Chapter 35 Cleaning Up The Mess
Felicia Ardent's POV
The jet’s engines had barely begun their slow, satisfied whine down when I unfastened my seatbelt. I didn’t wait for the signal. I never did. Control wasn’t something I requested—it was something I took, quietly, efficiently, and without apology. The cabin door opened to a wash of humid air, thick with heat and the faint scent of jet fuel. I stepped out first, heels clicking sharply against the metal stairs, my posture immaculate, chin lifted just enough to suggest I expected the world to rise and meet my gaze.
Behind me, my assistant hurried to keep pace, tablet already in hand, eyes scanning through a flood of notifications. I didn’t slow down.
“Car is ready, Ms. Ardent,” the ground handler said, voice respectful, almost cautious.
“Of course it is,” I replied coolly, not even glancing in his direction.
My heels touched the tarmac, and I paused—not for them, not for the heat—but for myself. A brief inhale. A moment to recalibrate. Because this wasn’t just another arrival. This was a correction. A necessary intervention in a situation that had spiraled beyond acceptable limits.
“Ms. Ardent,” my assistant said, stepping beside me, voice low but urgent. “We just received confirmation. The stakeholders are all in place. They’re prepared to meet at your convenience.”
I turned my head slightly, dark eyes narrowing just enough to show interest.
“That was quicker than I expected.”
“They seemed… eager.”
I allowed myself the faintest smirk as I resumed walking toward the waiting car.
“Eagerness is rarely a good sign,” I said. “It usually means someone is afraid.”
My assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second before following.
“And fear,” I added smoothly, “is something we can work with.”
We reached the car—a sleek, black vehicle that mirrored my own aesthetic: understated, expensive, and impossible to ignore. The driver opened the door without a word. I slid inside, crossing one leg over the other with practiced elegance. My assistant joined me moments later, already pulling up more information.
“Time?” I asked.
“Forty minutes to the meeting location.”
“Good. Enough time to think.”
My assistant nodded, though we both knew that when I said think, I meant something far more intricate. The car pulled away smoothly, the world outside blurring into motion.
I leaned back slightly, my gaze drifting to the window—but I wasn’t looking at the city. I was looking inward. And what I saw irritated me.
“The McKays,” I murmured, almost to myself.
My assistant glanced up but said nothing. My lips pressed into a thin line.
“They’ve become… troublesome.”
That was putting it mildly. What should have been a controlled situation—a simple matter of influence, pressure, and quiet compliance—had turned into something far messier. Far more public.
And far more dangerous. My fingers tapped once against my knee, the only outward sign of my displeasure.
“Peter Ramsey warned me,” I said, my tone shifting, sharper now. “He called them a pain in the ass.”
My assistant gave a small nod. “He did.”
I felt my eyes darken. “And that stupid fool still let his emotions take over.”
There it was. The real issue. Peter Ramsey had been useful—intelligent, strategic, and, until recently, reliable. But usefulness meant nothing the moment it was compromised by sentiment. And he had let himself become compromised. Now I was here. Cleaning up his mess. I exhaled slowly, the sound controlled, measured.
“Do you know what I find most irritating?” I asked.
My assistant chose her words carefully. “That it was avoidable?”
I let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“No,” I said. “That he knew better.”
My gaze shifted again, this time focusing—sharpening.
“Men like Peter always think they can balance power and emotion. They convince themselves they’re the exception.”
My lips curved slightly, though there was no warmth in it. Silence settled in the car for a moment, heavy but not uncomfortable. I thrived in silence. It gave me space to arrange the world exactly as I wanted it.
“And now,” I continued, “I'm left to restore order.”
My assistant nodded again. “Which is why the meeting is critical. They’ll want reassurances.”
“They’ll get results,” I corrected. “Reassurances are for people who lack control.”
Another pause. Then my assistant spoke again, this time more cautiously.
“There’s something else.”
I didn’t look at her, but I was listening.
“Our men are still in position,” the assistant said. “They’ve been monitoring Marcus and Anna closely.”
That caught my attention. A slow smile spread across my face, subtle but unmistakably dangerous.
“Still?” I asked.
“Yes. No interruptions. No suspicion.”
I turned my head slightly, finally giving my assistant my full attention.
“And what have they observed?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the assistant replied. “They’ve been… steady. Together.”
My smile deepened, though my eyes remained cold.
“Of course they have.”
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? They were steady. Resilient. Annoyingly so. Just like Damian and Courtney. Most people would have fractured under the pressure by now. Most would have made mistakes—big, obvious ones that could be exploited. But Damian and Courtney? They adapted. They endured. And that made them dangerous. I tilted my head slightly, considering.
“Strength like that,” I said slowly, “is admirable.”
My assistant blinked, surprised. My smile sharpened.
“And extremely inconvenient.”
The car turned onto a quieter road, the city noise fading into something more subdued. I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbow on my knee.
“Tell me,” I said, my tone almost conversational, “how close are our men willing to get?”
My assistant hesitated.
“They’ve maintained distance so far. Observational only.”
My gaze held hers. “That wasn’t my question.”
A beat.
“They’re ready to act if instructed.”
There it was. I leaned back again, satisfied.
“Good.” My fingers tapped once more, slower this time, more deliberate. “Because observation only gets us so far.”
My assistant nodded, though a flicker of unease crossed her face. I noticed. I always noticed.
“Relax,” I said lightly. “I’m not suggesting anything… reckless.”
The faint emphasis on the word made it clear I found recklessness distasteful.
“I’m suggesting efficiency.” My gaze drifted again, distant now, calculating. “Perhaps,” I continued, “we’ll find time to pay them a visit while we’re here.”
The words hung in the air, deceptively casual. But the meaning beneath us was anything but.
My assistant swallowed slightly. “A direct approach?”
My lips curved.
“Not immediately,” I said. “But proximity can be… enlightening.”
I turned back to the window, watching as the landscape shifted again—closer now to our destination.
“To understand someone,” I went on, “you need to see them up close. Watch how they move. How they react when they don’t realize they’re being studied.”
My voice softened, almost thoughtful. “That’s when the truth reveals itself.”
Another pause.
“And once we have the truth…” my assistant prompted carefully.
My smile returned, colder this time. “We decide how to use it.”
The car slowed as we approached a gated entrance. Security waved us through immediately. Of course they did. Felicia Ardent didn’t wait. Gates opened for me. Doors opened for me. People made space for me. Because somewhere along the way, they learned it was easier than standing in my path. The car came to a stop.
My assistant straightened slightly. “We’re here.”
I didn’t move right away. For a moment, I simply sat there, perfectly still, my thoughts aligning into something sharp and precise. The McKays. Peter Ramsey. Damian. Courtney. Pieces on a board that had shifted unexpectedly. But not beyond recovery. Never beyond recovery.
I opened the door myself this time. I stepped out, heels meeting polished stone, my presence instantly commanding the space.
“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I said.
My assistant followed closely behind. As we walked toward the entrance, my expression settled into something calm, composed, and utterly unreadable. But beneath it—
Plans were forming. Adjustments are being made. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet, dangerous curiosity lingered. Because Damian and Courtney had managed to do something very few people ever did. They had survived long enough to catch my attention. And that—
I smiled faintly as the doors opened.
—was rarely a good thing.