Page 125 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
The Combine isn’t stupid.
And I’m not that girl anymore.
I could’ve crushed him in secret. Buried him behind blackmail and bulletproof files. But this time, I want the world to see.
So I call the conference myself.
No leaks. No whispers.
I take the Combine’s biggest media hall—the one reserved for peace treaties and acquisitions so massive they changeinterstellar shipping routes. I wear black again. Not soft silk. Armored crepe. Shoulders sharp enough to slice steel.
Grau is at the back. Watching.
Not guarding.
Watching.
He knows this one’s mine.
When I step out onto that stage, the room pulses. Hundreds of drones hover above the crowd, streaming live to every feed that matters. Delegates. Executives. Former allies. Even the heads of factions who once called me naive. They’re all here.
The press corps leans forward like vultures.
I look directly into the lens.
“I have one thing to say about Marcus Tidball.”
No stammer.
No preamble.
Just fire.
“He taught me many things. How to read a contract. How to spot a betrayal before it’s finished slithering out of its suit. How to smile while twisting a knife.”
A few reporters shift uncomfortably.
“He did not teach me leadership. Or strategy. Or honor. Everything I am today, I learned by surviving him.”
I pause.
Then I flick my hand.
A projection blazes into existence behind me—a rotating file set stamped CY8 classified, watermark verified. I step aside and let the footage play.
Transaction records. Forged votes. Recorded meetings where my name was slandered in service of backroom deals. Data dumps so thick the Combine’s own council auditors had to invent new categories to catalog the violations.
And finally, the blow that breaks the last of the room’s doubt—an internal memo from Tidball himself, dated before myfather’s death, outlining how CY8’s futurewithout“emotional liabilities” would be streamlined for profit.
The crowd gasps.
I let the silence hang.
Then I say, voice low and unshakable, “Marcus Tidball built his empire on my father’s back. He tried to claim mine as inheritance.”
Someone asks, too loudly, “What happens now?”
I smile then.
