Marcus Reed's office was unnervingly silent the next morning.
No guards. No assistants. No secretary at the front desk.
Everyone had been sent home after the gala explosion, or they abandoned him out of fear.
So the moment the elevator dinged and Samantha Bradley stepped out—wearing a fitted black coat, heels clicking like a countdown—the entire floor seemed to hold its breath.
Marcus sat behind his desk, bruised from the scuffle, jaw clenched, wrists still marked from last night's restraint.
He stiffened when he saw her.
"How did you get in here?" he rasped.
Samantha closed the door behind her.
"I walked."
No entourage.
No security.
No fear.
Only the storm in her eyes.
Marcus forced a smirk.
"So you finally came to finish the game."
She stepped closer until she stood directly across from him.
"No," she said quietly. "I came to end it."
His smirk twitched.
"Aren't you satisfied? You humiliated me publicly. Destroyed everything I built."
Samantha tilted her head.
