CHAPTER 6

Phoebe moved quickly.

If her father wanted to control her through business, she had to make sure he didn't have the leverage.

By the next morning, she was sitting in her office, fingers flying over her keyboard, digging into every financial tie her father still had to her company.

It wasn't much—she had made sure of that years ago—but there were still cracks.

Her father had always played the long game. He didn't need majority shares to have influence—he just needed to plant enough doubt in the right places.

She pulled up the board's latest financial reports, scanning for anything out of place.

And then she saw it.

A slow, creeping investment.

Minor at first—disguised under different names, different firms—but leading back to one place.

Her father.

Her blood ran cold. He was preparing to tighten his grip. To make it so that when the time came, she wouldn't have a choice.

Her phone buzzed.

She barely glanced at the screen before answering. "Julian, tell me you have good news."

Julian, her personal financial advisor and the only person she trusted with her business, sighed. "Depends on how you define 'good.'"

Phoebe closed her eyes. "Just say it."

"Your father has been quietly buying influence within the board. Nothing major—just enough to sway decisions when needed. And the Lancaster deal? If you don't shut it down fast, you might lose full control of your company."

Phoebe inhaled sharply.

Her father wasn't just trying to trap her in a marriage.

He was trying to own her.

"Can we cut him off?" she asked.

Julian hesitated. "It won't be easy. But if we move fast, we can block his next steps before he solidifies power."

Phoebe's grip on her phone tightened. "Do it. Whatever it takes."

There was a pause. Then, "Understood."

She ended the call, forcing her breathing to steady.

She had spent years building her independence, making sure no one—not her father, not anyone—could control her again.

And she wasn't about to lose that now.

She would fight.

And she would win.

---

She spent the rest of the day making moves. Freezing out her father's silent investments. Strengthening her own influence. Securing her place.

By the time evening rolled around, she was exhausted but victorious.

She stepped out of the office building, the city night stretching before her, cool air kissing her skin.

And then she saw him.

Damon.

Leaning against his sleek black car, suit crisp, expression unreadable.

Waiting.

Her pulse stuttered.

She had spent the past week avoiding him, convincing herself she could handle this alone.

Yet here he was.

Waiting.

Phoebe slowed her steps, schooling her expression into indifference. "If you're here to gloat, don't bother."

Damon pushed off the car, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Gloat about what?"

She hated that voice. Low, smooth, always carrying just the right amount of amusement to make her feel like he knew something she didn't.

She crossed her arms. "Whatever move you just made. Because I know you, Damon, and you never show up unless you already have the upper hand."

His lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smirk but was holding back. "You've had a busy day."

Her stomach tensed. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"You expected otherwise?"

Her jaw clenched. "Stay out of it."

Damon sighed, tilting his head slightly. "You're cutting your father off. Smart move."

Something about the way he said it made her pause.

"But?" she prompted.

"But it's not enough."

Phoebe's nails dug into her arms. "It will be."

Damon took a slow step closer, his voice quiet but firm. "Phoebe, he's not playing fair. You think stripping his financial influence will make him back off?" He shook his head. "You've only made him desperate."

Her breath caught, but she masked it with a scoff. "I can handle desperate."

Damon studied her, eyes dark, unreadable. "And what if you can't?"

She hated the way her pulse reacted. Hated that his presence—his concern—still had an effect on her.

She lifted her chin. "Then I'll deal with it."

Silence stretched between them.

Then, so softly she almost didn't hear it, he said, "You don't have to do it alone."

Phoebe's chest tightened.

Of course, he'd say that. Of course, he'd stand there, looking infuriatingly composed, offering something she could never take.

She took a step back. "I already did."

Damon's gaze flickered, just for a second. And she knew she had hit a nerve.

Good.

She turned to leave.

"Phoebe."

She stilled.

His voice was different now—low, edged with something she couldn't quite place.

She looked back. "What?"

His jaw tightened. "Your father isn't the only one making moves."

A slow chill ran down her spine.

Damon wasn't the type to warn without reason. If he was telling her this, it meant—

He stepped closer, voice steady. "You're not going to like what happens next."

Her pulse pounded. "Damon—"

He didn't answer.

He just held her gaze for a beat longer, then turned and got into his car.

Seconds later, he was gone.

Phoebe stood there, heart racing, mind spinning.

Not the only one making moves.

Something was coming.

And this time, she wasn't sure if she was ready.