The long mahogany table rattled as one of the board members slammed his fist down, his face red with outrage. "They can't seriously expect us to let a sixteen‑year‑old take over the company, can they?" he barked, looking around for support. Murmurs rose like a swarm of angry bees.
"Is this even legal?" another demanded, flipping through a stack of documents as if the answer might magically appear between the pages.
Before anyone could add more fuel to the fire, the double doors at the end of the boardroom burst open with a sharp crack. Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Davina stepped inside.
She looked impossibly small against the towering doorway—dressed in black, her posture straight but her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and grief she refused to show. Sebastian followed a step behind her, tall, composed, and radiating a quiet authority that made several board members instinctively sit straighter.
The room fell silent.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked the length of the table, passing rows of executives who suddenly found themselves unable to meet the teenager's gaze. Davina didn't slow, didn't hesitate, didn't let her hands tremble even though her heart hammered in her chest. She reached the head of the table—the seat Stevan Ren had occupied for decades—and lowered herself into it with deliberate calm.
Sebastian took his place behind her, hands clasped neatly, expression unreadable.
"Good afternoon, board members of RenTech," Davina said, her voice steady despite the knot in her throat. "As I'm sure you already know, my name is Davina Wayne. And this"—she rested her hand lightly on the polished surface—"is now my company."
A scoff cut through the air. "This is ridiculous. You're a child!"
Others chimed in, voices rising, overlapping, swelling into chaos.
Sebastian didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Enough."
The single word cracked like a whip. The room froze.
Davina inhaled slowly, letting the silence settle before she spoke again. "As you said, I am only a child." She folded her hands in front of her, her expression calm but her eyes sharp. "Which is why my stepfather appointed Sebastian to run the company until I turn eighteen."
"Your butler?" someone spat, incredulous.
Sebastian's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Davina leaned back slightly, letting her gaze sweep across the table. "Whether any of you accept it or not, my stepfather chose me to succeed him. That means if you want to keep your positions here, you'll need to keep both me and Sebastian satisfied with your performance."
A few board members shifted uncomfortably. One swallowed hard.
"That will be all for today," she said, flicking her hand dismissively. "You're dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Papers rustled. The board members practically tripped over each other in their rush to leave, their whispers trailing behind them as they filed out.
When the doors finally shut, the room felt cavernous and quiet.
Davina exhaled, her shoulders sagging for the first time since she entered. "Any luck on Elizabeth and Theodore?"
Sebastian stepped beside her. "They send their apologies. They couldn't make the funeral. They suggested visiting in a few months when their schedules allow."
Davina's expression hardened. "I can't wait that long." She pushed herself to her feet, determination replacing the exhaustion. "We're going to Sinabore."
Sebastian nodded once, already mentally preparing the logistics. "I'll arrange everything."
The drive to Sinabore passed in a blur of headlights and quiet tension. Davina sat in the back seat, staring out the window as the city lights of Welson faded into long stretches of dark road and quiet farmland. The world outside felt too calm compared to the storm inside her chest. Sebastian drove in silence, giving her space but watching her through the rearview mirror every so often, as if making sure she didn't shatter.
By the time they reached Sinabore, dawn was just beginning to soften the sky. The small town was still half‑asleep—porch lights glowing, a few early risers walking dogs, the smell of dew and woodsmoke drifting through the air. It was nothing like Welson's towering skyline. Everything here felt slower, gentler, untouched by the chaos that had swallowed her life.
Sebastian turned onto a quiet street lined with modest ranch‑style homes. He pulled up in front of a simple beige house with a wide porch, a swing bench, and a yard dotted with potted plants. It was warm, lived‑in, and unmistakably Theodore and Elizabeth.
Davina hesitated before getting out. Her hand hovered on the door handle. "Do you think they'll be mad?" she asked quietly. "A cousin they barely know just showing up at their house?"
"Confused maybe?" Sebastian said, stepping out and opening her door for her. "But I think they'll be relieved to see you."
She wasn't so sure.
They walked up the short path to the porch. Sebastian stayed a respectful step behind her, letting her lead. Davina lifted her hand and knocked.
Inside, there was a muffled thump—someone tripping over something—and then hurried footsteps.
The door swung open.
Elizabeth stood there in pajama shorts and an oversized T‑shirt, her hair a messy bun of curls. She blinked once. Twice. Her mouth fell open.
"...Davina?"
Before Davina could answer, Theodore appeared behind his sister, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He froze mid‑step, staring at her like she was a ghost.
"What—how—why are you here?" he stammered, voice cracking with shock.
Davina suddenly felt very small again, sixteen and grieving and exhausted. "I… I didn't want to wait months," she said softly.
Elizabeth's eyes filled instantly. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stepping forward as if afraid Davina might disappear if she moved too fast. "Oh my god, come here—" She pulled Davina into a tight hug, one hand cradling the back of her head.
Theodore hovered for a second, overwhelmed, then wrapped his arms around both of them, burying his face in Davina's shoulder. "You should've called," he whispered, voice thick. "We would have been ready if we knew you were on your way."
Sebastian stood on the porch, giving them privacy but unable to hide the faint, relieved smile tugging at his mouth.
When the cousins finally pulled back, Elizabeth wiped her eyes and looked Davina over. "You look exhausted. Come inside. Both of you."
Theodore nodded, still stunned. "Yeah—yeah, come in. You're staying as long as you need."
Davina stepped into the warm, cluttered living room—the mismatched furniture, the family photos, the smell of coffee grounds and cinnamon—and for the very first time since Stevan and Nicole's death, she felt something loosen in her chest.
Not healed.
But held.
TO BE CONTINUED