It had been two weeks since the unexpected break. Horizon Holdings was fully operational again, but something had changed.
There were no grand announcements. No memos or reorgs. And yet, things were working better than they ever had.
People weren't dragging through their tasks. They were moving—fast, focused, clear. Systems that used to jam every other day now ran without a hitch. Managers weren't buried in escalations. Reports arrived on time. Process changes made sense. No one knew who signed off on them.
They just… worked.
When Nate started asking around, the responses were frustratingly vague.
"Who's in charge of this shift?" he asked a senior account manager on a call.
The man shrugged. "Not sure. We've only heard the voice twice. Clear, calm. Always straight to the point. After that, things just started moving."
"Name?"
"Never given. But whoever it is, they know what they're doing."
That was the problem. No one had a name. No direct email. No photo. Whoever was leading this wave of change had removed themselves completely from the system.
Nate thought he could pressure his way in.
He reached out to old contacts—people who'd been laid off or pushed out months ago.
Nothing. They hadn't heard of the new changes. Didn't know anything about a new operator behind the curtain. Most didn't care.
"New leadership?" one dismissed product lead laughed. "All I know is things started working after I left. So yeah, I'm not exactly in the loop."
Even his usual methods—bribes, threats, leaning on people—led nowhere. Employees weren't afraid. They weren't fanatics either. Just… focused. Committed. Working like they believed in what they were doing.
Who the hell are they loyal to if there's no one to see?
He tried again in person—cornering a team lead after hours.
"Don't waste my time," Nate said. "Give me a name. I know someone's behind all of this."
The woman blinked, confused. "We don't get names. Just directions. And they work. That's enough for us."
She walked off.
He stayed standing there, fist tight around a useless NDA folder.
This wasn't just a strategy shift. It was something else. Someone had taken control of the company without claiming credit. And now the teams—the very people Nate thought were easy to manipulate—wouldn't budge for him.
Not because they were scared. Because they didn't need to.
Nate wasn't part of Horizon Holdings.
Not by title. Not by trust. Not by blood that mattered.
He was Alejandro's son—cut from the same cloth, soaked in the same entitlement—but that legacy meant nothing inside Horizon. Axel ran the company. And someone else now pulled the strings from behind the scenes.
Nate had tried everything to get a name.
It drove Nate mad.
Nate, meanwhile, was done playing subtle.
He burned through contacts. One by one. Until there were none left. Then he did something stupid.
He reached out to the Santiago family.
Old money. Old grudge. A family whose rivalry with the Real de Laras had once nearly cost everything.
The message he sent was simple, pathetic in its boldness:
"I have information. Let's talk. I want to burn the house from the inside."
He didn't even wait for a response.
He poured himself a drink, sat alone in that condo Alejandro had gifted him years ago, and stared at the wall.
They'll listen, he told himself. They always wanted blood.
But what Nate didn't realize was that Horizon was no longer a house with open doors.
It had become a fortress. And Danielle? She was already ten moves ahead.
—
Caden arrived at the estate that night without needing to be summoned. He walked into the study where Don Alonzo sat near the fire, no documents in hand—just silence and expectation.
"Papa," he began, standing with his hands behind his back.
Alonzo looked up with slow focus.
"He's been reaching out again. Nate. This time to former contractors. One was from the Singapore team, another from an old warehouse division in Laguna. They all said the same thing—he's digging hard, pushing for anything that traces back to the one giving the new directives."
The old man didn't blink.
"And?"
"Nothing. No one's talking. They don't know who she is, but they're loyal to what she's done. Even those who've never met her in person. Some only heard her voice twice—but the changes? They feel it."
Caden stepped closer, voice steady.
"They came to me, Papa. Voluntarily. That says something."
Don Alonzo exhaled, a slow breath through his nose.
"It says more than you think."
They both knew what was unspoken: Nate was spiraling. And the more control slipped from his grasp, the more reckless he became.
But Caden wasn't worried about Nate.
He was watching Danielle.
Something about her—her distance, her precision, the way she handled power without needing to claim it—stirred a quiet sense of kinship in him. Not desire. Not awe. Just... recognition.
He knew what it was to survive under someone else's shadow. But Danielle? She had stepped out of it and created something entirely her own—and left no trail.
He respected that.
—--
Nate paced the length of his apartment like a caged animal. The city lights outside did nothing to calm the storm inside him. Every failed call, every closed door slammed against his ambition like a cruel reminder: Horizon wasn't his kingdom to claim. It was Axel's, and now her — the ghost who had taken the reins and never looked back.
"Damn them all," he snarled, slamming his fist against the wall. The cheap plaster cracked beneath his knuckles, but the pain barely registered.
He hated how clean it all looked. How smooth. How impossible it was to dig in.
Every employee he reached out to—those who used to owe allegiance to the De Laras—they looked at him like he was a stranger. A shadow from a family history they wanted buried, not revived.
No one wants to remember what we were, Nate thought bitterly. And no one wants to hear my name.
That stung worse than any insult.
They didn't fear him. They didn't even respect him.
They ignored him.
And that ignited a wildfire in his chest.
It wasn't just about power anymore. It was personal.
It was a festering wound that throbbed with every success Horizon posted, every glowing report from the teams, every word of praise for the new leadership that no one could name.
"Who the hell does she think she is?" he spat into the empty room.
—
Carmen glanced at the caller ID and saw an unfamiliar number. She hesitated a moment, then picked up.
"Hello, this is Carmen."
"Hello Carmen, this is Danielle." The voice was calm, precise, no hint of hesitation.
Carmen straightened. Danielle. She'd heard the rumors swirling around Horizon — the new force quietly reshaping everything. But this was the first time they spoke directly.
"I'd like to go through the roster with you," Danielle said.
Carmen nodded, even though Danielle couldn't see her.
"With the automation integration, there are roles that are now redundant. Let's start with executives who, in my opinion, don't contribute enough."
The tone was matter-of-fact, no sugarcoating.
"I'm listening."
"I want to propose a social brand for Horizon," Danielle continued. "Those workers deemed redundant in their current teams will be repurposed to build this foundation. I'll provide a list of key members to maintain control and balance. The goal is twofold: reduce our tax burden and gain social leverage."
Carmen felt a flicker of interest.
"Bold plan."
"I'll present the concept to Axel, but Horizon currently lacks this kind of social presence. I'm going to make it work."
"Understood," Carmen said.
As the call ended, Carmen's mind was already running through the employee records.
Time to weed out the weak links.
While looking into the company roasted Carmen's phone buzzed in the quiet of her office. She answered immediately.
"Axel, I just finished talking with Danielle."
There was a pause on the other end before Axel's measured voice came through.
"What's her angle?"
"She's restructuring the workforce, starting with executives she deems redundant. She wants to form a social brand with those repurposed employees."
"That fits what we expected," Axel said. "But my priority remains the same: get the spies out, clean and simple."
Carmen nodded to herself.
"I'll compile a list of employees we both suspect of being compromised. Those we believe might be spying or leaking information."
"Good. But here's the catch — Danielle wants to vet the team herself."
"So, we offer them the foundation positions first."
"Exactly. But only those who decline the offer will be flagged for removal. Once they refuse, that's when you move in."
Axel's voice was firm.
"I want this handled quietly. No unnecessary drama. We wait for their refusal, then I'll take care of the rest."
Carmen took a breath, her mind already ticking through names and profiles.
"Understood. I'll get started immediately."
"Keep me updated. This needs to be clean, effective, and invisible."
"Will do, Axel."
She ended the call, the weight of the task settling on her shoulders. The game had just entered a new, delicate phase.
—-
Nadia sat at the head of the long dining table, her expression carefully neutral as her parents exchanged quiet glances across the polished wood. The house was quiet, but the weight of unspoken truths filled the room.
Her father cleared his throat. "You've been hearing things about the Real de Lara's latest moves."
Nadia nodded slowly. "The operative work — the weeding out of those who don't belong."
Her mother's eyes sharpened. "It's necessary. The Familia can't afford weakness or leaks, not now."
Her father's voice was low, almost reverent. "They're not just protecting their assets, Nadia. They're protecting their legacy."
Nadia folded her hands in her lap. "I know. But it's more than that, isn't it? It's a game of power and control. Every move is calculated."
Her mother gave a slight smile, almost approving. "Exactly. And the Real de Lara play it like no one else."
Her father leaned forward. "You understand what that means for you, don't you? Being close to them means you carry their burdens, their expectations."
Nadia's jaw tightened. "I do. And I'm ready."
Her mother reached over, placing a firm hand on Nadia's. "Good. Because this is just the beginning. The Familia's strength depends on loyalty and ruthlessness."
A silence settled, heavy but resolute.
Nadia looked up, eyes blazing with quiet determination. "Then I'll make sure no one breaks their trust."
Nadia's parents sat across from her, their faces etched with memories older than time.
Her father's voice was low, heavy with history. "There was a time when the Familia was nothing but ashes. The feud with the Santiagos almost wiped us out."
Her mother nodded, eyes distant. "Alonzo and Laura took us in then. When the old Real de Lara was broken, they rebuilt it from the ground up."
Her father's gaze hardened. "We had to let go of the old ways—the drug deals, the chaos. Alonzo steered us toward what we knew best: arms trading, medical goods, and gold."
Nadia listened intently. So much blood spilled just to get here.
Her mother continued, voice steady. "It wasn't just business. It was survival. And loyalty—absolute loyalty to those who gave us a second chance."
Her father's eyes locked with hers. "That's why we follow Alonzo and Laura without question. They saved us, gave us purpose."
Nadia's jaw clenched. "And now it's my turn to protect that legacy."
Her mother smiled softly, a rare warmth breaking through. "Good. Because the Familia is more than power—it's family, even when the world tries to burn it down."
The room settled into silence, the weight of their past and future pressing down with equal force.
The phone buzzed sharply against the wooden table. Nadia's father glanced at it, then pressed a button to put the call on speaker.
"Alonzo," he greeted, his voice steady but wary.
"Good evening," Alonzo's voice came through clearly, calm yet weighted with urgency. "I wanted to update you both on the situation with Nate."
Nadia's mother leaned in slightly.
"We heard he's been reckless, reaching out to the Santiagos?" her father asked.
"Yes," Alonzo confirmed. "A foolish move, but it's not what's truly worrying me."
Nadia's eyes narrowed, sensing the gravity behind his words.
"The Santiagos are stirred," Alonzo continued, "but not because of Nate. It's the shadow that lingers—the force behind the Real de Lara's rise."
Her mother's breath caught.
"You mean the one who built the Familia's power in the first place?"
"Exactly," Alonzo said. "That presence is awakening again. The Santiagos know it, and they want to reclaim the power that they lost long ago."
Nadia's father tightened his grip on the table.
"Then this goes beyond family politics. We're facing a force that could change everything."
Alonzo's voice was firm, almost a warning.
"Prepare yourselves. The Familia's future depends on strength and unity now more than ever."
The line went dead.
Nadia's parents exchanged looks, the silence thick with unspoken fears. Nadia sat quietly, her mind racing with what this meant for all of them.
The next day, Carmen tapped a tablet, bringing up Danielle's proposal on the screen.
The title glowed clearly: Fundamentos de la Línea.
"It means 'Fundamentals of the Line,'" Carmen said, scrolling through the details. "That's Danielle's wording—she's framing it as the core principles, the backbone of our operation."
"Danielle's idea for a social brand foundation — it's more than a PR move. It could be a way to reorganize and streamline roles."
Axel leaned back, watching the numbers and charts.
"She's focused on cutting redundancies but also building influence outside the company. A foundation makes sense—tax advantages, social leverage."
Nadia glanced at Caden. "And from what we've seen, the foundation could shield us from internal spies by creating a new hierarchy."
Caden nodded. "Right. We keep the core strong, isolate the vulnerabilities."
Carmen looked up. "Axel, I'll prepare a list of suspected insiders who've declined posts in this foundation. You want me to proceed with your approach?"
Axel's voice was calm but decisive.
"Yes. Offer them the position. Once they refuse, we deal with them."
Nadia smiled slightly. "Efficient. Clean."
Carmen's fingers moved swiftly over the tablet.
"Then let's get to work."