It was the first board meeting after the press conference.
Twelve members.
Two enemies.
One Moon.
I stepped into the room—files in one hand, silence in the other. The long mahogany table looked more like a battlefield now. Ms. Thanawan sat poised at the far end, a crimson brooch on her jacket that matched the blood on her agenda. Beside her sat Taeng, calm but smiling like a viper waiting for its venom to sink in.
Uncle Prasong, Zachary, and Kylan hadn't shown up in person—cowards hiding behind proxy votes.
Thanawan stood. "Before we begin official discussions, I'd like to motion a vote of no confidence against Ms. Moon Fowler, citing family destabilization, misuse of power, and corporate damage due to personal scandals."
A few board members shifted uncomfortably.
I didn't flinch.
"Motion noted," I said smoothly. "And I reject it—with proof of board manipulation, slander, and unlawful media tampering orchestrated by you."
I tossed a dossier across the table.
Inside: financial trails. Audio recordings. A whisper caught on camera—Thanawan telling her assistant: "She won't last a quarter. We'll eat her alive before the stockholders blink."
Then came the twist.
"Additionally," I continued, "I motion to freeze Thanawan's decision-making authority pending a full ethics investigation. And to unseal the AI project she buried six months ago—projected to raise C Group's medical wing by 22%."
Gasps. One board member actually cursed under his breath.
Thanawan stood up sharply. "You don't have the numbers to push this through—"
"I do now," Said Natthapon, standing at my side. "My vote aligns with the CEO."
Then Khem. Then two others I'd flipped quietly. Even one who had worked under Thanawan for ten years.
Final vote?
8 to 4.
Thanawan's power was suspended.
My control?
Absolute.
Her eyes didn't flicker in rage.
They flickered with fear.
I leaned forward slightly, voice calm but cold.
"You had your chance to guide this company. But all you offered it was rot. I'm not here to play empire—I'm here to rebuild one."
The room echoed in silence.
War had never looked so composed.
---
Later that evening, I drove alone.
No guards. No assistants. Just rain on the windshield and the weight of the past in my lap.
The cemetery sat on the edge of Bangkok—quiet, veiled in drizzle and jasmine.
I knelt beside the stone.
Kawin Chirapaisarnsakul
Beloved son. Fierce Father. Never Forgotten.
I placed white Sweet Juliet's blossoms at his name.
"They tried to bury me today," I whispered. "But I climbed out."
A pause.
"You were right, Dad. About them. About this bloodline. They'd rather see a man destroy this company than a woman resurrect it."
The rain thickened, but I stayed.
"I made them listen. I made them vote. And now… I'm so close to everything you wanted for me."
My voice cracked. Just a little.
"But I don't just want the throne anymore. I want to cleanse it."
Thunder rumbled far off. I looked up, straight into the storm.
"I promise you this," I said. "By the time I'm done—this family name will mean something again. Not because they wore it…"
A beat.
"…but because I did."
I pressed my hand to the stone.
"And they'll never erase me again."
—---
The new campaign dropped at dawn.
A simple statement, across black screens:
> "We're not the future. We're the fire that forges it."
— C Group: Reborn.
It hit everywhere—digital billboards across Bangkok, Tokyo, Seoul. Viral. Subtle. Fierce. Just like me.
The campaign featured survivors of medical discrimination. Queer youth in tech. Rural inventors. No glossy influencers. No legacy names.
This wasn't about tradition anymore.
This was about change.
And people felt it.
By noon, our website crashed from traffic. Social media exploded with #CGroupReborn. Investors called. Younger demographics bought stock for the first time.
I stood at the media launch in a jet-black dress with a single silver phoenix pin.
Reporters didn't ask about the scandal anymore.
They asked how we'd made such a sharp pivot in under a week.
"We stopped being afraid," I answered. "And we stopped pretending that bloodline equals vision."
Then I smiled. "I'm not here to protect an empire built on silence. I'm here to build one that speaks."
The crowd erupted. We were no longer a company.
We were a movement.
---
It happened two days later.
Ploy—my trusted IT ghost—walked into my office, her expression tight.
"We have a problem," she said quietly, sliding me a USB. "It's about the leak… the one from Thanawan's firm."
I frowned. "We already traced it."
She shook her head. "Yeah. We traced the source. But we didn't trace who fed them the intel. That came from inside."
She clicked play on the decrypted file.
My blood ran cold.
It was a voice.
Rina's.
My assistant. My firebrand. My "vault with teeth."
> "Send them her adoption files. Keep it anonymous. If they smell blood, they'll bite."
Another voice: the journalist from the original defamation piece.
> "Why betray her?"
> "She thinks she can change everything. But this place wasn't built for girls like her. She'll burn out eventually… and I'll still be here."
I leaned back in my chair, eyes blank.
The betrayal didn't cut deep because it was personal.
It cut deep because it was smart.
She played loyal. She played boldly. She watched me rebuild…
…just to take it when I wasn't looking.
I stood up slowly. My voice didn't shake.
"Don't alert her," I told Ploy. "Not yet."
"What's the plan?"
I turned toward the window.
"She wanted fire," I murmured. "Let's give her the whole inferno."