Daddy’s Little Weapon.
Seline Point Of View,
The following morning, the sun hadn’t climbed far above the horizon when I left Ronan’s penthouse. The morning air was cool, the sky pale and empty, but my mind was a battlefield. I drove with one hand clenched on the wheel and the other gripping my phone like it might break from how hard I held it.
I need more than affection now, more than Ronan’s collapsing world.
I needed war, and there was only one man I knew who had the power to wage it, that man was my father.
The Rousseau estate rose from the hills of Velmira Heights like it had ruled the land for generations, because it had. Three sprawling floors of white stone, jet-black columns, and gold-framed windows reflected the early sun like a mir- ror of wealth; the driveway alone could host a small parade.
Home.
A place I hadn’t returned to in over a year, not since my father retired and handed everything to my mother. While she ran the empire, he spent his days flying between luxury islands and quiet country estates, chasing nostalgia in the form of rare wines and secret fishing spots.
But this time, he was home, and that meant my timing was perfect.
I entered without ringing.
The staff still remembered who I was, the favorite daughter of the man who made kings nervous.
I found him in his study on the second floor, seated behind a massive desk of rich mahogany. He was writing in his black leather-bound journal, a tumbler of brandy already in his hand despite the early hour. His silver hair was swept back neatly, and even in retirement, he wore wealth like it was stitched into his skin.
He looked up as I stepped in.
“Seline,” he said, his smile warm but cautious. “Now there’s a surprise.”
I walked over and kissed his cheek, then perched on the edge of the guest chair across from him:
“It’s your fault,” I said with a smirk. “You disappear every other week.”
“I’ve earned my rest,” he replied, sipping his drink. “Retirement is a reward, not a punishment.”
He set the glass down and narrowed his eyes slightly. “You look troubled. What’s wrong? Is it something with Ro- nan?”
I nodded, my father always knows when I have a problem that has to do with Ronan. “Yes father, and it’s bad.”
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He straightened slightly, more alert.
“What happened?”
I leaned forward. “It’s Zyrah, she’s not who we thought she was.”.
He blinked. “The ex-wife? The one Ronan put behind bars?”
“Yes, that one, father.”
“What about her?”
“She’s not just some poor girl Ronan married on a whim. Her real name is Zyrah Callisto Aeternum.”
The change in his expression was immediate and I watched the color drained slightly from his face, his shoulders sud- denly becoming tense.
“Aeternum?”
“Yes,” I said, voice tightening. “She’s the daughter of Caelan Aeternum. The heir. The one who’s been behind the collapse of Ronan’s recent deals. She’s the CEO now of the Aeternum Group.”
My father stared at me like I’d just said a ghost had come back from the dead.
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true,” I said quickly. “She got out of jail overnight, it turns out her brother, Darius Aeternum, was the one who released her, he cleared everything. They’ve been working behind the scenes, taking Ronan’s company apart one piece at a time.”
“Holy hell,” he muttered, pushing back in his chair.
“And now Ronan’s a wreck,” I continued. “He’s losing control as the board is wavering, his clients are leaving and she’s bleeding him from the inside out.”
He rubbed a hand down his face, slowly.
“You realize what you’re saying, right?” he asked. “The Aeternum are not just another rich family, they’re a legacy, and they built half this city and they own the other half. No one crosses them.”
“I know,” I whispered. “But I need your help.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You?”
“Daddy…” I leaned closer. “If she takes him down, if she wins this, Ronan will never recover, and if he doesn’t recov- er, he’ll never marry me. I’ve waited eight years for this. I stood by him through everything, and now that bitch is back from the dead, wearing a crown she never earned.”
He looked away for a moment, the room thick with silence.
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I pressed on, voice more urgent. “You always said no one gets to humiliate Rousseau, that we strike first. This is the moment, this is when I need you.”
He exhaled slowly, then turned back toward me.
“You’re serious.”
I nodded.
He stared for a moment longer, then walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and I watched him as he looked out over the estate like he was looking at the battlefield beyond it.
“I still know people,” he said after a beat. “Old names, quiet men, the kind of men who don’t flinch at war, but going after the Aeternums is like picking a fight with the sea, it doesn’t rage Seline, it swallows.”
I stood and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders from behind.
“But you’re Marcus Rousseau,” I whispered. “You don’t drown father, you command tides.”
He chuckled softly, low and dark.
“You always were the dangerous one,” he murmured.
“I learned from the best.”
He turned, and kissed my forehead.
“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make a few calls, we’ll figure something out, tell Ronan to calm down because he has a full army behind him.”
Relief bloomed through my chest like breath after drowning because now, finally, I had power of my own, and Zyrah Aeternum wouldn’t even see me coming.
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Poison Served In Polished Sips.
Zyrah’s Point Of View.
The hour was still, cloaked in the soft hush of carly afternoon. Outside my office window, the skyline of Cavendell City shimmered beneath a calm haze, unaware that beneath its glass towers and golden spires, storms were already moving into place.
My office was silent and tastefully lethal.
Glass surfaces gleaned beneath the soft amber light, black-veined marble floors, cold steel bookshelves lined with precision, and a long glass desk with sharp edges. Behind me, the Aeternum crest gleamed on the wall like a ghost wearing armor.
Talia knocked once and stepped inside.
“Ms. Aeternum,” she said. “There’s a man here, his name is Julian Crane, he is a reporter from this city. He says he’s from The Cavendell Chronicle, and he’s requesting five minutes of your time.”
I glanced up from the folder I was reading, fingers still resting lightly on the edge of the document, the name rang a faint bell.
Julian Crane a vulture in journalist’s clothing known for sniffing scandal like it was a perfume trail.
“Did I approve an interview?”
“No, ma’am, he said it’s informal but persistent.”
I gave a small smile. “Fine, do send him in.”
Moments later, he entered, a slender frame wrapped in a navy jacket a size too loose, a soft smirk already in place like armor. His hair was slightly unkempt, his tie knotted carelessly, and his eyes scanned the room like he was already planning the headline.
“Quite a throne you’ve built here, Ms. Aeternum,” he said.
I didn’t stand. “You have five minutes.”
He gave a small bow and sat, placing a slim recorder on the edge of my desk but not turning it on.
“I’ve been following Ronan Lancaster’s career for years,” he began. “Always seemed more illusion than substance, his flashy smiles, clean suits, and empty promises, but I have to admit, I never expected you to be the one turning the tide.”
I said nothing.
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Poison Served In Polished Sips.
Just folded my hands neatly on the desk and let the silence draw him closer.
288 iVouchers
“I’m not here to poke around your business,” he continued. “But when a woman like you reemerges from the ashes and steps into a throne this powerful… well, the city starts to whisper.”
I frowned.
“How did you find out about me?” I asked him.
He smirks, “I am not an ordinary reporter, I have won awards and they are not just nothing.” He smiled proudly.
I folded my arms, my eyes not leaving him, “And what are they whispering, Mr. Crane?”
He leaned in. “That Lancaster’s fall isn’t a coincidence, that someone smarter, quieter, and much more dangerous is finally playing their hands.”
I tilted my head. “Do you always speak in riddles, or is this your way of asking for a scoop?”
He grinned. “Just trying to understand the game, Ms. Aeternum.”
I let a moment pass before I answered.
“You’re right about Ronan,” I said calmly. “He was never built to last, his style is without structure, and a face with- out a foundation.”
Julian’s eyes glinted. “Go on.”
“He sells ambition but underneath, all are lies, vanity, and cold desperation.”
My voice stayed even, my face unreadable.
“I was his wife for three years, I know the bones he buried under his empire.”
He tensed slightly. “Are you saying…?”
“I’m not saying anything officially,” I said, cutting in with a calm smile. “But if I were you, I’d take a closer look at the March 12th logs from the Bell Ross transaction. Then the Valencia deal from two years ago, there’s also a curious shift in board seats last spring, when two of his oldest advisors resigned quietly without public explanation.”
He was silent now, processing every word I said. I watched as he reached for the recorder slowly.
I lifted a hand.
“Off the record,” I said.” Do not record me.” I ordered.
He froze in surprise but nodded as his hand dropped.
“I’m not feeding the press a scandal,” I continued, voice like velvet laced with thorns. “I’m just sharing points of in- terest.”
He tilted his head. “Why me?”
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My brows twisted, “Why you? Don’t be stupid, you walked into my office seeking answers and because you listened, you didn’t flinch, the story isn’t ready to be told in full, but it will be.”
He stared for a long moment.
Then nodded. “I assume this isn’t the last time we speak?”
“That depends,” I said, standing smoothly. “On how well you report the smoke before the fire arrives.”
He stood too, visibly reeling but trying to mask it behind professionalism.
“Thank you for your time, Ms. Acternum.”
I said nothing.
As he walked out, I turned back to the window, my gaze falling across the distant skyline.
I didn’t need front-page explosions, all I needed were cracks.
The door clicked shut behind Julian Crane, but I didn’t move.
I remained standing at the window, watching the distant skyline bleed into dusk, my reflection in the glass sharper than the horizon beyond it.
I hadn’t given him much,just enough to tip the balance, to start a stir, but I knew men like Julian. Curiosity was a dis- ease they couldn’t live without scratching and even off the record, he’d be tempted to talk.
Temptation, after all, is what ruins men.
I turned.
“Talia,” I said calmly.
She stepped into the doorway instantly, as if she’d been waiting for the order. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Call him back in.”
Her eyes flicked once toward the exit, then back to me. “Right away.”
Two minutes later, Julian reentered, clearly unsure what to expect. His grin was gone this time, his shoulders are tighter, and his eyes warrier.
I liked him better this way.
“You called me back?”
I gestured to the chair. “Sit.”
He obeyed.
I returned to my seat, folding one leg over the other, gaze fixed on him as I spoke slowly, deliberately,
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“I gave you something because I wanted to, not because you earned it, or because you deserved it.”
He shifted slightly in his seat.
“I know your type, Julian. You deal in whispers and shadows, then act surprised when one turns around and bites, so let me be very clear.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t let him speak.
“I haven’t officially introduced myself to the world yet, not as Zyrah Callisto Aeternum or as the woman who disap- peared from jail without a trace. As far as the press knows, I’m still a mystery, a shadow, and a vanishing act.”
Julian blinked, his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“I want it to stay that way,” I continued, my voice ice. “Until I decide otherwise.”
He nodded slowly, but I leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.
“If you so much as hint at my identity, if you so much as allow one of your interns to drop my name into a half-baked theory column… I will ruin you, quietly, and thoroughly without lifting a finger.”
His lips parted. “I… I understand.”
“Good.”
I stood.
“This is a game of patience, Mr. Crane. You should pray you stay useful enough to remain on the right side of it.”
He rose shakily, his usual confidence nowhere in sight.
“One day soon, I’ll let the world know I’m back,” I said. “But when I do, it won’t be whispered, it’ll be declared, and the last thing I need is a sloppy byline ruining the surprise.”
He nodded again, too quickly.
“Now go.”
He left without another word, shoulders stiff, head bowed like a schoolboy who’d just been caught cheating.
The door shut behind him.
Talia stepped in a moment later.
“Shall I have him watch?”
“No need,” I said, sitting again and crossing my arms. “He’s already terrified.”
Talia smirked faintly. “Anything else?”
I looked out the window again.
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“Call Darius, find out when he will be at his office, I want to discuss with him.”
The sky had darkened to a deep indigo by the time I looked up from my desk.
The silence in my office was layered, Talia had muted my calls, canceled my afternoon briefings. There were no dis- tractions today, just silence and power settling around me like a silk noose.
I was scanning the final page of a revised investor pitch when there was a soft knock on the glass door.
Talia stepped in, as composed as always.
“Ms. Aeternum, your brother is in his office now. He asked that you come to him when you’re ready.”
I nodded once.
“Thank you.”
I stood slowly, smoothed my coat, and left without another word.
Darius’s office was across the executive floor, larger than mine, colder too. While my space whispered elegance, his exuded dominance. Dark oak walls, iron fixtures, black leather furniture, and a massive desk centered like a war ta- ble, a loaded liquor cart in one corner with two matte pistols mounted inside a glass case by the window.
He never left them out of reach.
When I stepped in, he was standing behind his desk, a phone pressed to his ear, reading something on his tablet with that unnerving stillness he always carried.
He lifted a hand toward me, a silent signal to wait, and finished the call with a clipped, “Keep your mouth shut and
execute it.”
Then he set the phone down and finally looked at me.
“I heard you summoned a reporter,” he said, his voice even but edged. “Want to explain that?”
I stepped forward and sat across from him, unbothered by his tone.
“I didn’t summon him, he showed up.”
“Julian Crane?” he asked, frowning.
I nodded.
“He’s a snake,” Darius said immediately. “Slick tongue, hungers for controversy more than facts.”
“I know what he is,” I said calmly. “That’s why I fed him just enough to be useful, nothing more. I didn’t give him the full tales nor did I didn’t confirm anything. I only pointed him in the direction of Ronan’s financial trail, that’s it.”
Darius leaned back in his chair, studying me in silence for a few seconds.
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