Talia burst into the main foyer, almost crashing into Caspian as he came down the spiralled staircase. Sunlight poured through tall windows, illuminating motes of dust that twinkled in the charged atmosphere. Her face radiated urgency, and even before she said a word, he knew she was in trouble.
“He’s called an emergency board meeting,” she said, her voice cracking with the weight. “Today. Father’s attempting to oust you on the grounds of protecting the shareholders.” Caspian stiffened, dread knotting in his gut. He caught the flicker of regret in Talia’s eyes, proof that she had once obeyed every whim of Soren’s. Now, she was at Caspian’s side, battling the father they both feared.
Celeste rushed in from the corridor, arms encircling a stack of files. “We have to stop him,” she said, surveying Caspian’s pale face. Soren had controlled every angle of her life, threatening her home, controlling corporate funds, and making a fool out of Caspian at every opportunity. Now, he was ready to deliver the final blow.
Into the silence that settled, Roman showed up, winded. A torn folder held by its lonesome edges. “I came across financial documents that might incriminate Soren,” he said, riffling through yellow pages. “Offshore accounts, suspicious transfers — enough to indicate serious fraud.” A glint of relief flashed in Caspian’s gaze, but Roman shook his head, every line of his face carved with frustration. “It’s incomplete. A piece of data is missing that the board may write off as circumstantial. We need something bulletproof.”
In the airy foyer, the large chandelier hanging above reflected the swirl of uncertainties, and tension hung thick in the air. Caspian fought back panic and recalled how quickly Soren had moved to shut him out. If he went in there unprepared, he could lose the empire he had sacrificed everything to save. He gasped, remembering his mother’s warnings that Soren wouldn’t hesitate to smother his own son.
Talia grabbed Caspian’s arm, lowering her voice. “Father aims to use the meeting to paint you unstable, disloyal — he’s making noises about how you’re going to bankrupt the company if they don’t cut you off at the pass. Caspian gritted his teeth, feeling his adrenaline spike. Celeste slid her hand over his as if providing support without words, her trembling warmth breathing through her fingers. She would not watch him fall apart under Soren’s well-planned assault.
In the blink of a moment, resolve ignited between them. The silence finally cracked as Caspian stood tall, making eye contact as he glanced at each face. If Soren thought they could Robinson Crusoe him with incomplete evidence, they would face him head-on, intent upon ferreting out the missing proof and cramping his power play once and for all.
Night’s hush enveloped Caspian’s private suite, a sanctuary clad in muted lamplight. The manicured lawns outside gleamed under a full moon, revealing the silhouettes of hedge trees. Inside, Caspian sat atop the edge of a chaise lounge, shirt collar slackened, eyes bloodshot from insomnia’s unyielding clutches. His head spun with the day’s tensions — Soren’s devious plot, the incomplete evidence that could upend everything.
Then, suddenly, Celeste walked in with a small mug of chamomile tea. There was a quiet determination in her posture. He looked up, surprise easing the shadows across his face. She leaned in, placing the mug on a side table. “You’ve not slept,” she said gently. He rubbed his temples and gave a short, humourless laugh. “Not a wink,” he conceded, voice frayed.
She seated herself on the chaise with a deliberate distance between them. “Allow me to help you,” she offered, recalling the long-ago midnight hours when she coaxed him from the grips of insomnia. He swallowed, wary, but her eyes sparkled with candour. He nodded to her to come close.
In a low murmur, she cued him to concentrate on breathing, painting a placid seascape for him in hushed detail. He listened to her words, each exhalation releasing tension. The proximity and the low soothing quality of her voice had soothed him into a calmer place. For a rare moment, his shoulders loosened, eyes half-lidded.
He murmured, “Why do you care anymore?” vulnerability breaking through the crust of his habitual calm. She paused, thinking about the heartache that had separated them once before but also the undeniable attraction that had never fully gone away. “Because,” she exhaled, “some things don’t go away so easily, no matter how much we try to shove them under the rug.”
Her admission lingered in the low light, igniting a pull within. “I never stopped …,” he started, but the speech faltered. She put her hand on his, in a moment of audacity, and felt it instantly silt with calamus. Beneath the surface, a creeping tingle of pain and want. In that silence, he leaned forward, resting his forehead softly against hers as if anchoring himself to the moment.
Their near confession sparkled in the air, eliciting fragile hope. Then the phone rang, a shrill tone cutting through the silence. Caspian bolted upright, heart racing. You have until tomorrow in the afternoon,” Celeste replied, her face crumpling as the grim voice on the other end told her the date of the auction of her family home—the date she had to depart was less than twenty-four hours away. The heartbreak that danced between them splintered to desperation agte by agate, the brief solace drowned by the cruel hand of fate.
Morning came with the haze of tension, a glow of sunlight peeping through the mansion’s august windows. Determined, Caspian shut himself in a side office. His plan was simple yet critical: move an enormous sum from the company’s reserves to pay off Celeste’s mortgage and stop the auction. Sweat ran down his forehead as he learned the system, every keystroke full of urgency. The hum of the computer felt louder than before, counting the seconds.
Celeste had been pacing nearby, fingers twisting anxiously, praying this transaction could save her parents’ legacy. Recalling the tender moment last night, a flicker of hope before the heavy reminder of tomorrow’s coming Catastrophe. Both men felt the thick tension in the air, both holding tight to the slim hope that they might be able to outplay Soren.
Then, suddenly, an error message appeared on the screen. Caspian sank into the command again. Another error, equally final. “What’s happening?” Celeste leaned closer and whispered. He banged on the keyboard, voice quaking in anger. “Soren’s frozen some of the accounts. So I cannot push any funds out without his approval.” His tone was cracked with a hollow despair.
A flash of desperation passed in Celeste’s expression. “We have less than a day,” she said, stomach roiling. The idea of losing that humble house — her parents’ only bequest — sent panic coursing through her veins.” With a fist, Caspian slammed the desk. “He’s crossing every line.” Solutions spun through his mind, but the system sent him the same chill denial. No amount of workout clearance could override a direct freeze from the chairman.
All at once, Valentina came into the room, pale in the face. “I stood up to him,” she said, voice shaking. “He was so cold—told me Celeste will never be your wife, as much as we scramble.” She glanced from Caspian to Celeste, sorrow in her eyes. “He’s made up his mind. He wants her gone.”
A silence fell, each burdened by the grim reality. Soren, tapping the company’s coffers, had rendered them unable to protect Celeste’s home from the impending auction. Caspian’s shoulders sagged; fury and powerlessness swirled in his eyes. Celeste held on to the edge of the desk, struggling not to cry.
The fragile alliance they’d cobbled together was on the verge of fracturing. Through the tall windows, the morning sun flared on manicured lawns, a cruel counterpoint to their despair. They each saw that the clock had no mercy, counting down to a final hour that risked unmaking the fragile unity that had bound them.