Page 25 of The Founder's Power

She looks at me for a long, aching second. “You. That’s what I’ve always wanted. Not the empire. Not the armor. You.”

The silence stretches between us again.

She shakes her head and turns toward the door, stepping back like she’s already letting go.

I want to stop her. I want to say the right thing. I want to strip myself bare like she asked.

But all I can think is what if I lose her and the empire too?

Honestly, I don’t know which one I’m more afraid of.

At the door, she pauses. She waits.

Even after I shut down again, even after I fumble every chance to say something real, she waits.

She wants to believe I’ll come through, but I don’t.

I can’t.

My throat locks. My chest’s tight. The words stay buried where they’ve always lived—somewhere under layers of strategy, armor, and decades of self-preservation. I can’t seem to dig them out.

I already told her I love her, but it’s like I feared. Words aren’t enough, and with Vincent closing in on both her and my business…

Things are too volatile right now, so I do what I’ve always done. I push her away without raising my voice and without slamming a door.

Just silence, and that’s all it takes.

The fight’s gone out of her, and she just nods. Something in her eyes fractures.

“I guess that’s my answer,” she whispers.

She leaves. She doesn’t slam the door, but it feels louder than a gunshot.

I stand in the middle of my office, surrounded by glass and skyline and silence, and fuck it all, I feel like I’ve lost something I can’t rebuild.

I haven’t wasted all of these years. I need to have something to prove myself.

Time to go to war with distraction.

Meetings. Calls. Spreadsheets. Legal reviews. I tear through them like a man on fire. Vincent thinks he’s going to break me? Not a chance.

I triple my hours. Lock down every vulnerable asset. Rework my distribution channels. I become the machine again. The man who built an empire with nothing but focus and teeth.

But it’s different now. Somehow, the office doesn’t feel like power anymore.

It feels like punishment.

The conference rooms echo with words I no longer care about. The boardroom feels colder. The corner office with its panoramic views feels like it’s closing in on me—glass walls and concrete promises I made to myself when I still thought success could fix everything.

But it can’t.

Not when she’s gone.

Not whenI’mthe one who drove her away.

And the sickest part? I did it to protect myself, and all it left me with was a kingdom of glass and no one to share it with.

CHAPTER13

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