The sky that afternoon was a murky shade of gray, as if it mirrored Vania’s mood. On her laptop screen, a string of news articles and business reports displayed the same name over and over—Devandra.

“He’s starting to attack openly,” Vania muttered, her eyes locked sharply on the screen. One article after another detailed Devandra’s latest maneuvers: cutting contracts, partnering with major investors, even pressuring those who had once worked with Arga.

The office door opened, and Arga walked in carrying two cups of coffee. “You look tense. I was gone for just a moment, and you already look like you’re about to declare World War III.”

Vania accepted the...