Dominic watched Aria’s speech from a hotel room in London.

Alone.
One whiskey.
One screen.
And a heart that hadn’t made peace with either of them.

She didn’t say his name.
She didn’t need to.

Every word she spoke was a strike against the empire he’d spent a decade building—now hollowed out and handed over to a man who saw vision as a spreadsheet column.

Devon Stride wasn’t wrong for the new Blackwood Capital.

But Dominic was done pretending the new Blackwood was worth saving.

His phone buzzed with messages from the board.

“We expected a neutral stance.”

“Public perception is now in play.”

“Do we issue a response?”

He deleted them all.

Then made the call.

Two days later, headlines hit the financial press like shockwaves:

BLACKWOOD EXITS BLACKWOOD CAPITAL: Billionaire Founder Walks Away From Legacy Firm
No Golden Parachute. No Successor Remarks. Just One Statement:
“Power without purpose isn’t power. It’s cowardice.”

The world scrambled to understand it.

Was it ego?

Was it loss?

Was it love?

No one could say.

Dominic didn’t take interviews. He didn’t comment. He didn’t tour the damage.

He disappeared.

Aria read the statement on her studio rooftop, the wind tugging at her sleeves. Mira sat nearby, earbuds in, sketching furiously.

She didn’t tell anyone how she felt.

Not Mira.

Not Lila.

Not her board.

But when the press reached out for a quote, she gave them six words:

“Sometimes burning the bridge is progress.”

That night, she found an envelope taped to her studio door.

No name.

No return address.

Just one line on a folded note:

“I’m not asking to come back.
I’m asking if there’s still a road that leads to you.”

– D