Page 50 of The Founder's Power

He opens his mouth.

I raise my hand. “I’m not asking you to walk away from everything you’ve built. I’m not that naïve or selfish, but I am asking you to make a choice.” I step closer again. My voice is quieter now but firm. “Not between me and the company. Between control… and connection. Between building walls and building us. I need to know—truly know—that you won’t keep choosing power at the cost of people. At the cost of us.”

He stares at me like he’s looking at the edge of a cliff.

I press my hand against his chest and feel the erratic beat beneath it. “I won’t be second to anything. Not to your ambition. Not to your fear. I won’t be something you circle back to when the smoke clears.” I draw in a breath, steady even as my voice trembles. “I love you, Damian, but I won’t love you halfway, and I won’t be loved that way either.”

He looks at me like I’ve gutted him. I hope he recognizes that this isn’t cruelty. It’s clarity. It’s the cost of truth.

I’ve made my choice.

Now it’s time for him to make his.

CHAPTER27

DAMIAN

Damn it all to hell, the numbers are unequivocally terminal.

Clara’s voice is low, steady, but the words still hit like gunfire. “If you go after the WairuTech recovery package, you can stabilize the east division… and keep the doors open for another quarter.”

“And the cost?” I ask, though I already know.

She hesitates. “You’d have to agree to Vincent’s terms. Consolidation. Give up the independent stake in the licensing division. The creative arm would be folded into Veridian Holdings.”

Which means Isabelle’s work—her influence, her vision—it gets buried.

Everything we were starting to build together would vanish under his name.

Vincent wins.

I sit back in my chair, the weight of it all pressing down like a vice around my ribs.

Save the company or protect the one person who makes any of it worth saving.

Clara watches me. “You’ve always made the hard calls, Damian.”

I nod. She’s right. I have.

But this isn’t about hard.

It’s about right.

I stand slowly, buttoning my jacket like it still matters, but I’m not walking back into the boardroom. I’m walking out.

“Where are you going?” Clara asks, though I think she already knows.

“To do the thing I should’ve done the first time I had the chance,” I say.

And then I leave, walking past the conference room, past the lawyers, past the legacy I bled for.

* * *

I findIsabelle at her gallery.

She’s rearranging pieces for the spring showcase, her back to the door. There’s paint on her hands, a smudge on her cheek, and she’s never looked more like home.

She hears the door but doesn’t turn.

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