Emily didn’t go home that night.She sat in the innovation wing long after the others left, the glow of satellite maps washing over her like quiet judgment. Every projection, every node, every uplink—somehow, they all traced back to one man. Jack Parker.And now, she knew he hadn’t just saved Harmonfield.He had saved her.Her father’s legacy. Her mother’s home. The jobs. The factories. The pride they had once traded away for power… Jack had been rebuilding it all while she fought him tooth and nail.And yet—he never threw it in her face.He just kept helping.She didn’t cry. Not yet. She was too proud. But her chest felt heavy in a way she couldn’t shake.At 9:44 PM, she sent a single message.> Emily: Can we talk?Jack didn’t reply immediately.Five minutes passed.Then ten.Then her screen lit up.> Jack: Penthouse. Now.Emily stood, pulled on her coat, and left before she could talk herself out of it.When the elevator opened into Jack’s penthouse, she stepped into silence.The li

Emily stood alone in the museum hall long after the guests had left, her fingers tracing the edge of a tablecloth she’d spent hours perfecting. The petals on the floor were already being swept up, the music silenced, the laughter now only echoes in the rafters. She felt an unfamiliar weight in her chest—not grief, not envy. Something warmer. Pride.Her mother stepped beside her, carrying a box of leftover desserts."You did it," Patricia said. "It was beautiful."Emily smiled faintly. "It wasn’t just me.""Still," Patricia said, glancing toward the arched windows. "You made yourself someone no one expected. Not even me."Emily let the compliment linger. She wasn’t used to earning them.Two days later, Jack and Sarah boarded a private jet bound for the Richmond coast. No bodyguards, no assistants, just sunlight, a vintage convertible, and long overdue quiet.Before he left, Jack gave Emily a sealed folder and a sentence:"If anything happens while I’m gone, act as if it's your company.

Jack stood on the rooftop of Dragon Tower the following morning, the city of Harmonfield stretching beneath him like a living blueprint. The sunrise painted the skyline in gold, but his focus wasn’t the view—it was the network beneath it. His network.The city had changed. Not just in character or culture, but in structure. Every major system—from railways to the data grids, energy pipelines to the agricultural supply chains—had his fingerprints. Dragon Transit now moved seventy percent of Draconia’s public and private cargo. Dragon Grid powered entire sectors of the country. Even DragonWave, the communications firm he quietly acquired months earlier, had rolled out faster, cheaper internet access across rural districts.And none of it would function the way it did without Emily Wilson.Inside, on the executive floor, Emily moved through the halls with a tablet in one hand and a coffee in the other, reviewing supply forecasts and vendor integrations for the upcoming infrastructure rol

Jack leaned forward, staring at Emily’s phone as the intercepted chatter scrolled across the screen. Names. Coordinates. Logistics firms. Private terminals. Something was being orchestrated."Europe?" Jack asked.Emily nodded. "London. Frankfurt. Paris. Simultaneous data probes. Someone wants to know how deep our networks run."Sarah exhaled slowly, arms crossed, eyes on Jack. "So we’re a threat now. Not just an option.""We’ve always been both," Jack replied.Three weeks later, Jack launched the European Quarter Initiative.Dragon Corp announced four new operational headquarters: London, Lisbon, Paris, and Frankfurt.It wasn't just expansion. It was embedding. Each city would host cultural think tanks, innovation labs, and regional integration centers.Emily was put in charge of the European Cultural Integration Project—a sweeping campaign to bridge local business customs, politics, and traditions with Dragon Corp’s efficiency model.She arrived in Lisbon first. The air smelled of se

Emily blinked at the message again."They’re using your past against you"She shut her phone and excused herself from the gala floor, every instinct sharpened now. As she entered the quiet hallway outside the ballroom, her breaths grew slower, more focused. She'd buried that part of herself long ago—the ruthless, image-obsessed heiress who once mocked Jack for being "just Harmonfield's muscle" and laughed off Sarah as a girl who wore ambition like cheap perfume.She thought she had burned that past.But someone was resurrecting it.Sarah showed up ten minutes later in her suite. No preamble."It’s Krane."Emily didn't flinch. "How bad?""Audio clips. Emails. Video from that private yacht party in Reidsville. You remember it?"Emily nodded slowly. "The one where I called Harmonfield a broken swamp full of nobodies."Sarah nodded. "And said Jack would never rise beyond a neighborhood vigilante."Emily pressed her fingers to her temples. "I was twenty-one. Entitled. I hadn't met Jack the