Jade exhaled hard through her nose.
"Okay. Fine. I'm trying. But why? Why the fuck are you doing this? You were ready to burn the whole empire down ten minutes ago. Now you're going full Stepford daughter? For Rowan? After she shoved you away like yesterday's trash?"
Isadora stared at the wall, jaw working.
The hickeys on her own neck faint ones Rowan had left in a moment of desperation itched under the hoodie collar.
"Because they think they can use last night to take everything from me," she said quietly.
"Everett's already talking about rewriting the trusts. Ryan's salivating. Bianca's playing the concerned stepmom card. If I keep giving them scandals, they win. They lock me away, amend the bloodline clauses, hand it all to the 'responsible' ones. I'm not letting them rewrite my future because I can't keep my shit together for five minutes."
Lexi's tone softened, cautious.
"So… you go clean, play nice, prove you're stable. Buy time. Then what?"
"Then I take it all back," Isadora said.
"On my terms. But I need them to think I've changed. That I'm the perfect, reliable heir they've always wanted. No more ammunition. No more excuses."
Jade snorted.
"And Rowan? You're doing this for her too, aren't you? To prove you're not the 'reckless addict' she thinks you are?"
Isadora didn't answer right away.
Her free hand traced the edge of one bruise on her collarbone... Rowan's mark, hidden under fabric like a secret she couldn't burn away.
"Maybe," she finally said.
"Or maybe I'm doing it so when I go after her again, she can't use last night as an excuse to run. She'll have to face me... clean, sober, in control. No more hiding behind ethics or fear or 'it was a mistake.'"
Lexi whistled low. "That's cold, Dora. Calculated."
"Good," Isadora replied.
"I'm done being the mess they all point at. From now on, I'm the one they can't look away from."
Jade was quiet for a second, then, "You sure you can actually do it? No slip-ups? No late-night lines? No club runs?"
Isadora's smile was small, sharp, invisible to them.
"Watch me."
She ended the call.
The phone dropped onto the comforter.
She stood, walked to her full-length mirror, and stared at her reflection disheveled hair, shadowed eyes, the faint outline of last night's possession still visible on her skin.
She reached for her closet.
Tailored blazer. Crisp white shirt. Heels that clicked like weapons.
Perfect heiress.
For now.
But underneath it all the rage, the obsession, the ache for Rowan still burned.
And when the time came, she'd let it out.
All of it.
She descended the grand staircase in a crisp black pantsuit tailored blazer buttoned perfectly, white silk shirt tucked in, heels clicking with deliberate authority.
Her hair was pulled into a sleek low bun, makeup minimal but flawless: no trace of last night's smudged eyeliner or tear tracks.
She looked every inch the heiress they claimed she could never be.
The family was still gathered in the drawing room off the foyer... Marcus at the window staring out, Everett in his high-backed chair like a throne, Bianca perched on the arm of the sofa with a glass of wine she wasn't drinking, Ryan scrolling his phone with that perpetual smirk.
She stopped in the doorway.
"I'm going to the board meeting tonight," she said calmly, voice even, no trace of the rage she'd spilled to Lexi and Jade minutes earlier.
"The quarterly review starts at 7. I'll be representing the family as usual."
Everett's head snapped up. His cane cracked against the floor again... louder this time.
"I won't trust you," he barked.
"Not after last night. Not after this morning. You think you can just waltz in here looking polished and pretend nothing happened? The tabloids are already running headlines: 'Ravencroft Heiress's Public Meltdown.' You're a liability, girl. You stay here."
Marcus stayed quiet arms crossed, eyes on the floor. He didn't contradict his father. He didn't defend her either.
Ryan looked up from his phone, smile widening like he'd been waiting for this.
"Let her go, Grandpa," he said smoothly, almost sweetly.
"She wants to play grown-up? Fine. The board will see exactly what we all saw last night. One wrong word, one slip-up, one more photo leak... and it's over faster. More mistakes mean we cut her out quicker. Bloodline clauses or not, incompetence is unacceptable. He thought.
"Your last chance." barked Everett.
>>>>>>>>
In another corner of city.
Rowan pushed through the staff entrance of the hospital, coat buttoned to her chin despite the mild afternoon warmth, scrubs already changed into underneath.
Her steps were brisk, mechanical anything to keep her mind from replaying the morning in loops. The locker room smelled like antiseptic and coffee; it grounded her, just a little.
Emma and Sara were already there Emma leaning against the lockers scrolling her phone, Sara tying her hair back in front of the mirror.
They both looked up the second she walked in.
Emma straightened immediately. "Ro? Jesus, you okay? You look like you haven't slept in a week."
Rowan forced a small nod, dropping her bag on the bench. "I'm fine. Just… long night."
Sara turned fully, eyes narrowing with that best-friend radar she'd always had.
"We saw the footage. It's blowing up on a couple gossip sites. You running out of that club, chasing after some black SUV. Your face isn't visible... thank god for shitty phone angles... but you got in your car right at the right time. If you'd hesitated even ten seconds longer…"
Emma finished for her, voice low. "It would've been everywhere. Your name. Your face. The whole mess."
Rowan swallowed, busying her hands with unzipping her bag. "Yeah. Lucky timing."
Sara crossed her arms, studying her. "Nothing happened last night, right? Ro?"
Rowan met her eyes briefly then looked away, focusing on folding a spare scrub top that didn't need folding.
"Yep," she lied, voice steady enough to fool someone who didn't know her too well.
"After the drugs she passed out in the car. I drove her somewhere safe, we both crashed for a couple hours. Morning she asked me to stay with her, but I left. Had to get home. That's it."
Emma exhaled slowly, relieved.
"Okay. Good. Because if anything more had gone down… with her being seventeen, you being her doctor… you know how fast that could spiral. Ethics board, license, the works."
Sara didn't look quite as convinced, but she nodded anyway.
"Just… be careful, okay? That girl's got claws. And money. And apparently no boundaries."
Rowan managed a tight smile. "I know. I'm done playing savior. From now on, strict professional distance. Therapy sessions only, and even those… I might refer her out."
Emma squeezed her shoulder once gentle, supportive. "You've got this. Shift starts in ten. Go splash some water on your face. You look like you've seen a ghost."
Rowan nodded again, heading for the sink.
She turned the faucet on cold, let the water run over her wrists, staring at her reflection in the scratched metal paper-towel dispenser.
The collar of her scrubs hid most of the hickeys, but one dark bloom still peeked above the neckline faint purple against pale skin.
She tugged the fabric higher.
Nothing happened last night.
She repeated it in her head like a mantra.
Nothing.
Except everything.
And the lie tasted like ash on her tongue.
>>>>>>>
The Ravencroft Global headquarters towered downtown glass and steel monolith reflecting the late-afternoon sun like a blade.
Isadora arrived exactly fifteen minutes early, black town car dropping her at the private executive entrance. She stepped out, heels clicking across marble like gunshots.
No entourage. No security. Just her... alone, composed, chin high.
The boardroom on the 52nd floor was already half-full when she entered.
Twenty-three directors, mostly gray-haired men in bespoke suits, a few sharp women in power colors.
Marcus sat at the head of the long mahogany table, face unreadable.
Everett wasn't present... he rarely attended anymore... but his proxy (a stone-faced lawyer named Hargrove) occupied the chair to Marcus's right, tablet open to notes.
Ryan sat midway down the table, smiling like he'd already won.
Bianca wasn't allowed in board meetings, but her influence lingered in the sidelong glances some directors shot Isadora.
Conversation hushed the moment she walked in.
She took her designated seat second from the left of Marcus, the symbolic spot reserved for the heir apparent.
No one greeted her warmly. A few nods. A couple averted eyes.
Marcus cleared his throat. "We'll begin."
The agenda was standard: quarterly financials, pharma division pipeline updates, tech acquisitions, shareholder concerns.
Isadora listened in silence for the first twenty minutes, pen moving across her legal pad in neat bullet points.
When the CFO finished presenting revenue figures strong, but flat in the consumer tech segment she raised her hand.
The room stilled again.
"I'd like to address the shareholder sentiment section," she said, voice clear and even.
"The recent tabloid coverage has been… unfortunate. I won't pretend it hasn't created noise. But the numbers speak louder than headlines. Our Q3 projections remain on track, and the new addiction-treatment drug in Phase III has shown 18% better efficacy in trials than competitors. That's real value. Not gossip."
A murmur rippled around the table.
Hargrove... Everett's proxy... leaned forward.
"Miss Ravencroft, with respect, the board has fiduciary duty to consider risk. Personal conduct directly impacts brand perception. The footage from last night..."
"Is already being managed," Isadora cut in smoothly.
"My PR team issued a statement this morning: 'Ms. Ravencroft regrets any appearance of impropriety and is fully committed to her responsibilities.' No comment beyond that. We control the narrative from here."
Ryan chuckled softly... loud enough to be heard.
"Commitment. Right. Because showing up to a club, getting into a public spat with some doctor, then half-dressed on the sidewalk screaming at her screams 'committed.'"
Several heads turned. A few directors shifted uncomfortably.
Isadora met Ryan's eyes directly calm, unblinking.
"Personal matters are irrelevant to this table unless they materially affect the company. They haven't. Revenue is up 7%. Stock dipped 1.2% this morning... already recovered by close. If you'd like to discuss actual risk... say, the competitor's patent challenge on our neurostimulator tech... I'm happy to dive in. Otherwise, let's stay on agenda."
The room went quiet.
Marcus's gaze flicked to her something almost like surprise flickering there before he masked it.
Hargrove cleared his throat. "Very well. Moving on to acquisitions…"
The meeting rolled forward. Isadora spoke three more times precise questions on supply-chain vulnerabilities, a suggestion to accelerate the addiction-medicine rollout tied to public-health grants.
Each time she spoke, the room listened. No interruptions. No smirks from Ryan that stuck.
When the session adjourned two hours later, directors filed out murmuring some nodding to her on the way past, others avoiding eye contact. Ryan lingered, leaning against the table as the room emptied.
"Nice performance," he said, voice low. "But one good meeting doesn't erase years of fuck-ups. Grandfather's watching. One slip..."
Isadora stood, gathering her notes. "Then don't give me a reason to slip."
She walked past him without another word.
Marcus waited by the door alone now.
He studied her for a long moment.
"You handled that well," he said finally. Quiet. Almost reluctant.
Isadora met his eyes. "I know."
He nodded once small, almost imperceptible then turned away.
She rode the private elevator down alone.
In the reflection of the polished doors, she saw a woman who looked unbreakable.
But inside, the ache for Rowan still burned quiet, constant, waiting.
Tonight she'd played perfect heiress.
Tomorrow… she'd start playing for keeps.