The next morning, London wore its chaos like perfume.
Amaiyla woke to the sound of rain against the windows and the soft, controlled movement of someone who didn't believe in wasted seconds. Xander was already dressed—dark shirt, cufflinks, phone in hand—moving through the room like he was assembling armor piece by piece.
He didn't look at her when he spoke.
"Harold requested a meeting."
Amaiyla sat up slowly, the sheet sliding down her shoulder as reality snapped back into place. "Requested?"
Xander's mouth tightened. "Summoned."
Her stomach dropped. "When?"
"Now."
Amaiyla swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm coming."
Xander finally turned, and for the first time she saw something close to a warning in his eyes.
"No."
Amaiyla blinked. "No?"
His voice stayed calm—too calm. "He wants you absent. That's part of the point."
"Then I should be there even more."
Xander stepped closer, stopping just short of her. He didn't touch her. His restraint felt like a hand on her throat anyway.
"Amaiyla," he said quietly, "if you walk into that room, your father will claim you're being influenced. Harold will claim you're being staged. And they'll turn your bravery into a narrative they can control."
Amaiyla's jaw tightened. "So what— I stay home like a good girl?"
Xander's gaze sharpened. "No. You stay home like a woman who understands timing."
She held his stare, pride flaring. "You talk like you're already losing."
Xander didn't blink. "Because I am."
That chilled her.
"Losing what?" she asked, voice smaller than she wanted.
Xander exhaled slowly. "Leverage. Access. The benefit of being his son."
Amaiyla stood. "Then don't go."
Xander's expression softened for half a breath before it hardened again.
"If I don't go," he said, "he'll punish you instead. Or Connor. Or Tammy. Or someone I can't shield."
Amaiyla swallowed hard. "So you go to stop him."
"I go," Xander corrected, "to make him understand that threats no longer work."
Amaiyla's heart hammered. "And if he doesn't understand?"
Xander's eyes held hers. "Then I make him pay."
A beat of silence passed between them—heavy, electric.
Amaiyla stepped closer. "You're doing this because of me."
Xander's jaw tightened. "I'm doing this because of what they tried to do to you."
"That's not an answer."
His gaze flickered—something raw behind the control—then he shut it down.
"It's the only answer you get before I walk into a room full of knives," he said.
Amaiyla's throat tightened. "Xander—"
He reached up, hesitated, then—finally—brushed his knuckles along her cheek. A touch so brief it could've been imagined.
"Stay visible today," he murmured. "Do not disappear. If anyone asks, you're fine. If anyone pushes, you document it."
Amaiyla stared at him. "You're giving me instructions."
Xander's mouth curved slightly. "I'm giving you options."
He stepped back, the warmth leaving the space between them.
"And Amaiyla," he added, voice low, "no matter what you hear about me today… you don't react. You wait until you see me."
Her chest tightened. "What are you expecting to happen?"
Xander didn't answer. He simply picked up his coat.
And walked out like a man going to war without expecting applause.
Harold Reyes didn't meet Xander in an office.
He met him in a boardroom.
Glass walls. Perfect lighting. A long table that reflected power like it was a physical substance. Two security men at the far end. A legal team seated like statues. Harold at the head, calm as a judge.
Xander entered without hesitation, not looking at anyone but his father.
Harold's eyes traveled over him slowly, a silent inspection.
"You look tired," Harold said at last.
Xander sat without being invited. "I am."
Harold's mouth curved faintly. "Love does that."
Xander didn't react.
Harold leaned back. "You embarrassed the family."
Xander's voice was even. "Amaiyla embarrassed coercion."
Harold's gaze sharpened. "Do you hear yourself? You're repeating her language."
Xander folded his hands. "I'm stating reality."
Harold's fingers tapped the table once. One sharp sound. A signal.
A man in a gray suit slid a folder toward Xander.
Xander didn't open it immediately.
Harold smiled faintly. "Go on."
Xander opened it.
Numbers. Accounts. Corporate approvals—blocked. Funding delayed. Assets frozen under "review." A signature at the bottom.
Harold's.
Xander looked up slowly. "This is your response to my 'reality'?"
Harold's tone stayed mild. "This is my response to your disobedience."
Xander closed the folder carefully. "You're hurting your own company."
Harold shrugged. "A company survives leaders. It doesn't survive scandal."
Xander's jaw tightened. "Amaiyla isn't a scandal."
Harold's eyes narrowed slightly. "She's a variable."
Xander's gaze went cold. "Don't."
Harold tilted his head. "Don't what?"
"Don't speak about her like she's an object you can move," Xander said, voice still calm but edged. "You're not John Hollingsworth."
Harold's smile thinned. "John gets results."
"So do I."
Harold studied him for a long moment, then said softly, "No. You get emotional."
The word was a slap designed to sting because it was half true.
Xander didn't flinch.
Harold continued, "Here are your options. You issue a statement: supportive, clarifying, obedient. You distance yourself from her public defiance. You reaffirm the engagement as stable and controlled."
Xander's eyes hardened. "And if I don't?"
Harold nodded toward the legal team.
A woman spoke, voice polite and lethal. "Mr. Reyes, we'll be required to restructure your authority within the Foundation and several affiliate boards."
Xander leaned back slightly. "You're stripping me."
Harold's voice stayed calm. "You're stripping yourself. I'm simply documenting it."
Xander exhaled slowly. "What do you want, Father?"
Harold's gaze didn't move. "I want the old Xander back."
Xander looked at him for a long beat, then said quietly, "He's gone."
Harold's eyes narrowed. "Because of her."
Xander's voice lowered. "Because of you."
Silence hit the room like a dropped blade.
Harold's expression barely shifted—only the smallest tightening at the corner of his mouth.
"You're testing me," Harold said.
Xander nodded once. "Yes."
Harold smiled faintly, almost indulgent. "Then let's test properly."
He slid another folder across the table.
This one had a name on it.
Connor Jackson.
Xander didn't touch it. His posture changed anyway—his stillness deepening.
Harold watched him closely. "Your face changed."
Xander's voice was quiet. "Leave him out of this."
Harold's smile sharpened. "Ah. So you do care about collateral now."
"I care about leverage," Xander corrected. "And what you're doing is sloppy."
Harold's eyes darkened. "Sloppy?"
"Yes," Xander said evenly. "Because it exposes your intent."
Harold leaned forward. "My intent is to protect my son from ruining his life over a girl who will be gone when the smoke clears."
Xander met his gaze. "She won't be gone."
Harold's voice dropped. "You sound sure."
Xander's answer came without hesitation.
"I am."
The boardroom went silent.
Harold's expression cooled. "Then you've made your choice."
Xander's jaw tightened. "I have."
Harold nodded once, as if confirming a calculation.
"Fine," Harold said. "Choose her."
He gestured subtly.
The woman from legal spoke again, reading from a document like it was routine. "Effective immediately, Mr. Reyes is suspended from discretionary authority within the Reyes Foundation pending internal review."
Xander didn't blink.
Harold watched him. "Now. Issue the statement."
Xander's gaze stayed steady. "No."
The room froze.
Harold's eyes narrowed. "No?"
Xander stood slowly. "I won't repackage coercion as stability."
Harold's voice sharpened. "Sit down."
Xander didn't.
Harold's calm finally cracked—just slightly. "You're throwing away everything I built for you."
Xander's voice was even. "You built a cage. I'm walking out."
Harold stood too, the air tightening around him. "Then you'll walk out without protection."
Xander's gaze didn't waver. "Good."
Harold's expression hardened. "You think you're brave."
Xander replied quietly, "I think you're afraid."
That was the real strike. Not loud. Not dramatic. Precise.
Harold's eyes flashed. "Afraid of what?"
Xander stepped closer—just enough to be intimate, just enough to be seen by everyone in the room.
"Afraid," Xander said softly, "that you raised a son who learned your rules… and then learned how to break them."
Harold's jaw tightened like steel.
Xander turned and walked out.
No statement.
No apology.
No surrender.
And behind him, Harold Reyes stood in a room full of witnesses, staring at the door like it had betrayed him.
Amaiyla found out two hours later.
Not from Xander.
From the news.
REYES HEIR SUSPENDED AMID ENGAGEMENT CONTROVERSYINSIDERS: POWER STRUGGLE INSIDE REYES FAMILYFOUNDATION DISTANCES ITSELF FROM "PERSONAL MATTERS"
Amaiyla's breath caught. Her hands shook as she read the words.
Tammy was beside her within minutes, calm as a blade.
"He did it," Tammy said softly.
Amaiyla looked up, eyes burning. "He lost everything."
Tammy's gaze sharpened. "No. He lost permission."
Amaiyla's throat tightened. "Where is he?"
Tammy hesitated. "He'll come to you. But not until he confirms you're safe."
Amaiyla's voice broke. "This is my fault."
Tammy's tone turned firm. "Stop. This is the cost of refusing ownership. Men like John and Harold don't tolerate autonomy. They punish it."
Amaiyla turned toward the window, watching the street.
"I didn't ask him to do that," she whispered.
Tammy stepped closer. "You didn't. Which is why it matters."
Amaiyla swallowed hard. "What happens now?"
Tammy's eyes narrowed. "Now Harold will retaliate. And John will take advantage of the distraction."
Amaiyla's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One line.
You made him vulnerable. Now watch what they do with that.
Amaiyla's stomach dropped.
The doorbell rang.
Once.
Then again—insistent.
Amaiyla moved toward the door, heart hammering, bracing herself for another attack.
She opened it.
Xander stood there.
No coat. No tie. Shirt collar open. Rainwater in his hair. His expression controlled but too tight around the eyes, like he'd been holding something back for miles.
Amaiyla stared at him, throat closing.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered.
Xander stepped inside, shutting the door behind him like he was cutting the world off.
"I had to see you," he said quietly.
Amaiyla's eyes filled. "They stripped you."
Xander nodded once. "Yes."
"Because of me."
Xander's gaze locked on hers. "Because of my choice."
Amaiyla shook her head, stepping closer. "Why would you do that?"
Xander's jaw tightened. His restraint trembled on the edge of breaking.
"Because," he said, voice low, "I'm done letting men like them decide what I'm allowed to want."
Amaiyla's breath caught.
He took one step closer—so close the air between them felt charged.
"I don't know what this is yet," Xander said, voice rougher now. "I don't know how to name it."
Amaiyla whispered, "Then don't name it."
Xander's eyes searched hers. "But I know what it costs."
Amaiyla swallowed. "And you paid it anyway."
Xander's mouth curved—barely.
"Yes."
A long silence.
Then Amaiyla said softly, "What happens now?"
Xander's gaze hardened—strategist returning.
"Now," he said, "they try to separate us."
Amaiyla's pulse spiked. "How?"
Xander's voice dropped. "With Connor."
Amaiyla went still.
Xander continued, eyes dark. "Or with something your father has been hiding."
Amaiyla's stomach tightened. "Connor said he found a pattern."
Xander nodded once. "Then we find it first."
Amaiyla's voice was barely audible. "And if we can't?"
Xander leaned in, forehead almost touching hers again—like a promise he didn't want to speak aloud.
"Then we become the problem they can't contain," he murmured.
Outside, thunder rolled over London.
Inside, Amaiyla realized the truth:
Her first irreversible move had lit the signal.
Xander's defiance had burned the bridge.
And the war had officially become personal.
Because now they weren't just fighting families.
They were fighting time.
And someone was already moving in the dark.