Marcus hadn't slept.
Not since Anita stepped onto that stage and cracked the illusion he'd spent years crafting.
The headlines hadn't stopped since:
"Anita George Challenges GNV's Leadership."
"Founder Calls Out Ashcroft Ties—Stock Wobbles."
"Is Marcus Delaney Losing His Grip?"
Worse than the press were the whispers—inside his own ranks.
He called an emergency meeting that morning. Twelve executives. One purpose.
"Damage control," he snapped, pacing the length of the boardroom. "We spin it. Discredit her. We frame this as a bitter founder lashing out."
Silence.
Until someone dared to speak. "Sir… the shareholders trust her. If we push too hard—"
"Then we push harder," Marcus interrupted. "I want dirt. Real or invented, I don't care. She's not God."
Later, he met with his PR strategist, who offered him a nervous smile and a warning:
"You need to be careful, Marcus. She's playing this like chess. You're throwing punches."
"She caught you off guard. If you retaliate recklessly—"
He cut her off. "Do your job. Or I'll find someone who will."
She blinked, then nodded.
But Marcus saw it.
The doubt.
It was spreading like a virus through his empire.
That night, alone in his penthouse, Marcus poured a drink and stared at the dossier on his desk.
Anita's financials. Her past. Even her medical records.
There had to be something he could use.
But for the first time, he hesitated.
She knew his game now.
And she was playing it better.
He stared into the glass, whispering her name like a curse and a prayer.
"Anita…"
Because for the first time in his life, Marcus Delaney didn't feel in control.
He felt hunted.