The moment Adriana Castellano walked into my boardroom, I knew I was fucked. Not because she was beautiful—though she was, devastatingly so, with those sharp cheekbones and eyes like dark whiskey that could burn you from the inside out. Not because she carried herself like royalty, her chin lifted in defiance despite the fact that I'd personally orchestrated her family's downfall six months ago. No, I knew I was fucked because when our eyes met across that polished mahogany table, I felt something I hadn't felt in years: genuine fear. "Mr. Hawthorne." Her voice was silk wrapped around steel. "Thank you for seeing me." I leaned back in my leather chair, forcing my expression into the mask of casual indifference I'd perfected over fifteen years of corporate warfare. "Miss Castellano. I'll admit, when my secretary said you'd requested a meeting, I was... intrigued." That was putting it mildly. When Jennifer had told me that Adriana Castellano—daughter of Marcus Castellano, the man whose empire I'd systematically dismantled and absorbed into my own—wanted an audience, I'd nearly choked on my scotch. She moved further into the room, and I noticed she was alone. No lawyers, no advisors, no protective buffer between us. Bold. Reckless, even. Just like her father had been, in