The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss-Chapter 103: Private transfer

Julian froze. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t frantic like before. There was no rush, no uneven rhythm. Just... steady. He turned. Amara was descending the stairs. Slowly.

Each step deliberate, as though she had made a decision somewhere between her room and this moment, and now there was no turning back.

Her face was pale. Too pale. The kind of pain that came from crying until there was nothing left, until even your tears refused to come.

But her eyes. Her eyes were not lost anymore. They were fixed. Locked onto something beyond the door. The driveway. She had seen him. From her window.

And instead of hiding... She was walking straight toward him. Julian felt something shift, sharp and immediate. "Amara.." he started, his voice low, a warning, a question, something in between.

But she didn’t stop. Didn’t even look at him. She walked past him like he wasn’t there. Like nothing else in this house mattered.

Like the only thing that existed... was waiting outside. The door opened. Cool air slipped in, carrying with it the faint scent of dust and distance and him.

Outside, the car door opened with a quiet, expensive click. Silas stepped out. Unhurried. Composed. As though time bent slightly in his favor.

He adjusted his cufflinks with slow, deliberate precision, his movements smooth, controlled, almost ritualistic. Not a single gesture wasted. Not a single motion out of place.

Then he looked up. Straight to the house. At her. His gaze found Amara instantly, like he had known exactly where she would be. And he held it.

There was no grief there. No softness. No hesitation. No trace of a man who had stood beside a grave only hours ago. What lingered in his expression was something else entirely. Something quieter.

Colder. Certain. He didn’t look like a mourner. He looked. Like he had come home.

"Amara," he said, his voice carrying across the veranda like a velvet threat. "Your sister is not here, that’s good. You really look a mess. Anyway, I’m here like I promised, we have a great deal to discuss regarding your mother’s... ’unexpected’ departure."

Julian stepped beside Amara, his hand resting firmly on the small of her back. "She isn’t in the mood for guests, Silas. Especially not ones who haven’t been seen in years."

"Oh, I’m not a guest, Julian," Silas smiled, pulling a folded document from his breast pocket. "I have known this family since both of you were in diapers. I feel for you, I really do, but this can’t wait. I’m a shareholder. And according to the bylaws of the Pedro Corporation, the seat hasn’t been empty for as long as you think."

The declaration hung in the humid air like a physical blow. The Pedro Corporation had been the crown jewel of Verenza’s private sector for decades, a fortress of family-owned legacy that had never once allowed an outsider past its gates.

Amara’s hand gripped the doorframe, her knuckles turning white. "The Pedro Corporation is privately held, Silas," she said, her voice trembling but gaining a sharp, jagged edge. "It has been since my grandfather founded it. My mother and father owned every single share. There is no room for you."

Silas didn’t flinch. He remained at the base of the veranda steps, the silver of his vintage car gleaming behind him like a predator’s teeth. He slowly unfolded the document he held, his movements agonizingly deliberate.

"Your father was a brilliant man, Amara," Silas murmured, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. "But even brilliant men have debts. And sometimes, those debts are paid in the dark."

He held up a weathered, yellowing certificate. It bore the unmistakable embossed seal of the Pedro estate, dated fifteen years ago.

"A private transfer. Ten percent of the holding company was signed by your father during the 2011 expansion. It was held in trust until his passing, and then transferred to me upon your mother’s death."

Julian stepped forward, his body a literal shield between Amara and the man on the lawn. His eyes were narrowed, scanning the document from a distance with the clinical precision of a shark.

"If that paper is real, Silas, which I highly doubt, it would have been in the family audits," Julian stated, his voice a low, lethal vibration. "The lawyers just left. They mentioned no such transfer."

"Lawyers only see what they are allowed to see," Silas countered, his gaze shifting past Julian to lock onto Amara’s pale face. "I’m not here to take your chair, Amara. Not yet. I’m here to offer my... condolences. And to remind you that the board meeting on Monday will require a quorum. And I am the tie-breaking vote."

As Silas turned back toward his car, the silence that followed was heavier than the funeral drums. Amara felt the world tilting again. Her mother was barely in the ground, and already the walls of her sanctuary were being dismantled.

Julian turned to her, his hands catching her shoulders before she could stumble. His touch was firm, grounding her in the middle of the storm.

"He’s lying, or he’s holding a ghost," Julian whispered, his forehead resting against hers. "But either way, he isn’t getting inside this house or the company. I’m going to call my own legal team. We’re going to dig into every transaction your father made in 2011."

Amara looked up at him, her eyes searching his. The slow-burning love of their honeymoon felt like a lifetime ago, replaced by a raw, wartime necessity. "Julian... if he’s telling the truth, he could dismantle everything Mother worked for."

"Not while I’m breathing," Julian promised, his voice low but unyielding, his grip on her tightening as though he could anchor her to something steady. "Go upstairs. Try to rest. I’ll be in the study with James. We’re going to find out exactly who Silas is... and why he chose now to crawl out of the shadows."

Amara nodded, though the motion felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

The climb upstairs was agony.

Each step dragged, heavy and hollow, as though the house itself had turned against her. The silence pressed in from every corner, too loud, too suffocating. By the time she reached her room, her chest was tight, her thoughts racing faster than she could grasp them.

She began to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Nothing made sense. Nothing stayed still long enough for her to hold onto it. Her mother was gone...gone...and before she could even begin to understand that loss, the world was already shifting beneath her feet. Secrets. Threats. Names whispered from the dark.

It was too much. "I don’t understand..." she whispered to no one, her voice trembling.

Her throat felt dry, so she reached for the glass on her bedside table, her fingers brushing against it, but the moment she tried to lift it, her hand betrayed her.

It slipped. The glass shattered against the floor.

The sharp sound cracked through the room, and Amara flinched, her breath catching as her hands trembled uncontrollably.

"Not now... not now..." she choked, pressing her palms against her temples as if she could force herself back together. "I can’t.... I can’t fall apart now..."

Her breathing grew uneven, shallow, like the air itself was slipping away from her.

"I have to focus," she whispered desperately. "I have to protect it... everything they built... everything they fought for..."

But the words felt fragile, like they might break just as easily as the glass at her feet.

And then. Her gaze lifted. It found the photograph resting quietly on the stand. Her parents.

Frozen in a moment, untouched by time, her mother’s warm, knowing smile, her father’s steady, protective presence. They looked so alive. So certain.

So there. Amara stilled.

The chaos inside her faltered, then slowly, painfully, began to quiet. Her breathing steadied, inch by inch.

"They didn’t break," she murmured, her voice softer now, steadier. "Not through everything... they didn’t break." Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, the trembling easing. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

"And neither will I." The grief was still there, raw, deep, aching...but it no longer owned her in that moment. It sat beside something stronger.

Resolve.

Amara straightened, her eyes still fixed on the photograph, drawing strength from it like a lifeline. Whatever storm was coming... she would not be swept away.