Page 117 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Silence stretches, heavy and alive. The city hums beyond the glass. Power hums within me.
I am not the girl who needed rescuing.
I am the woman who decided which monster deserved a throne at her side—and taught him how to kneel without ever touching the ground.
Nothing about this is simple.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER 21
GRAU
She doesn’t see me at first. Not really.
I’m standing near the glass wall, half-shadowed by one of those grotesque vertical bonsai sculptures the designers installed to make this place feel “alive.” It's fake. Manufactured elegance. But she isn’t.
Yara stands at the head of the boardroom like she’s carved from command itself.
Her voice is even, low, and exacting—she doesn’t raise it, doesn’t bark like some second-tier enforcer trying to play at power. She speaks, and theylisten. Not because they’re paid to. Because they believe what will happen if they don’t.
Not long ago, she would’ve deferred. Would’ve hesitated. Would’ve stared at the data like it might bite her if she said the wrong thing.
Now?
She reads quarterly downturns like execution orders.
“I want the acquisition rollback submitted by end of week,” she says to some exec whose name I don’t bother remembering. “If compliance pushes back, remind them who holds their contract. If theystillstall, replace them.”
A beat. Silence.
“Yes, Chairwoman.”
I could’ve killed that man last month. He was one of Tidball’s whisperers, always lurking three seats back, feeding her just enough misinformation to stall her growth. I would’ve snapped his spine and dropped him in a canal. Clean.
But she didn’t need that.
She didn’t need me to erase him.
She needed him to watch her become a goddamn queen.
And now he stares at her like he’d bleed for her approval.
I’ve slaughtered for less.
She pivots, calling on another exec—this one a woman, nervous, fingers tapping a stylus like a tell. Yara doesn’t flinch. She drills into strategy, interrupts gently, but firmly. Not cruel. Not even cold.
Certain.
That’s the thing about her now—she’s not pretending.
Sheis.
And I realize, for the first time, I might’ve been wrong about everything.
She didn’t need me to protect her.
She needed me to believe.
