Julian didn't hide his satisfaction.
He sat across from Ife the next morning like a king indulging a favored guest, tea untouched, posture relaxed.
"Legacy," he repeated thoughtfully. "You used an interesting word."
Ife kept her face neutral. Calm. Obedient.
"I want to understand the world Arden was born into," she said evenly. "The one you built."
Julian studied her carefully. "Understanding is a form of surrender."
She met his gaze. "Or preparation."
A faint smile curved his lips. "You learn quickly."
He stood and motioned for her to follow. "Come."
They walked through parts of the compound she had never seen before—private offices, secured corridors, rooms filled with quiet power. Men stepped aside when Julian passed. Doors opened without question.
"This," Julian said, gesturing around them, "is what survives when emotion dies."
Ife nodded slowly. "And Arden didn't fit."
"No," Julian agreed. "He asked too many questions. Loved too loudly."
Her chest tightened, but she didn't react.
Julian stopped in front of a glass wall overlooking the city. "I once thought I could mold him."
"And when you couldn't?"
Julian's eyes hardened briefly. "I limited him."
She turned toward him. "By using me."
He didn't deny it. "You're effective."
She forced a small smile. "Then use me properly."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Let me speak to your allies," she said. "Let me help clean the mess Arden left."
Julian laughed softly. "You want a seat at the table?"
"I want him alive," she replied calmly. "This is how."
Julian considered her for a long moment.
"Very well," he said finally. "But understand something."
He leaned closer. "Power forgives nothing."
She nodded. "Neither does love."
Julian smiled, missing the edge beneath her words.
Miles away, Arden watched the first domino fall.
"They've moved funds," Victor said quietly, pointing at the screen. "Julian's offshore accounts."
Arden leaned back, expression unreadable. "Good."
Victor frowned. "You planned for this?"
"I planned for him to get comfortable," Arden replied.
Victor hesitated. "And Ife?"
"She's playing her part," Arden said. "Better than I ever could."
Victor studied him. "You trust her."
"With my life," Arden replied without hesitation.
Victor swallowed. "Then let's hope she knows that."
The first strike came quietly.
A mid-level Blackwood ally was arrested in Switzerland that afternoon. No press conference. No spectacle.
Just silence.
Julian noticed immediately.
"That was fast," he murmured.
Ada stood nearby, unease flickering across her face. "We didn't authorize—"
Julian raised a hand. "I know."
His gaze slid to Ife.
She met it calmly. "Something wrong?"
Julian smiled thinly. "Coincidence, perhaps."
"Perhaps," she echoed.
But his eyes lingered longer this time.
That night, Victor made a choice.
He stood alone on the balcony of the safe house, phone in hand, staring at a name he hadn't contacted in years.
Elias Grant.
Julian's oldest enemy.
Victor exhaled and pressed call.
"Victor Blackwood," a voice answered coolly. "I wondered when you'd grow a conscience."
Victor closed his eyes briefly. "I'm not asking for forgiveness."
"Good," Elias replied. "I don't give it."
"I'm asking for help," Victor said. "To end Julian."
Silence stretched.
Then Elias spoke. "You finally picked a side."
Victor's voice was steady. "I picked the right one."
Ife lay awake later that night, staring at the ceiling.
Julian's house felt different now. Less like a cage.
More like a stage.
She replayed Arden's last look in her mind—pain, love, promise.
I'll come back.
Her phone vibrated once.
Unknown number.
Unknown:
You're doing well.
Her heart skipped.
She typed carefully.
Ife:
He's watching me.
Seconds passed.
Unknown:
I know.
Her throat tightened.
Ife:
Don't rush.
The reply came after a pause.
Unknown:
I won't. I trust you.
Tears burned her eyes, but she smiled.
Julian stood alone in his study, reviewing reports.
One ally gone.
Another wavering.
He poured himself a drink, eyes narrowing.
"Arden," he murmured. "You learned patience."
His gaze drifted to the security feed showing Ife asleep.
Julian smiled slowly.
"But patience," he whispered, "is something I taught you."
Outside, the city breathed, unaware that its most powerful players were circling each other in silence.
And somewhere between trust and betrayal, the knife finally slipped free of its sheath.