Valentina sat perched on the edge of a velvet chaise in her private sitting room, her fingers toying with a delicate teacup. She gazed at the old oil painting on the wall — an ancestral Hayes matriarch who had reportedly once stood up to a family scandal. Maybe that portrait gave silent solidarity because Valentina felt a gnawing uncertainty curling up in her chest. Soren’s mistress had been bolder these last few weeks, making demands that suggested a promise of wealth. The nerve of that woman really gave Valentina’s stomach a twist, but she feared even more what Soren might do if she confronted him directly.
She remembered a chant left by the mistress on their home line before, voice sweet and sickly as poison. This memory of smug tones dredged up simmering jealousy and anger, blended with a gradually growing realization that this little affair might just be the means of breaking Soren’s power. What if she outed him — would she be his number-one target then?
A gentle knock brought her out of her trance. Talia entered, and the eyes darted over the jumble of letters, half-drunk tea, and Valentina’s hunted look. Concern laced Talia’s voice. “You look shaken. Another call from Father’s … friend?” Valentina pressed her lips together thinly, nodding in silence. Talia walked up and put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. At that moment, they had a rare solidarity: each having seen the cruelties and manipulations woven by Soren, each wanting to escape.
“I can’t do anything anymore,” Valentina said, placing her teacup down with a shaking hand. “He’s humiliating me, ruining Caspian’s confidence and threatening Celeste.” She picked up a folded note from the side table, the mistress’s latest demand scrawled in playful loops. “She’s boasting about how effortlessly he will transfer the wealth I helped protect.” Her jaw set, the pain behind her eyes deepening. “I am so afraid of the backlash if I open my mouth.”
Talia bit her lip, half pity, half resolution. “We cannot let him keep stamping on us,” she said softly. “Perhaps this note is something we can use against him.” Valentina swallowed, heart racing, imagining using the mistress’s demands as a sword. The danger was real: Soren could hit back hard. But the other option — continuing to be a silent victim — was unacceptable.
Talia excused herself eventually and left Valentina alone on her side of the breakfast table with her teacup and the incriminating note. She held it up to the lamplight, reading the mistress’s brazen words again. If she didn’t take this chance, she would lose Caspian completely to Soren’s machinations. Steeling herself to contain the message till she found the strength to set it free, she trembled at the thought of how much Soren would rage if he discovered it.
Light angled in through the tall windows of Soren’s executive office, stretching long shadows on the polished floor. Caspian came in a whirlwind of tension, his charcoal suit crumpled from nights without sleep. Advisors and secretaries suddenly stopped what they were doing as he swept past them, fire in his eyes. His footfalls echoed like pistol shots over the marble, charging the grim hush that fell.
He strode through the sprawling office. Soren sat behind a mahogany desk and looked up steadily as if he had anticipated the outburst. Caspian stabbed a trembling finger at a folder he’d brought, anger hardening his jaw. “You withheld Celeste’s mortgage payment,” he said, voice tight. “I discovered evidence in the ledgers. You used the money to put her into debt.” Soren’s lips pressed together in a half-smile, ice dancing in his eyes.
Soren leaned back in his leather chair and locked his fingers on the desk in front of him. “What an entrance,” he drawled, pretending to be amused. But yes, I reordered certain financial priorities.” This empire demands rather a tough discipline.” He talked about Celeste’s home as if it was just a pawn on a big chessboard.
Caspian clenched his fists. “Release the payment now,” he said, each word quaking with fury. “Clean up your squalor before it destroys the scrap of loyalty we have left.”
Soren stood up, face gone cold. “You make demands of me?” He chuckled without mirth. “Think about this: stop your snooping in my arithmetic, and I may reinstate that mortgage eventually. Keep nosing around; I’ll bury you in corporate destruction. The board will listen to me, not your low-effort whining. “You’ll lose it all — your job, your inheritance, and Celeste will be kicked out on the street.”
Caspian flinched; rage of disbelief filled the depths of his eyes. “You’d cripple your own son in order to stay in power?” Soren’s tone turned lethal. “The Hayes dynasty belongs to me to mould, boy. Cooperate or be cut off. Choose wisely.” The words burned like acid, but Caspian suppressed the desire to shout in reply. He had figured out a way to get enough of the board’s loyalty to back his threat.
Caspian dropped the folder across the desk with a last glare. “You’re playing a sick game,” he hissed, his voice fraying. “One day, even your sycophants will recognize it.” Then he turned and stormed out of the office. Soren stood there, face set in stone, and released him. The staff nearby didn’t dare to move or speak as Caspian brushed past. In the corridor, he grappled with fury and despair, completely aware that Soren had all the advantages. All he left behind was the echo of Soren’s mocking smile in his ears, a silent reminder of who was in control.
Later that evening, the silent library would become an ad hoc war room for Celeste, Talia and Roman. Floor lamps threw warm pools of light on dusty shelves of dusty volumes, and a grand fireplace flickered in the corner. In her hand was a manila envelope filled with snippets of Roman’s research and Valentina’s revelations about Soren’s mistress. The air was faintly perfumed with leather bindings and tension.
Talia walked back and forth, eyes fierce with indignation. “Father’s crossing lines that he can’t erase,” she said, voice cracking. “He’s threatening Caspian’s birthright and Celeste’s home just to maintain his sick control over the kingdom. We must fight dirtier if need be.” Roman, who was sitting on the edge of an antique chair, nodded gravely. “We could expose the affair. Public humiliation might compel Soren into a corner from where he has no choice but to ignore us.”
At that idea, Celeste felt her stomach knot. She looked at the envelope, reminding herself that Valentina’s secrets could very well take down Soren’s castle. “But if we leak details of his mistress, it’ll cause a scandal,” she said gently, recalling Roman’s earlier admonition. “It’ll mar Caspian’s reputation and mine as well. All media will feed upon every rumour of this ‘fake’ wedlock. We won’t be spared.”
Roman let out a sigh and placed a hand on her shoulder. “This might be our last shot. “You’re strangling Caspian’s authority, strong-arming the board and withholding your mortgage payment. If we do nothing, he wins.” Frustration flared, and Talia ran a hand through her hair. “And if we act, we endanger every bit of progress we’ve made. One misfire can torch it all.”
And then the door burst open. Caspian walked in, his jacket unfastened, his temper hot. “Is everyone scheming and not telling me?” he snapped. He looked intently at Celeste, seeking answers in her face. She stammered, uneasy. “We’re talking about… a strategic leverage to get Soren to back off,” she had offered, eying the envelope resting on the table.
His brow knitted, recognition dawning. “You ask to use Valentina’s knowledge of the mistress? She swallowed, bracing for his response. “It could work,” Talia cut in, “but it also could backfire on us.” Caspian’s face darkened, a flash of rage strangling his words. “You’re obsessed with that house, Celeste, and I’m managing a whole empire. Is your house worth more than everything I’ve built?” The told-you-so made the sound of a slap, and she looked hurt. Tension spiralled around them all, the delicate pact fracturing as competing priorities pierced it.
In the silence that followed, Celeste had stammered, bitter with sorrow. Caspian’s words hung there like arrows poisoned, her heart aching, and the group’s unity shattered. With his leaving, a sense of some kind of frustration hummed in the stillness, and they each wondered whether their fragile coalition could withstand one more betrayal.