Oliver ended the call and looked at the silent phone in his hand as if it had personally offended him.
Anna folded her arms.
"You knew peace was suspicious."
"I hoped incompetence might rest."
"It rarely does."
Rain hammered the windows while blueprints lay scattered across the table between them.
A half-built future on paper.
A familiar past calling them back.
Oliver set the phone down.
"I can handle it remotely."
Anna raised a brow.
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"Will you?"
He held her gaze.
"No."
Progress.
An hour later, the library had become a command room again.
Laptop open.
Multiple screens active.
Coffee restored.
Oliver in shirtsleeves issuing instructions with surgical calm.
Anna watched the transformation.
The softness didn't disappear.
It simply sharpened.
Veronica appeared on video, perfectly styled and clearly enjoying herself.
"Good news," she said.
"No," Oliver replied.
"Rude. The board coup is badly organized."
"That's the good news?"
"The bad news is they hired outside backing."
Anna stepped closer.
"Who?"
Veronica smiled thinly.
"Three hedge funds, one media group, and a very stupid prince."
Oliver pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Names."
She sent files across the screen.
"They're trying an emergency vote in six hours. Claiming you're distracted, unstable, and compromised by personal influence."
Her eyes slid meaningfully to Anna.
Anna blinked.
"Compromised?"
Veronica shrugged.
"You do make him tolerable."
Oliver's voice cooled.
"They're using my marriage as weakness."
Anna smiled slowly.
"How outdated of them."
The emergency board meeting streamed from Milan headquarters.
Twenty directors seated around polished glass.
Lawyers present.
Press leaks already circulating.
They expected Oliver absent.
Instead, at the exact start time, the central screen activated.
Oliver appeared from the Lake Como library.
Calm.
Unshaven.
Dangerously relaxed.
Anna sat beside him, visible.
Several directors looked alarmed immediately.
Good instincts.
Director Moreau began.
"Mr. Walker, we appreciate you joining despite your… retreat."
Oliver glanced at the agenda.
"I appreciate you scheduling treason during my holiday."
Silence.
Veronica, attending in person from Milan, coughed to hide laughter.
Moreau continued stiffly.
"The board believes leadership continuity requires temporary transfer of executive authority."
"To whom?"
"A committee."
Oliver looked bored.
"Cowardice in plural form."
Another director spoke.
"Markets need certainty."
"You shorted our stock yesterday."
The man froze.
Oliver continued.
"You also routed funds through your brother-in-law's shell company at 10:14 a.m."
He slid a document into camera view.
The man went pale.
Anna murmured, "You investigated before coffee?"
"I was annoyed."
One by one, Oliver dismantled them.
Hidden trades.
Private messages.
Side deals.
Leaked strategy memos.
Every accusation answered with evidence.
Every alliance cracked under daylight.
The stupid prince disconnected first.
Then a hedge fund withdrew support publicly.
Then two directors requested to "reconsider language."
Anna leaned toward the microphone.
"Adorable."
Veronica openly applauded.
Moreau tried one final push.
"Your judgment is compromised. You abandoned headquarters during crisis."
Oliver looked at him for a long moment.
Then turned slightly toward Anna.
"My judgment improved when I stopped mistaking obsession for discipline."
The room stilled.
He faced the board again.
"I left because rebuilding requires vision, not panic."
A beat.
"You stayed because none of you know who you are without proximity to power."
No one spoke.
He continued.
"Resign now, or I release the rest."
Three resignation notices arrived within sixty seconds.
Veronica checked her phone.
"Four, actually. Someone quit preemptively."
When the call ended, rain had softened outside.
The room went quiet.
Anna looked at him.
"You could have gone back."
"Yes."
"You stayed."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He closed the laptop.
"Because if I keep abandoning peace every time chaos knocks, then chaos owns me."
That answer landed deeper than victory.
She stepped closer.
He drew her into him.
"Evolving."
"Concerning."
"Manage it."
She kissed him before he could become smug.
Brief.
Effective.
Then the phone rang again.
They both stared at it.
Oliver sighed.
"If that's Veronica—"
It was Veronica.
Anna answered on speaker.
"What now?"
Veronica sounded offended.
"Honestly, no gratitude. Your father just arrived at the gate."
Both of them froze.
Anna looked at Oliver.
"Which father problem is this?"
Oliver's expression turned unreadable.
"The living one."