The news broke at dawn. Victor Varga, CEO of Aegis Dominion and longtime rival to the Bishop empire, had been found dead in his countryside estate. The report was vague - unresponsive staff, tampered security feeds, an open investigation. Whispers of foul play floated beneath the headlines, but nothing confirmed.
Passion stared at her screen long after the article ended, her coffee cooling in her hands.
Victor Varga. Ruthless, calculating and paranoid to the core. He had survived three hostile takeovers and once filed suit against Charles Bishop for patent infringement. And now he was dead. Quietly. Suddenly. Without fanfare.
Aria entered her office carrying a tablet, her brow furrowed. "The Bishop Foundation just released a statement. Charles is flying back from Monaco. He's speaking at the press conference in thirty minutes."
Passion nodded absently, eyes fixed on the screen. "Thanks."
When Aria left, she reached for the volume and watched.
Charles Bishop looked somber behind the podium. A dark suit, a deep burgundy tie, the picture of corporate grief.
"Though Victor Varga and I often found ourselves on opposing sides of the business battlefield," he said, voice low and deliberate, "he was a brilliant mind and a formidable strategist. The world of enterprise has lost a giant. I offer my condolences to his family and employees. We will fully cooperate with authorities to understand what happened."
Passion nearly laughed at the audacity. The way Charles spun fiction into silk. This wasn't respect. It was posturing. A way to preempt any suspicion, bury the blood before it surfaced. And yet what chilled her wasn't the lie, it was how familiar it all felt.
Fifteen years ago, they'd said similar things after her parents were killed. After Belle drowned. After Maggie bled out beside her. The powerful had stood in front of cameras, mourning lives they'd snuffed out in secret.
She closed the laptop, trembling. The similarities clawed at her throat. The way the cameras softened a killer's face. The way the public swallowed the lie. And for the first time in years, Passion Coleman felt something crack beneath her discipline. She poured herself a drink and dialed.
"Elena," she said when the older woman picked up. "It's happening again."
"I saw," Elena's voice was steady. "Don't do anything rash."
"I want to burn them."
"I know. But we're not ready. If you tip your hand now, we lose the war."
Passion exhaled hard, trying to force logic to the front of her mind.
"Let the PR dust settle," Matteo's voice chimed in gently from the background. "Charles is making mistakes. That means he's covering tracks. If we're careful, he might lead us to something better."
Passion nodded silently. "Okay."
"Promise me you won't act tonight," Elena said. "Sleep first."
"Alright."
But she didn't sleep.
—
London's air was sharp and cold as Passion walked through Mayfair, wrapped in a black wool coat and anonymity. The city moved around her, a blur of headlights and murmurs. She didn't care. She just needed to breathe without the weight of expectations or plans.
She turned a corner too fast and nearly collided with him.
Scott Bishop.
She stopped short, so did he.
"Coleman," he said with casual surprise, his coat open at the collar, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Bishop," she replied, tone clipped.
His brow twitched. "Didn't expect to see you here. Book shopping or planning another empire?"
"Neither. Just walking."
"You're alone."
"Observant."
He tilted his head, studying her more closely. "You alright?"
"I'm fine."
It was too quick. Too flat. And he noticed.
"We keep on running into each other. It must be destiny." Scott said with a smirk on his face.
"I'm not here for games," she replied. "You should leave."
"What's wrong?"
Her expression flickered. The steel slipped for half a second. "Don't you find it concerning that people who stand up to the Bishops die?"
Scott stilled. "Excuse me?"
She cursed herself silently. That had been careless. Too much emotion, not enough control.
"I meant… never mind."
She turned away. He followed her gaze briefly, then back to her face.
"You're rattled."
"I'm annoyed."
"At me?"
"At everything."
Her voice held a tension he hadn't heard before. The perfect control she always wielded, toned and elegant was gone. What remained was raw, if only for a breath.
He stepped closer. "Passion…"
She cut him off. "Don't mistake business for friendship, Bishop."
Then she walked away, coat flaring behind her, heels loud against the quiet. Scott didn't follow. Not right away.
But something in her words, in her slip, something small and sharp, lodged itself in his mind. Passion Coleman didn't flinch. She didn't misspeak. She never let personal emotion bleed into conversation.
But tonight… she had.
And it troubled Scott to see her vulnerable.