The abandoned warehouse Holt chose as their meeting place reeked of damp concrete and rotting metal. It was the kind of place deals were made and lives were lost—a place stripped of sentiment, where only power mattered.
Isla walked in alone.
Her heartbeat was steady, her steps deliberate, though fear gnawed at the edges of her resolve. She wore no jewelry, no trackers, no wires. Just a simple black dress and the weight of everything she had learned.
The man who stepped from the shadows to meet her was exactly as she imagined—tall, lean, his smile sharp enough to cut glass. Adrian Holt.
"So," he drawled, circling her like a predator, "the infamous Mrs. Blackstone finally decides to meet me face to face."
"I'm here to offer you a deal."
"Bold. Very bold."
Isla didn't flinch. "You want me. You want the piece that Damien's been guarding so fiercely. I'm giving you what you want."
Holt's grin widened. "It's adorable you think you still have a choice in this."
"I have all the choices." Her voice remained calm, controlled. "Because if you kill me now, you get nothing. Damien's empire locks up without me. His assets freeze. His enemies—your enemies—will devour each other, and you'll be left with scraps."
"You assume I want his empire."
"You want control."
"And you're offering to just hand it over?"
"I'm offering something more valuable."
He paused, intrigued. "Go on."
"I know Damien's systems. His security protocols. I know where his offshore accounts are hidden. If I cooperate, I can give you access."
"And why would you betray him?"
Isla's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Because I'm tired of being the pawn."
Holt studied her, searching for cracks, but Isla let him see only what she wanted—resolve, fatigue, a hunger for freedom.
"Of course," she added softly, "there's a price."
"Always."
"Evelyn walks free. You never touch her."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you get nothing. And I promise you, I've already set contingencies that will burn Damien's empire to ash the moment I don't return."
Holt's amusement flickered into something colder.
"You've learned to play the game well," he murmured.
"I had good teachers."
A long silence stretched between them as Holt weighed his options.
"You'll come with me now," he said at last.
"No. I meet you again in forty-eight hours. Somewhere I choose. I'll bring the files you want."
"You expect me to trust you?"
"No. I expect you to be greedy enough to wait."
He laughed—a low, dangerous sound. "You're smarter than Damien gives you credit for."
Isla held his gaze, unblinking. "I'm smarter than all of you think."
When she left the warehouse, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, but she forced herself to walk steadily to the waiting car.
Damien wasn't there.
Good.
If he had been, it would have all fallen apart.
She returned to the penthouse to find him standing in the living room, a storm in his eyes.
"You went through with it."
"I told you I would."
"What did Holt want?"
"What we both knew he wanted—me."
Damien's fists clenched at his sides. "You can't meet him again. It's too dangerous."
"I'm not asking your permission."
"You've done enough."
"No, Damien." Isla's voice rose, sharp and unyielding. "I have not done enough. I spent weeks searching for my past, chasing memories that didn't matter. But I finally understand. I wasn't Selene's replacement. I wasn't my father's bargaining chip."
Her eyes burned with certainty.
"I chose this. I chose you. And now, I choose to finish it."
Damien stepped closer, his fury softening into something else. "If I lose you—"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
Isla's voice dropped, her hand resting over his chest. "If I don't face him, we both lose. Holt will never stop. But if I walk into that next meeting holding the right cards, I can break him."
"How?"
"By giving him exactly what he wants."
Damien's brow furrowed. "You'd hand him my empire?"
"No." Isla's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "I'll hand him a version of it. Enough to make him greedy. Enough to make him careless."
Realization flickered in Damien's eyes. "You're going to feed him false intel."
"I am."
"And if he finds out?"
"Then I'll already have what I need to end him."
Damien's chest rose and fell in rapid succession, but slowly, his hands found hers, steadying himself in her touch.
"I should have told you everything," he whispered. "From the beginning."
"Maybe," she said softly. "But maybe I needed to find it on my own."
They stood there in fragile silence, the weight of their tangled history pressing against them.
"Will you trust me now?" she asked.
His jaw relaxed. "With my life."
The final meeting with Holt was arranged in a private airstrip, isolated and quiet. Damien's people monitored from a distance, but no one approached.
Isla walked in, carrying a briefcase filled with carefully fabricated documents—just enough truth to be believable, just enough lies to lead Holt into a trap.
"You came alone," Holt observed.
"I said I would."
"You're either the bravest woman I've met, or the stupidest."
Isla handed him the briefcase. "Take it. But if Evelyn disappears, if you even breathe in her direction, the real files get sent to people who will dismantle everything you've built."
Holt rifled through the documents, his expression unreadable.
"You know," he said, closing the case, "I almost regret not meeting you under different circumstances. You could've made a hell of a partner."
"Too bad," Isla replied coolly. "You'll only know me as the woman who ended you."
He laughed, shaking his head. "You really have become Damien's equal."
"No," she said, turning to leave. "I've become something else."
Isla didn't wait to see the fallout. Damien's people were already in motion, ready to bleed Holt's network from the inside using the false leads Isla had provided.
It was done.
The war that began with debts, lies, and a forgotten wedding was over.
When she returned to Damien, he was waiting at the gates, his expression carefully guarded.
She tossed the empty briefcase at his feet. "It's finished."
"Is it?"
"It will be."
Damien stepped forward, reaching for her hand. "I've spent months thinking you were my shield. That marrying you would protect me. That I needed you because of your father's debts. But now I see you're not my shield."
Her pulse hammered as he pulled her close.
"You're my sword."
A quiet laugh slipped from her lips. "Took you long enough."
"I love you, Isla."
Her heart softened in ways she hadn't expected. "I know."
"And you?"
"I'm still deciding."
He smirked. "I can wait."
She rose on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. "But don't wait too long. I have a habit of walking away."
His arms tightened around her, but he didn't try to hold her captive.
Not anymore.
They had rewritten the vows of the forgotten bride.
And this time, the choice was hers.