Twilight drenched the old café in dark purples and greys. Talia opened the door for Celeste and looked in the shadows for any signs of watchers. They entered, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted coffee and weathered upholstery. A lonely figure sat at a corner table, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. Talia waved Celeste over with a nod, tension apparent in each of her steps.
“Thank you for meeting us,” Celeste began softly, her voice quaking. The figure lifted its sharp eyes, glancing over them both with cautious curiosity. This was the mysterious buyer, Talia had said, who could save Celeste’s home from Soren’s manipulative grasp. For a fleeting moment, Celeste felt a glimmer of hope in her heart—maybe someone with enough power and reach to outbid the auction on the horizon had proven to be an unlikely ally.
However, the buyer used curt, cautious sentences and refused to provide a name.
Their voice shook with discomfort. “Soren is…” resourceful,” they said, poking at the mug in front of them. “I can’t afford to cross him, and I can’t do it without guarantees. He’s threatened me once.” Those words floated in the stale air, feeding a sinking dread in Celeste’s gut. She remembered Soren’s uncompromising oppression and the way he made dissenters disappear.
They pressed Talia, reassuring them that making a deal would stay between them and that Caspian’s circle had the resources to protect them. But the buyer’s eyes darkened, a shudder of dread quackering behind every word. “I’m sorry,” they said, voice breaking. “I believed I could work my way through it. But he… got to me.”
Celeste’s lungs tightened. “Please,” she whispered, “this house is all that’s left of my parents. You don’t have to stand before him alone.” Talia leaned forward and gave a slight nod of encouragement. But the buyer’s resignation was written large. Pushing their mug aside, they stood up suddenly from the table and placed a single folded piece of paper on the table—almost as if it were an apology for wasting their time. Then, a ragged exhale, and the buyer stepped away, his footsteps disappearing into the rain-soaked street outside.
Defeat stung Celeste’s eyes. Talia reached for her hand and had no words. They had almost managed to preserve the last remnant of her past. Now, that delicate prospect was broken, gone to Soren’s threats. In the silence that ensued, Celeste’s phone buzzed. She responded, listening to Roman’s urgent voice describing a call he’d just intercepted. It linked Sterling Price to Soren’s covert plots — a possible game changer. But the burden of disappointment from the missing buyer was not going away for Celeste, who was unsure that new evidence could ever seal the widening rifts in their plan.
Valentina was standing near a marble fountain in a secluded alcove of a garden, and she was trying to make sure her posture was peaceful, even though her stomach was twisted into knots with worry. She had come to this exclusive fundraiser only to keep tabs on Soren’s mistress — a brazen figure who wasted no time flaunting her connection to Soren with breezy asides and flirtatious laughter toward the well-heeled guests. A soft wind brought the scent of roses, flicking Valentina’s cheeks like the tiniest provocation.
Across the lawn, she saw the mistress leaning into Soren’s ear, saying something that earned him a rare laugh. Valentina felt a wind of fury against her body. However, she forced herself to remain steady as she picked at the bracelet on her wrist. She had learned more of their affair, enough to know that the mistress’s audacity stemmed from Soren’s offer of wealth and power. The mistress wore a sparkly cocktail dress, her body language sultry, not embarrassed to raise eyebrows.
Steeling herself, Valentina walked up closer and overheard parts of a conversation. The mistress hollered that some hush-money payments were overdue, a sneering lilt to her voice. Soren stiffened but quickly covered it with a roguish smile. Valentina floated forward with a polite smile, unnerving both of them. “Darling,” she remarked sweetly to Soren, “we need to discuss those financial changes that you’ve made. I’m quite intrigued.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Soren’s face, but he kept a public mask of civility. The mistress looked at Valentina with barely concealed disdain. Even though Valentina’s heart was beating hard, her voice was steady. “Oh, you know, I’ve been noticing a thing about allocation of resources lately,” she followed, allowing the blade of implication to hone her tone. “The numbers I’ve seen are… informative.”
Soren’s gaze narrowed. “We can talk about that privately,” he said, tone terse. The mistress shifted in her seat, a knowing air that Valentina could sense underneath her skin. Valentina looked back and forth between them, giving a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said, stepping aside as a waiter passed with champagne flutes. “I’m looking forward to hearing about your spending.” There can be so much below the surface, don’t you think?”’
She saw Soren’s known calm crumble just enough and felt the rigidity of his stance, more tense than usual. She had hitched her subtle threat, and he was rattled. The mistress looked uncomfortable, holding her purse. Soren met Valentina’s gaze with a wordless warning. He averted his gaze, the pieces snapping back into place quickly, and headed straight for the estate’s exit.
At that moment, Valentina’s heartbeat pulsed with victory. But she also felt how recklessly she had disturbed the waters. Later that night, she found out Soren had rushed his plan to oust Caspian, consolidating his influence on the board. Her Pyrrhic victory came at a heavy price, sending them quicker on the road to an ambiguous reckon but at a cost.
In a back office close to the estate’s lower wing, Caspian pounded the computer keyboard in frustration. A familiar error message appeared on the screen, indicating that his most recent attempt to unfreeze the funds had failed. It was bathed in harsh fluorescent light and was a complete jumble: loose papers, coffee-stained mugs, and a half-crumpled legal pad. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead, fatigue etched into his face.
Celeste walked in, tension gnawing through every action. She caught the panic gleaming in Caspian’s eyes, the fury broiling under his laboured breaths. “Any luck?” she asked softly. He shook his head, his mouth twisting with bitterness. “Soren’s blocked all the routes,” he said under his breath. “I can’t even release a cent. The board is afraid of him and sides with him.”
Anger flared in Celeste’s chest at those words. The anxiety of tomorrow’s auction tingled in her gut. “Your empire,” she said, her voice shaking, “requires so much that my home falls by the wayside? I’m running out of time!” The simmering frustration she’d held in broke loose, her accusations stinging. “You told me you were saving me, but all I see is that you’re saving your ass with the board. Where does that leave me?”
His hands clenched, a momentary flicker of guilt passing across his face. “That’s not fair,” he retorted, though desperation lay beneath his tone. “I’ve tried every angle to be of assistance to you! The tears burned the back of her throat as she inhaled sharply. “So then, why does it feel like I’m fighting alone?”
At that moment, silence crackled, the pair of them caught at a snapping point. The relationship they had tentatively rebuilt faltered under the strain. Finally, the tension left Caspian’s shoulders. “I can’t lose my business,” he said flatly. “But I’m not going away from your house either. I only need more time.”
Celeste’s stare was a raw blend of hurt and fear. “Time,” she echoed bitterly, remembering the countdown that would conclude tomorrow morning. “We don’t have the luxury of time.” Tension hung as they stared each other down, each looking for reassurance, each feeling betrayed.
Then, a sharp rattle at the door made them jump. Roman burst in, panting, that old folder clutched in his hands. “I discovered a loophole,” he blurted, eyes bouncing between them. “There’s an emergency corporate fund that could evade Soren’s freeze, but it’s based on a rarely invoked clause in the company bylaws.” He hesitated, sensing the crackling atmosphere. “We need to move fast,” he said urgently. “The house is gone by sunrise if we do nothing.”
They looked at Celeste and Caspian, their hearts racing, knowing they might be their last card to play. Their fragile alliance was hanging on a thread, both uncertain how much longer they could continue—and whether Roman’s news might actually save them.