The Heiress Gambit-Chapter 89- Gist

PAIGE

I took a shaky breath. The corporate takeover felt almost clean compared to what came next. "But that wasn’t all, Leon. When we got back yesterday evening... Denki showed up here."

Leon’s jaw dropped. "Here? To the lion’s den? After everything? The balls on that guy!"

"Not balls," I corrected, my voice going quiet. "Desperation. He was... covered in blood, Leon. Payton’s blood."

I watched the color drain from his face. I told him everything. The gun in Shunsuke’s study, the screaming, the way our father had called Denki a "useless adopted rat" and aimed to kill him. I described the part that still made my stomach clench—how Payton, my vain, selfish sister, had moved without thinking, putting herself in the path of the bullet meant for Denki.

"And then," I whispered, the image seared into my mind, "Shunsuke... he turned the gun on her. On his golden child. He was going to shoot her, too, just for getting in the way."

Leon looked like he was going to be sick. "Jesus, Paige. Your old man is a monster."

"He’s not a man anymore. He’s just... rage." I continued, telling him about the frantic drive to the hospital, the surgery, the waiting. And then, the part that had changed everything. "When she woke up, she asked for me. Only me."

I described walking into that white room, seeing her so small and broken. The nightmare that had shattered her illusion of being the favorite. The raw, painful truth she’d finally seen. "We talked. Really talked. For the first time in our lives, it wasn’t a competition. It was just... two sisters who finally realized they’d been on the same side all along, victims of the same monster."

Leon shook his head, his expression a mixture of horror and awe. "I can’t even imagine. After all the crap she pulled... and you just sat with her."

I then told him about my mother. The apology that felt too little, too late, but was somehow everything in that moment. And finally, I told him about Reomen, sitting down with the man who betrayed him, and calling a truce.

Leon listened, utterly captivated, his breakfast forgotten. When I finished, he just stared at me for a long moment.

"So let me get this straight," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "In the span of twenty-four hours, you secured a billion-dollar company, your sister took a bullet for her secret lover, your dad went full Tony Soprano, and you and your billionaire bad boy started handing out forgiveness like... like..."

"Like we were the Heavenly Father himself," I finished, a weary, wry smile touching my lips. The analogy felt both absurd and perfectly right.

Leon let out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand over his face. "Yeah. That. Paige, that’s not a rollercoaster. That’s a whole damn theme park built on top of a volcano. I don’t know whether to applaud you or have you committed."

"I’m not sure either," I admitted, the smile feeling more genuine now. "But it’s done. The war is over. And somehow... we’re all still here."

He reached out and squeezed my hand, his grip firm and grounding. "You’re not just still here, P. You won. You won it all."

– – –

The front door clicked shut behind Leon, leaving a quiet that felt both peaceful and heavy. For a little while, talking about spice racks and normal problems, I had almost forgotten about the war waiting for us at noon. But the silence brought it all back, a low hum of dread and anticipation under my skin.

A glance at the clock told me it was 10:30. Time to shed the soft armor of my cashmere and leggings. Time to put on the real one.

I walked into the bedroom, the plush carpet soft under my bare feet. I pulled the sweater over my head, my thoughts already in that boardroom, facing my father’s ruined, furious eyes. I was so lost in my head I didn’t hear the door.

"Now this is a view that could derail a man’s entire day."

The voice, low and laced with that familiar, smug humor, came from the doorway. I turned, still in just my matching black bra and thong.

Reomen leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. That infuriating, beautiful smirk was plastered on his face, his dark eyes doing a slow, appreciative sweep from my head to my toes. The look in them was pure fire, and it instantly melted some of the cold anxiety inside me.

"I thought you had a company to run for the next hour," I said, trying to sound annoyed but hearing the breathless note in my own voice.

"I do." He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, each step deliberate and powerful. The air in the room thickened. "But the security feed showed your friend leaving. I decided my company could manage without me for five minutes."

He stopped right in front of me, his body so close I could feel the heat radiating from him. He didn’t touch me, not at first. He just looked down at me, his gaze intense, swallowing me whole.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a rough caress. "For someone about to legally destroy her father, you look incredibly... edible."

My heart was hammering against my ribs. This was his way. This was how we worked. Sarcasm and desire, all tangled up until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

"Is that your professional assessment, Mr. Daki?" I fired back, tilting my chin up. "Should I add ’edible’ to my list of qualifications for the board?"

His smirk widened. Then his hands came up, not to grab, but to settle on my bare waist, his thumbs stroking slow, possessive circles on my skin. A shiver wracked my body.

"It’s at the very top of the list," he whispered.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a claiming. His mouth was hard and desperate on mine, his tongue sweeping in like he was trying to taste my very soul.

It was a kiss that promised power and vengeance and a forever that started right now. I kissed him back with everything I had, my hands fisting in the pristine fabric of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, trying to erase the tiny space between us.

I was ready. My body was humming, my mind going blissfully blank, every nerve ending screaming for more. I expected him to back me toward the bed, to tear away the last of my clothes. I wanted him to. I needed the frantic, physical connection to burn away the last of my nerves.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he was the one to pull away. He broke the kiss, his breathing as ragged as mine. He rested his forehead against mine for a single, dizzying second, his eyes closed.

Then, he gave my back a firm, almost business-like tap. "Change," he said, his voice husky but final.

He turned and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge with a sigh, as if he’d just concluded a difficult meeting. He checked his watch. "It’s 10:45."

I just stood there, frozen, my lips still tingling, my body throbbing with a sudden, frustrated ache. The whiplash was so intense I felt dizzy. My emotions were a tangled mess—confusion, rejection, and a sharp, unexpected hurt.

He doesn’t want me? The thought was a stupid, childish whisper.

He looked over at me, still standing half-naked and stunned in the middle of the room. And he saw it. He saw the confusion and the flicker of insecurity on my face. Of course he did. He saw everything.

A slow, deeply sarcastic chuckle escaped him. "What kind of fiancé would I be," he drawled, "if I gave you just fifteen minutes before the most important meeting of your life?" He shook his head, that infuriating smirk back in place. "You deserve a lot more time than that, Black Cat. And I plan to give it to you. Later. When we’re celebrating."

The relief was so potent it felt like a drug. It wasn’t rejection. It was... restraint. It was him putting me first, putting our victory first, in his own twisted, Reomen way. The hurt vanished, replaced by a wave of such fierce love for this complicated, impossible man that it stole my breath.

My cheeks flushed with warmth, and I rolled my eyes hard, trying to hide how thoroughly he’d just gotten inside my head. "You’re impossible."

I turned to grab my clothes from the wardrobe, and I heard him chuckle again, softer this time.

"You know," he mused, his voice light with amusement, "if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this pregnancy is making you even more insatiable. Is that a thing? Because I’m not complaining."

I spun around, clutching my clothes to my chest like a shield. "It is not a thing!" I yelled, my face now completely on fire. "Don’t you dare start that!"

He just laughed, a rich, genuine sound that filled the room. He lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, looking unbearably pleased with himself. "Whatever you say, my love."

Grumbling, I quickly got dressed. I pulled on the tailored black trousers and the crisp white silk blouse. Then I slipped on the final piece: the sharp, structured black blazer that was my armor.

When I turned around, he was already standing, holding my matching black blazer open for me.

I slid my arms into it, his hands resting on my shoulders for a moment after he smoothed it into place. We stood there, facing the full-length mirror, a perfect, monochromatic reflection of power.

His hands slid down my arms, and he laced his fingers with mine. In the mirror, our eyes met. His were no longer laughing. They were dark, serious, and blazing with a pride so intense it made my throat tight.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low.

I squeezed his hand, my own certainty mirroring his. The frustration, the fear, the doubt—it was all gone, burned away by his belief in me.

"Ready."

Together, we turned and walked out, a power fucking couple ready to burn a legacy to the ground and build our own from the ashes.