For Cheyenne, sipping her morning espresso, cross-legged in her beautiful living room. Darren could see the access card sitting next to her phone like just another business proposal.

It probably was how she was viewing it. A merger.

A hostile takeover of his heart, with the other women as minority shareholders to be managed or squeezed out later. He'd spoken her language of dynasties and leverage perfectly.

But this time it was more personal. Ever since he stood up to her in his launch, Cheyenne had been unbearably drawn to that man. So she probably was going to take up this chance, audit the competition and secure her controlling share.

Yet, hiding in the shadows was that favor he owed her.

Darren could never forget.

He could see Penelope, the card held to her chest, her heart hammering against it. He'd called her his "cornerstone."

He'd poured his heart to her the most in that meeting. And for a girl who believed she had nothing to offer but a warm meal, this was a seismic shift in self-perception.

Of course, the thought of the other women terrified her. But the thought of him moving on without her, of being left behind while the other "empire-builders" and "disruptors" stood by his side, was a special kind of agony.

Even if Darren couldn't have just her, she wanted him to have mostly her. And it was up to her to ensure that.

Sandy would likely still be angry. Maybe she'd toss the card onto her kitchen counter, only to pick it up again minutes later. He'd apologized too many times, and she had said it herself.

A type of man like him deserved the right to choose. Or not to. Did she want to be amongst the options?

Darren knew that these troubling thoughts would plague the women. That was his plan all along. Rather than being forced to choose, he turned the tables on them.

Now they were the ones making the decisions.

If things ended, it would be their choice.

He could even see them at that very moment. Playing with the card. Looking at the clock. Wrestling with the utterly ridiculous, audacious, intoxicating proposition.

They were all running the same calculus: Was the pain of sharing him greater than the agony of losing him entirely?

And Darren, the master strategist, knew the answer was tipping in his favor. He had made himself the ultimate prize, and he had made the cost of admission something they were now desperately trying to talk themselves into paying.

He had entered their heads not with pleas, but with a vision. He had made them want it. He had made the harem not his fantasy, but their opportunity.

But the big question remained. The one variable even his brilliant mind couldn't fully control.

Would it work?

Would the allure of the consortium, the magnetic pull of his presence, be enough to overcome a lifetime of social programming and sheer, possessive jealousy?

The numbers on the system screen remained stubbornly low, a silent vote of no confidence.

Any moment from now was a good time to give up and accept that no woman was coming.

That he had failed.

But then a knock came from the outside. In the profound silence of the villa, it was as sharp as a thunderclap.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three precise, deliberate raps on the heavy teak gate that led from the private path to the villa's main courtyard.

A slow, deep smile touched Darren's lips, not of surprise, but of profound, vindicated satisfaction.

It worked.

The knock was the confirmation.

Darren turned from the breathtaking, empty vista of the ocean, his mind already shifting from speculation to execution.

As he walked through the villa's serene, open-plan living area, he allowed himself a single, fleeting glance at the holographic display. The numbers were no longer stagnant. They were alive, twitching upward in a silent, digital symphony of acquiescence.

┏Rachel: 31% (+4)┛ ┏Kara:75% (+5)┛ ┏Olivia:44% (+4)┛ ┏Cheyenne:42% (+3)┛ ┏Penelope:40% (+5)┛ ┏Sandy:32% (+4)┛ ┏Ileana:60% (+5)┛ ┏Miranda:33% (+3)┛ ┏Daisy:24% (+4)┛ ┏Tamara:35% (+5)┛

The increases were slight, as he knew they would be.

A five percent jump showed that they were making individual choices that all led to him; like a decision to enter a cab and drive to the resort.

It was these silent, individual choices made in a hundred quiet bedrooms across Los Alverez. It was the zip of a suitcase, the deep breath before walking out the door, the terrifying, thrilling leap of faith.

The real conversion, the seismic shift in loyalty, was going to happen here in the resort. Darren had plans, activities all planned out to make sure these women don't live without utterly falling in love with him.

Through proximity. Through the carefully orchestrated demonstration of his value. They would be his loyal soldiers by the end.

Soldiers that he... casually slept with. And cared deeply for.

If he played his cards right— if he was the visionary, the alpha, the protector, and the object of desire they had all chosen to gamble on— then by Sunday night, seeing a rating below 70 would be impossible.

All of these women... He would weave them into his world so completely that leaving it would feel like amputation.

Darren reached the heavy, hand-carved teak gate that separated the villa's private courtyard from the winding garden path.

He was dressed in linen trousers the color of sand, and a simple but exquisitely tailored white V-neck tee that clung to his torso, with aviator sunglasses pushed up into his dark hair.

Unlike usual, he looked relaxed, effortless, and impossibly wealthy — a young man completely in control of his environment, even as he waited to see who had chosen to enter it.

He placed a hand on the sun-warmed wood, took a quiet breath, and pulled the gate open.

Darren paused.

The figure standing there was so unexpected, so entirely outside the realm of his primary calculations, that for a fraction of a second, his perfectly composed alpha mask slipped.

His eyebrows lifted a millimeter.

It wasn't Rachel, whose loyalty had just ticked upward. It wasn't Kara, with her explosive, high-percentage affection. It wasn't even the calculating Cheyenne or the ambitious Olivia.

It was Ileana.

She stood on the cobblestone path, looking smaller than she did in the IT department, dwarfed by a large backpack.

She was dressed for a hiking trip, on comfortable sneakers, soft cotton shorts, and a simple tank top. Her dark hair was in a slightly messy ponytail, and her face was free of the makeup she sometimes wore to the office.

She looked young, vulnerable, and vibrating with a nervous energy so potent he could almost feel it.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy red, clashing with her pale skin. She clutched the straps of her backpack, her knuckles white. When her eyes met his, they widened even further, like a deer caught in the headlights of a Rolls-Royce.

She swallowed visibly. A beat of silence hung between them, filled only with the distant crash of waves and the frantic beating of her heart, which he felt sure he could hear.

Then, she beamed. It wasn't a confident smile. It was more of a nervous explosion that lit up her entire face.

As beautiful as it was, it was utterly disarming.

"Ileana?" Darren muttered.

"H-hhello, Mr. Steele," she said with a nervous wave.