Chapter 24: Poison of the Shadows

Aaron's POV 

Aaron stood by the tall windows of his penthouse office, arms folded tightly across his chest as he stared out at the glowing skyline of the city. Beneath the polished glass and shimmering towers, life pulsed—chaotic, noisy, forgettable. Just like it had always been to him.

But Leonard Westwood? No. He was never part of the forgettable.

His mind flashed with images of Leonard—commanding boardrooms with a single glance, earning respect from men twice his age, and now… being married to Melanie. That part stung more than Aaron expected.

Not because he cared for Melanie. No. But because Leonard had her, and that meant she was another one of the things Aaron couldn't have. That made her valuable.

It wasn't fair. Leonard had wealth, power, legacy… admiration.

Aaron had been in the shadows for too long, constantly overlooked, dismissed like background noise. But not anymore. It was time to shift the spotlight.

Aaron's jaw clenched.

Leonard had always gotten the good things. The company. The reputation. The spotlight. The loyalty of those around him. And now—now even the woman.

Melanie.

 The marriage announcement that swept social media like a storm. The carefully cropped paparazzi shots of them entering event together, her delicate hand tucked into Leo's arm. She wasn't just a pawn in some business move. She had become something... real. And that, more than anything, made Aaron's blood boil.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sipped slowly, letting the warmth crawl down his throat.

Leonard always played the clean game. The hero. The leader. But what people never realized was that Leonard Westwood was just a man. One who had weaknesses. One who could bleed. And Aaron would be the one to prove it.

"Everything he builds, I will burn to the ground," Aaron muttered under his breath, watching his own reflection in the glass. "And this time, I won't stop until he loses what he can't replace."

He turned toward his desk, where a sleek laptop glowed with open files. Employee records. Vendor contracts. Private emails. Aaron's fingers moved expertly across the keys, tapping into things he wasn't supposed to see.

It had taken months of back-channel deals, hidden favors, and well-placed moles. But he had what he needed now.

Inside information on Westwood Corporation.

Personal patterns of Leonard's trusted board members.

And even confidential details about Melanie—her school, her habits, her background.

Aaron smirked. "She was never supposed to matter. But she does. And that's exactly why she'll be useful."

He leaned back, sipping his whiskey again, the slow burn matching the satisfaction brewing in his chest.

He remembered the first time he and Leonard clashed. Years ago, a deal that should've gone to him had landed in Leo's lap. From there, the pattern repeated. No matter how well Aaron played the game, Leonard was always a step ahead.

But now?

Aaron had stopped playing fair.

He picked up his phone and dialed.

A gruff voice answered. "Yeah?"

"Move to phase two," Aaron said simply. "Start with the factory contract. I want delays. Miscommunication. Push the partners to question Leo's leadership. Subtly. No direct attacks yet."

"Understood."

He hung up.

Then dialed again.

This time, a softer voice. "Hello?"

Aaron smiled.

"Rose."

A pause.

"Who's this?"

Aaron smiled slightly. "Someone who wants the same thing you do—Melanie gone."

"Excuse me?" Her voice sharpened. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Calm down," he said smoothly, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Let's not act like you're not already thinking it. She took Adrian. Then she took Leonard. Isn't that why you're mad?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know Adrian still dreams about her," he said casually. "I know he told her she was the only woman he ever really loved. And I know you hate that."

Silence.

Bingo.

"You're wrong," Rose finally said, but her voice had lost its edge.

"No, I'm right. And you're furious," Aaron continued, his voice softening with calculated precision. "You gave up everything to get what she had. And still… you're second best."

Rose's breathing turned shallow. "What do you want?"

"To make her fall," Aaron said. "To take back everything she's trying to rebuild."

"And why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," he said, smiling faintly. "Not yet."

She exhaled shakily. "You didn't even tell me who you are."

"Let's just say I'm someone who's waited a long time for this," he replied. "When it's time to meet, you'll know. But right now, all you need to do is decide—do you want to sit back and watch Melanie Westwood rise higher than you? Or do you want to be part of the plan that breaks her?"

Rose hesitated. Her voice wavered. "She ruined everything for me."

"And you helped her," Aaron said quickly, twisting the knife. "You let her walk out of your life stronger. You handed Adrian to her emotionally, even if he sleeps in your bed. Every single thing she touches turns to gold. And here you are, watching from the sidelines."

"I didn't ask for this call," Rose snapped, but her tone cracked.

"But you didn't hang up either," Aaron replied calmly. "Because deep down, you know I'm right."

Another long silence.

Then, softly: "What's your plan?"

Aaron's smile deepened. "That's the spirit. But for now, patience. When the time is right, I'll come to you. Together, we'll make sure she never stands again."

"And if I change my mind?"

"You won't."

Aaron ended the call and stood.

He walked slowly toward the wall of framed photographs—moments of victory, of corporate triumphs, of headlines where his name had once flashed with power.

And yet, none of it had been enough.

Because Leonard had always cast a longer shadow.

But soon...

He glanced down at a printed photo of Leonard and Melanie, both smiling gently at one another.

Soon, that smile would fade.

He would make sure of it.

Because nothing burned brighter than the fall of something beautiful.

***

Meanwhile, miles away, Melanie laughed over a phone call with Betty, sketchbook in hand.

And Leonard sat in a boardroom, distracted by a message that simply read:

They're getting closer.

But neither of them knew just how close the storm already was.