POV: Adrian Cross

Sloane’s defiance burns through my mind every day. I used to think she would crawl back, but she keeps rising instead. I sit in my office, staring at the reports, and every number reminds me of her stubbornness.

She was supposed to fall apart when I left. That was the plan. She was supposed to beg for help, not build herself up. I tap my pen against the table, thinking of her face when she told me she didn’t need me anymore.

Mia walks in without knocking, wearing that bored expression she calls seductive. She leans on the wall, waiting for me to notice her. I ignore her at first, pretending to read an email that doesn’t matter.

“You’ve been distant,” she says, her voice soft but sharp. I sigh, rubbing my temple. “I’m busy,” I tell her. It’s true, but not in the way she thinks. My mind isn’t on her. It’s on Sloane.

Mia moves closer, trying to kiss me. I let her, just for a moment, then pull away. She frowns, frustrated. “You used to want me,” she says. I smirk faintly. “I used to want a lot of things,” I answer.

She turns away, muttering something about Sloane. I hear her, even though she thinks I don’t. “She’s in your head,” she whispers. I don’t deny it. She is. Every decision I make now circles back to her.

I should have known she wouldn’t break easily. She’s too proud for that. But pride can be broken too, and I intend to do it myself. I glance at the picture of Daisy on my desk, the one Sloane once sent me when things were still warm.

That child is the key. Sloane built her world around her, and every mother has a weak spot. I don’t want to hurt Daisy, not really. I just want Sloane to remember who controls the game. I whisper to myself, “Everyone has a limit.”

Mia sits across from me again, pretending to care. “You’re obsessed,” she says. I laugh lightly, not hiding it. “Obsession built my empire,” I reply. “Control keeps it alive.”

She rolls her eyes, saying she’s tired of competing with a woman who isn’t even here. I let her words hang in the air. There’s truth in them, but I won’t admit it. Instead, I focus on the next move.

I pick up my phone and call my investigator. His voice comes through, calm and steady. “She’s been quiet lately,” he says. I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Stay close,” I order. “Don’t let her see you.”

He asks if I want pictures. I pause before answering. “Only if she’s with someone,” I say. I don’t care about her walking home or taking night classes. I want to know if she’s letting someone into her life.

After I hang up, I sit there, thinking of how much she’s changed. I remember her at my side, eager to please, trusting every word I said. Now she’s learning to stand without me, and that threatens everything I built.

Mia breaks the silence again. “You can’t control her anymore,” she says. I turn my head slowly. “Everyone can be controlled,” I tell her. “You just have to find the right pressure point.”

She crosses her legs and watches me carefully. “What if she doesn’t care anymore?” she asks. I smile without warmth. “Then I’ll make her care.”

I pour myself a drink, watching the liquid settle. “She used to believe I was the best thing that happened to her,” I say quietly. “Now she acts like I’m the worst. Funny how people rewrite stories when they want to feel strong.”

Mia doesn’t reply. She knows better than to challenge me when my voice drops low like that. I take a slow breath. “She’s building something,” I continue. “Work, classes, maybe even friends. It won’t last. Not when I’m done.”

I send another message to my investigator: Follow her at night. I want to know who she talks to after class. He replies instantly, saying he understands. I lean back, satisfied.

Mia stands, walking toward the door. “I’ll be at my place,” she says flatly. “Call me when you remember who’s here.” I don’t answer. The door shuts behind her, and I feel the silence stretch.

Part of me wonders if I’ve gone too far. But control isn’t something you give up. Once you start losing it, you lose everything else with it. I tell myself this every time her name crosses my mind.

I open my laptop and read the reports from my managers. Numbers fall, then rise, then fall again. Nothing stays steady anymore. Investors are uneasy. They sense distraction. They’re right.

Sloane shouldn’t matter, but she does. The thought makes me angry. She’s one person, one woman who dared to walk away. I’ve faced stronger rivals than her. Yet she’s the one haunting me.

I imagine her standing in front of me, her voice steady, saying she’s not afraid anymore. It makes me clench my fists. Fear is what keeps people in line. Once they lose it, chaos begins.

Control is more than power. It’s order. It’s the assurance that no one moves without your permission. Sloane used to understand that. I taught her everything she knows. She just forgot who the teacher was.

My phone buzzes again. The investigator sends an update. She’s leaving class now. Alone. I reply with one word: Follow. I can almost picture him blending into the crowd behind her.

I think of Daisy again. Maybe it’s cruel to involve her, but Sloane needs a reminder of what’s at stake. If fear won’t bring her back, love might. People always return to what they’re afraid to lose.

I open my drawer and find an old photo—Sloane holding Daisy at the park. Her smile used to mean peace. Now it looks like rebellion. I tear the photo in half and drop it in the trash.

“She thinks she’s winning,” I whisper to myself. “She doesn’t know the game has just begun.”

I send another message to my investigator. If she goes anywhere unusual, report it immediately. He replies that he understands and will keep watch.

I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment. The world outside my window moves on, but my focus stays locked on her. Every choice she makes feels like a challenge. Every success she has feels like an insult.

Mia texts me, asking if I’m coming over. I ignore it. I can’t deal with her neediness tonight. There’s only one person I want to think about, and she’s the one trying hardest to forget me.

I replay our last argument in my head. She said I couldn’t own her anymore. I told her she’d regret that. She didn’t even flinch. That moment replayed so many times that it’s carved into me now.

Maybe I underestimated her. Maybe she’s stronger than I thought. But strength can turn to weakness fast when pressure builds. I’ll make sure she feels it.

My empire is made of loyalty, fear, and precision. Every piece must move when I say so. Sloane’s rebellion is a crack, and cracks grow. I can’t let that happen.

I light another cigarette, even though I promised to quit months ago. It helps me think. The smoke curls upward, vanishing before it reaches the ceiling. Control in small forms still feels good.

I wonder what she’s doing now. Probably walking home, tired, pretending not to look over her shoulder. She doesn’t know someone’s watching. She doesn’t know I’ve already moved my pieces into place.

I glance at the city outside my window, at the faint lights scattered across the dark skyline. “You can’t outsmart me, Sloane,” I murmur. “You never could.”

My phone buzzes again, a short message from the investigator. I’ve got her in sight.

I stare at the screen, the words glowing back at me. My chest tightens with something between satisfaction and anger. She’s free for now, but not for long.

I put the phone down and whisper, “Let’s see how long you can play this game.”