Chapter 123: Taking Control

Dorian’s face showed no shock, no defeat, and not even grief. If anything, he looked mildly entertained.

He gave a small nod toward his assistant.

“Bring me the files.”

The assistant stepped forward immediately, placing a thick stack of documents in front of him. These were the files Dorian had been preparing for the past week. Ever since he returned from the Winthorp Dinner, something about him had changed. He had worked late into the nights, back in his home office, calm, methodical… almost eager.

As the assistant finished arranging the documents… The conference room doors burst open.

A woman stormed inside. Mrs. Lowe.

“You killed my master!” she screamed.

The accusation cracked through the room like lightning. Everyone turned toward her in stunned disbelief.

Mrs. Lowe looked disheveled, her hair slightly undone, her face flushed with rage. Her hands trembled as she pointed straight at Dorian.

“You killed him! You murdered him to steal everything!”

Gasps rippled across the table. Several board members stood abruptly.

“Security!” someone shouted.

“Who let her in?”

Lawyers began whispering urgently, chairs scraping across the floor as tension spread through the room like fire.

Everyone suspected it. But no one voiced it aloud. And when someone did, it sounded so absurd in this place.

Mrs. Lowe ignored them all.

Her eyes burned with fury as she stepped forward.

“He trusted you!” she cried. “He raised you with all the luxuries you never had! And you murdered him!”

Her voice cracked with grief and rage.

The room fell into chaotic murmuring. Some people looked horrified. Others looked afraid. A few simply stared at Dorian, trying to read his reaction.

But Dorian did not move.

He sat comfortably in his chair, fingers lightly resting on the table, watching the scene unfold as if he were observing a performance.

His dark eyes followed Mrs. Lowe calmly. Slowly, curiously… Almost… amused.

The storm of accusations raged around him.

And Dorian simply watched.

Then he stood. The movement alone quieted the room.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, composed, and utterly unhurried. The towering calm of him pressed down on the room like a weight. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even those who had been whispering now lowered their heads instinctively.

Dorian walked toward Mrs. Lowe. Each step was slow, deliberate. Soon, he stood before her. She barely reached his shoulder.

“Have you screamed enough?” he asked calmly.

Mrs. Lowe stared up at him, her face twisted with fury. His calmness only seemed to enrage her further.

“You murderer!” she screamed directly into his face. Her voice echoed through the room.

Dorian didn’t even blink. She grew more furious at his silence. Suddenly, she raised her hand to slap him.

But the strike never landed. Dorian caught her wrist mid-air. His grip was effortless.

“You used to be Edward’s favorite whore,” he said flatly. “And you’ve already picked up his habits?”

He scoffed and shoved her hand away.

He had endured Edward’s slaps for years only because the old man had been useful to him. But this woman? She had no such privilege.

Mrs. Lowe stumbled backward, nearly falling.

Dorian didn’t even look at her again.

“Throw her out.” He pointed casually toward the massive glass window overlooking the city.

The security guards hesitated.

The room froze.

Then Dorian added, almost lazily, “One million for each of you if you do what I say today.”

The guards exchanged a quick glance.

One million.

That was enough to sell more than loyalty.

After a brief hesitation, two of them stepped forward.

Around the table, several board members grabbed their phones, trying to call someone—police, lawyers, anyone. But nothing worked. There was no signal.

Dorian smirked faintly.

“Signal jammer,” he said. “Just a precaution.”

Panic flickered across several faces. They tried again. They could do nothing. Slowly, the realization settled over the room.

They were trapped here with him.

Mrs. Lowe screamed as the guards dragged her across the floor. “No! Let go of me! You can’t—!”

No one moved to stop it. Her voice cut off abruptly.

Moments later… There was silence as she landed fifty-two floors below.

Back in the conference room, the air felt heavier. Dorian looked around the table, unimpressed.

“Why are you even pretending to be shocked?” he scoffed. “As if none of you have done anything like this before.”

His gaze landed on one man.

“Hello, Dr. Renfield.”

The man stiffened.

“I know how you got your seat on this board,” Dorian continued casually. “And what happened to the real author of the thesis you presented.”

He winked. Dr. Renfield suddenly grabbed his chest, coughing violently.

“Perhaps you should read the files in front of you,” Dorian suggested.

Every head lowered immediately. Papers shuffled. As they flipped through the documents, the color drained from their faces one by one.

Fraud, bribery, plagiarism, illegal trials, trafficking, murder… Every secret they thought buried… laid bare.

Dorian returned to his chair and sat down leisurely. Then he leaned back and placed his feet on the table. He didn’t need to ask what they were seeing. He already knew.

It was astonishingly easy to seize power in modern times. Centuries ago, it had required bloodshed—swords, screams, betrayals in torch-lit halls.

Now?

A few documents were enough. Corporate warfare was far simpler.

“So…” Dorian said, smiling lazily. “Shall we vote?”

He clasped his hands behind his head.

“I still have to bury my grandfather.”

—–

Maximilian stirred slowly awake.

The room was still dim with the pale gray light of a winter morning. Thin winter sunlight filtered through the tall lace curtains of the Victorian country house, casting soft patterns across the wooden floor. Outside, the trees stood quiet, their branches lightly rattling in the cold wind. There was light ground fog, and a faint earthy smell from soil, cedar, and grass, seeped in.

Somewhere far away, a lone bird called once before the morning settled back into silence.

The guest room still carried the faint scent of old polished wood and lavender soap.

Maximilian stretched lazily beneath the heavy quilt. His hand moved unconsciously across the mattress beside him… Searching.

For warmth… For Catherine.

His fingers met only cold sheets.

He blinked, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before memory slowly returned.

They hadn’t slept together. They had gone to separate rooms.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it.

After he told her about Charlotte coming today… Catherine had grown strangely quiet. She hadn’t argued. She hadn’t teased him.

She simply went to her room, and he had gone to the guest room. He had expected her to come knock on the door later, but she hadn’t.

A small sharp ache tugged at his chest.

Has she grown bored of me already?

Maximilian rubbed the back of his neck and reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with morning headlines.

One article caught his eye immediately.

“Dorian Blackwood, grandson of Edward Blackwood, announced as Chairman of BioQuant.”

Maximilian’s brows lifted slightly.

He scrolled further.

Another article appeared.

“Edward Blackwood’s long-time secretary jumps from office building, unable to bear grief.”

Maximilian exhaled slowly.

“Mm.”

He scratched his head, clearly unconvinced by the narrative. Setting the phone aside, he got out of bed and stepped into the hallway.

The house was quiet. But then he heard the low murmur of a television, coming from the living room.

Maximilian followed the sound.

When he entered, he saw Catherine standing in front of the television, her arms loosely folded as she watched the broadcast.

On the screen, a press conference was being broadcast.

And standing confidently before a wall of microphones was…

Dorian.

Maximilian clenched his jaws.

“Looks like it has finally worked out for him,” Maximilian said.

Catherine turned and looked at him, her eyes wide.

“What do you mean?”

Maximilian’s lips curled into a smirk.

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