---- Chapter 18 Anya Warner POV: | watched the taillights of Hamilton' s car disappear down the long, cypress-lined driveway. My body, which had been rigid with a tension | hadn't even been aware of, finally slumped. My shoulders ached. Dante turned to me, his face a mixture of concern and lingering fury. "Are you okay?" | managed a small, tired nod. "Thank you, Dante." "For what? For stopping that pathetic excuse for a man from laying his filthy hands on you?" He let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "It was my pleasure. He doesn't deserve to even look at you." "Still," | said, wrapping my arms around myself. "Thank you." He studied my face for a moment. "Let me take you home." "No," | said, a little too quickly. The thought of letting another powerful, charismatic man into my space, even for a moment, sent a jolt of panic through me. "I'm fine. My father's security detail is waiting just outside the gates. They'll see me home." He looked disappointed but didn't push. He simply nodded. "Alright, Anya." ---- The ride home was silent. | leaned my head against the cool glass of the window and watched the world go by, my mind replaying the ugly confrontation. Hamilton' s words, as vile as they were, had been illuminating. His accusation-ls it even mine?-hadn't just been a desperate, jealous jab. It was a reflection of his deepest fear: that | was never truly his to begin with. That my mind, my talent, my spiri . they all existed in a realm he couldn't access or control. His love had been about possession. The moment he realized he couldn't own me, the love curdled into suspicion. And Dante Mullen. His "heroic" defense of me wasn't entirely altruistic. | had seen the look in his eyes. It wasn't just admiration. It was ambition. He saw me not as a broken bird, but as a queen on the chessboard. An alliance with Anya Warner, the newly minted Warner heir and a genius in her own right, was a strategic move of unparalleled value. He wasn't trying to cage me like Hamilton had. He was trying to ally with me, to merge our kingdoms. A cold, mirthless smile touched my lips. They were all playing a game. Hamilton, my grandfather-in-law Grant, Dante... even my own father, in his own protective way. They moved people around like pieces, all for the sake of power, legacy, and control. Well, | was tired of being a piece. From now on, | was going to be a player. When | got back to the estate, | went straight to my office, a ---- high-tech command center my father had built for me. | sent a message to my new personal assistant "Please arrange for a gift to be sent to Mr. Dante Mullen," | dictated. "A vintage 1968 Shelby GT500. The engine specifications must match the original schematics, not the modern reproductions. Color: Highland Green. Have it delivered to his office tomorrow with a simple card." "And the message on the card, Ms. Warner?" | paused, a slow, strategic smile spreading across my face. "Thank you for your assistance today. A good teammate is hard to find. Let's keep it professional." It was a gift, but it was also a statement. A thank you, but also a boundary. It said, | see you. | know what you want. And the answer is no. | would accept his help as a teammate, an ally in the brutal world we both inhabited. But | would not be his prize. | would not be his queen. | leaned back in my chair, my hand resting on my belly. The baby gave a gentle kick, a tiny, reassuring flutter. | was not alone in this. | had a new legacy to build, a new kingdom to protect. The game was on. And for the first time in my life, | was setting the rules.