The Vice President.
Catrin might know the people from Davies, but she never personally t anyone or had close contact with them. She always thought that when the ti ca, she would get to et them anyway.
She didn't want to lower herself and behave like she was desperate to make connections in the company.
"Did you get the details about him?" Catrin asked when she didn't hear her assistant answer her.
"Madam," the assistant hesitated before she shook her head, "we couldn't find him as well. His identity is equally mysterious. Everyone knows about it, yet no one knows who he is. He rarely appears at the company and usually handles his work with a close team. Not many have access to him."
"Then try finding out from the ones who have the access," she snapped. "Do I need to tell you how to find out the things that we want to know in the industry?" her words were sharp, and it made the assistant flinch montarily.
But then, politely, she replied, "Madam, I fear we can't access his information as well. The identity of Davies International's Vice President has kept in equal mystery."
Catrin's expression turned indecipherable, taut and complicated, while her fingers clenched tight. "Get out!" she snapped.
The assistant had no other choice but to leave.
Once the door was closed after her, Catrin picked up a file and slamd it hard on the desk, venting the anger she was feeling inside. But no matter how she tried, the fire in her gut simply wouldn't stop raging.
How could it be?
Her mother once again played with her. She once again disappointed her.
She once again chose to favor soone else when she could have favoured her —her own daughter.
***
While back in New York,
Aiden gazed at Dafydd, lips curled into a cold, humourless smirk. "Decision suitability differs for individuals."
Dafydd's brows drew together at the cryptic remark. "What do you an?" he asked.
And at that question, Aiden's gaze turned razor-sharp —deadly calm, like the silence before the storm.
"I an," he began slowly, "just because I let you take your turn doesn't an the ga was ever set to end in your favor. If you truly believed you would be the one walking away with the win in the end …" Aiden paused, his smirk deepening. "Then even after all these years, you clearly haven't grasped the limits of your capability."
"You —" Dafydd began, but Aiden cut him off effortlessly.
"Let ask you sothing," he said, tone laced with quiet amusent. "In this entire farce that you orchestrated, did you not notice one common thread?"
Dafydd frowned, confusion flashing across his face.
Aiden leaned back, watching him with the patience of a predator. And when he saw no understanding in Dafydd; 's expression, his amusent deepened.
"The contracts I terminated," Aiden said, his voice slow but deliberate. "The board mbers I removed. The suppliers I cut ties with …"
He paused.
"They were all your leverage in the company."
Dafydd stiffened.
He knew that. But hearing it said aloud, left him unsettled. And the next realization stuck even harder.
Did Aiden know about all this from the beginning?
Before he could even dwell on the thought, Aiden answered that very question.
"While you were busy thinking how careful and clever you were being," Aiden said with a faint scoff, "you forgot who were you dealing with."
If others had said that, they might have sounded narcissistic.
But Aiden?
Aiden was capable of every word he spoke. He was a man known for missing nothing.
Every detail, every whisper, every crack in a plan —he noticed them all.
If hadn't spoken of it sooner, it wasn't because he hadn't seen it.
Rather it was because he wanted his enemy to dig their grave deeper —deep enough to not be able to crawl out later.
"You played ?" Dafydd asked, finally realizing that the ball was never in his court. It was just an illusion that Aiden had created for him.
Aiden didn't mind answering him any further. He simply stared as his fingers clenched into a tight fist on the desk. "I have told you, Dafydd Winslow. I will get back to you for everything you did. I have no interest in this legacy —never did. But if I can use this as a tool to tornt you for life …," he paused. "Then I am not letting it go."
"You think you have won?" Dafydd hissed, rage simring beneath the surface.
But Aiden remained unbothered. "I didn't play to win," he replied coolly. "I played to make you lose. And you know very well —you already have."
"You —!"
A sharp knock interrupted him.
The door opened, and Emyr stepped inside, calm and composed. He walked straight to Aiden without sparing Dafydd a glance.
"Sir, the arrangents are complete. We should leave now if we want to arrive at the venue on ti."
Aiden gave a nod.
Only then did Emyr turn to face Dafydd. "Mr. Winslow," he said, his voice polite and firm, "I will have to ask you to leave now. Please."
Dafydd clenched his jaw but said nothing. The humiliation was fresh, bitter, and undeniable. He stood up without another word and strode out, shoulders stiff with wounded pride.
Once the door was closed behind him, Emyr looked back at Aiden. "Sir, the car is waiting for us downstairs."
Aiden rose to his feet, brushing invisible dust off his cuff as he straightened his blazer. "Let's go."
Dafydd watched Aiden leaving as he sat in his car. The more he saw him, the more he felt wiping his traces from the world.
He was utterly, bitterly defeated.
For so fathers, watching their son surpass them might have been a source of pride.
But for Dafydd Winslow?
It was humiliation.
Especially when it ca from the son he never accepted as his own …
His jaws clenched, hands curling into tight fists on his lap. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and venomous.
"Enjoy this while it lasts, Aiden," he whispered. "My next attack won't give you much ti to react this ti."
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