Vale’s POV

“You actually came back.”

Julian’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction when I shoved the conference room door open three weeks later. Same frosted glass. Same late hour. Same stretch of wall that still lived rent-free in my head. He was leaning against it like he’d been waiting, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, the picture of a man who already thought he’d won.

“I came to finish the argument you never actually won, Kane,” I snapped, kicking the door shut hard enough that the frame rattled. “Stealing one account doesn’t make you superior. It makes you a thief with good timing.”

“And yet here you are.” He pushed off...