're not still hung up on that jerk. Please don't go all lovesick and let him fool you again,” Joan said, worry plain in her voice.
Ariyah shook her head. “Of course not. I'm just figuring out my next move. He's made it clear he won't stop until he gets something.”
“So what's the plan? Every cent you hand that man feels like a loss.”
“Oh, I'll give him something,” Ariyah said, sipping her drink. “But there's no way we're taking a loss.”
“Oh, really?” Joan leaned in, intrigued. “So you've got a plan?”
