Valentina prowled the quieter halls of the Hayes mansion, the late afternoon light flaring through narrow beams of sunlight over polished marble. And although she was wearing a designer gown, its muted shade mirrored the tumult swirling in her head. For the past week, she had been putting together pieces of Soren's concealed life. Now, a thin envelope stashed in her handbag could change everything.
In a rarely used study dusted with old books, she slid the envelope onto a stately desk. Its contents confirmed what she suspected: documents detailing Soren's draining of company funds through shell corporations and a series of extravagant gifts bought for an unnamed mistress. Her hand shook on the edge of the desk. But she remembered the early days of their marriage, when Soren had promised devotion, only to create a gilded cage. She had learned her way around feigning ignorance over time. But the quiet of these damning pages begged her to finally end that silence.
She thought about confronting him head on, imagined his placid face morphing with wrath. Another strategy beckoned: leverage the evidence, make him relinquish his grip on the Hayes empire before it fell to ruin, make him return to her as though she were in charge. Her eyes flicked to a framed photo of Caspian, taken in better years. She thought of her son as a boy, hopeful and earnest, before Soren's ruthless ambitions had turned him into the weary man he was.
Soft footfalls pulled her from her reverie. She quickly shoved the envelope out of view, her body going taut. Soren stepped in, phone clamped to his ear. He stilled, narrowing his gaze when he saw her standing there, unmoving. She sensed his posture change, a predator locking onto something wrong in the air around him.
"Yes," he said into the phone, his tone icy. "Let me know how things are going, especially with the latest developments regarding some…family matters." His gaze skimmed to Valentina, and she could feel her heart beat faster. She understood that he could have gleaned whispers of her quiet investigation. There was tension in every breath.
He hung up, then gave her a measured smile. "Wandering around alone?" he asked in a deep voice she had once found comforting. With heart hammering, she summoned a tight smile. His eyes appeared to see through the carefully maintained composure she had worked so hard to preserve. He nodded his head, then walked on past her, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
She exhaled after he disappeared, pulse erratic. At that moment, she knew the stakes had changed. Soren had an uncanny instinct, and if he suspected anything from her, the next steps would need extreme caution.
The sun hung low, brushing the manor's grand foyer in washes of gold. Wearily, Caspian glided down the sweeping stairs, shadows lining the sharp angles of his eyes from too many restless nights. Celeste stood at the foot of the stairs, riffling through a folder of paperwork that could salvage his disintegrating public image. She was dressed in a fitted blazer and unremarkable slacks, her posture stiff if determined, the toll of endless rumour-mongering clear.
They collided at the last step, nearly tangling. An awkward wave stopped their breath, and small, hacky glances were exchanged. Caspian managed a thin smile. "Working late again?" There was a note of reluctance in his voice. He remembered the many times she had quietly squelched rumours people had spread about him, blunting rough edges where scandal might shatter him.
She nodded, brandishing the file. "Ensuring we stay one step ahead of the tabloids. We can't afford a surprise like that again.'" The trace of a tremble in her voice, as if having to tidy up after his messes, left her skinny. He hesitated, swallowing some sudden guilt to think of the times he'd doubted her intentions.
His arm grazed hers as he slipped around her, setting off a warmth that contradicted the tautness choking the household. "Thank you," he said quietly, cutting her off. Her brows shot up in surprise, her heart racing at the unusual tenderness in his eyes. "You've done more than I have earned," he said, guilt choking each letter. She searched his face for an unspoken apology for the accusations and the cutting comments that he had once thrust at her. A little flicker of hope glimmered in her chest, the memory of the man he still might be.
Before she had a chance to reply, her phone chimed. She glanced down, brow furrowing as she read a curt text: Walk away by midnight, or the truth comes out. Blood drained from her face. Caspian, seeing her alarm, grabbed the device. His eyes hardened, scanning the threat, blood rising in his cheeks.
She grabbed the phone away, adrenaline coursing. "Who would send this?" she said, her voice ragged with fear." Anxiety charged the air. He sucked in air, fury and doubt wrestling in his face. Months of suspicion unfurled in his brain, from Soren's machinations to Sterling's meddling. But this text felt personal, designed to pry apart their tenuous alliance.
She gripped the folder, pulse-pounding. At that moment, the silence of the foyer that surrounded them stood ready to collapse on them, outmatched by the approaching deadline.
Only one lamp glowed in Caspian's study, shadows stretching over mahogany shelves. Celeste sat near the window, phone clenched in her hand, the ultimatum running through her mind. Midnight seemed unendurable near. If their "contract marriage" got into the press, the company could implode, and her reputation would never recover. Outside, the sky deepened to ink, the quiet stillness mocking their turmoil.
Caspian stood propped against the antique desk, forced calm betraying a stiff jaw. "We face down the blackmailer," he said, voice resolute. "They will only be fed by us cowering. Injecting himself with caffeine, he glanced at the clock on the wall as minutes ticked away. She swallowed her fear as she recalled each occasion when scandal seemed to have devoured someone's future in this unforgiving corporate universe. "Confront how?" she asked, words trembling. "We don't even know who is behind it."
"That's what we learn," he fired back. But doubt settled into his expression, readied from recent betrayals. His sleep-deprived, red-rimmed eyes revealed the exhaustion he would not allow himself to express. They were both driven by an unspoken tension. She thought of Talia's wariness, Soren's manipulations, and Sterling's craftiness. Any of them — or a nameless enemy — could be behind this assault.
Before they could decide on a plan, her phone chimed again. Her stomach lurched. Caspian was at her side as she opened the message. This time, it was a photo that loaded: a fake snap from their staged photo shoot but manipulated to look like something dirty, each angle juiced up to drive gossip. Toward the end of his Wednesday speech about his new health insurance proposal, he stopped to reflect on how the timing of women's issues can be complex, saying: "Every woman just doesn't have a uterus." "They want to eliminate every ounce of credibility we have," she huffed, voice trembling.
Caspian's fist tightened against the desk, fury roiling like a storm in his breast. He remembered how hard they had struggled to maintain a semblance of true piety. Now, these manipulated images were at risk of tarnishing them both. The silence of the room bore down on them, a weight they could not shake.
She put the phone down, taking a ragged breath. "We cannot be blackmailed by them like this." A harder determination coloured her tone, temporarily vanquishing fear. Caspian nodded, his dark gaze unfaltering. "We expose them first," he said. She thought about how easily that kind of truth became the news. Exposing the contract marriage might cause more harm than good, but failing to do so seemed like welcoming annihilation.
Outside was a heavy silence only disturbed by the faint rustle of night breeze hitting the windows. Midnight seemed to hang in the air, the seconds ticking down to a decision that could destroy everything they had… The question was whether they would stand together — or be ripped apart by secrets.