Caspian strode the length of a narrow, chic lobby, the polished floor reflecting his stiff body in wretched overhead light. He'd arranged a clandestine meeting with a private investor who'd be able to move past Soren's freeze on the company's accounts. Time-pressed down like an iron vice — outside, dusk began its shuffle, sweeping strokes of orange and violet across the skyline. His phone had vibrated nonstop with manic missives from Roman and Talia, each message highlighting the urgency of freeing up enough cash to keep Celeste's house from going to auction.
He could see a black, sleek car gliding to the curb through the glass doors. Then, a man in a tailored suit emerged, posture exuding wealth and fear. Caspian came rushing out to greet him, clasping his hand and hanging on just a tad too long. "Thank you for coming," Caspian said with a hitch in his throat. The investor cast him a sidelong glance. "You're lucky that I owed a favour to someone on your staff," he said quietly, as if afraid of being overheard,
They headed toward a quiet conference room just off the lobby. Caspian laid a tattered folder, containing only scant evidence of Soren's machinations and the freeze on critical Hayes Enterprises funds, with shaking hands. The investor scanned the fine print, his brow furrowed. "Why doesn't your father want these funds released? His speech was laced with suspicion at every turn. Caspian grappled with how to convey that Soren's vendetta had never been merely corporate in nature — that it was a deliberate and malevolent gambit designed to capture Caspian's will and imprison Celeste's future.
At last, the investor let out a breath, pinching his nose. "If you can pledge collateral against your own shares, I can bridge this freeze," he said. "But the risk is massive. If Soren hears about this, you might lose your seat, period." Caspian's heart thudded. He wasn't sure if that would work, although he realized the plan was fragile — Celeste's day at the auction block was a bomb with a tick, tick, ticking alarm. "I accept," he said, his voice raspy.
In another part of the city, Celeste steeled herself inside the old brick courthouse, bolstering her serenity every time strangers walked past, ignorant of her pain. She may not have let her turmoil show, but inside herself, she shook with dismay. She messaged Caspian again but didn't hear back. A fresh wave of fear lapped at her resolve. Would he actually get here in time? After all, she remembered his promise of a miracle, and her teeth played very well at denying a fun way to cry.
Talia performed a quiet act of sabotage outside the investor's building, pounding at her tablet in a frenzy tapping amounts into the wrong columns to keep Soren moving too slowly to make his exit. I briefed her: if Soren did find out that she was interfering, he would be furious. But she pressed on, mindful that with each tick of the second hand, she was getting Caspian and Celeste closer to their final chance for salvation.
When Valentina swooped into the ballroom in her billowy emerald gown, the charity gala "was abuzz with all of this classy conversation," Laura Gonzalez recalls. Gold chandeliers poured warm light over the tables of the society's elite, and waiters drifted past between glittering centrepieces. Soren spotted her from across the room and gave her a weak grin, which failed to hide the flicker of doubt in his eyes. She held his gaze with quiet determination, recalling the promise she made to carry Caspian to safety, hell or high water.
Soft music curled in the air, violins withered with a soft hum of conversation. Valentina mingled with a group of philanthropic donors, making small talk in her genteel manner. She caught movement in her peripheral vision and saw Soren's mistress sidling her way toward him, possessively draping her arm over his. That sight made Valentina's stomach churn. Tonight, though, she was planning to crescendo much more subtly.
Later in the night, the host invited Valentina onstage to explain the gala's charitable mission. She climbed onto a small dais, crumpling her notes in quaking fingers. But as she began to discuss community outreach, she turned with intent. "Hayes Enterprises," she said, her voice cutting through the puzzled silence, "has always prided itself on integrity. But far too often, we turn a blind eye to the dark corners where corruption lurks." She spoke in a voice sprinkled with insinuation, a voice that washed over the audience like a wave.
She caught Soren stiffening out of the corner of her eye, his eyes narrowing. The mistress's face bleached, wine glass raised midway to her lips. Valentina ploughed through as though her taped delivery would take a break. "Let's put an end to those who abuse trusted relationships, whether personal or financial. That is real leadership: being accountable." The temperature of the room shifted, silence replacing the polite clapping.
When she left the dais, Valentina caught Soren's frozen glare. He maintained his inscrutable smile, but anger boiled beneath. He leaned in close and whispered, "Quite a speech, dear wife. I hope that you're not talking about trumped-up scandals." She stared him down, cool and collected. "It's not imagination," she said back, her whisper edged with a warning.
As the contest of wills unfolded in silence, a harried assistant crept up to Soren and whispered in his ear. He looked momentarily alarmed, then wrenched it back toward brutality. On the other side of the city, Cez ran into the auction room, Roman following closely behind him, an envelope in his hand. Valentina may never have witnessed that moment, but she felt a ripple of satisfaction. She'd shaken Soren out of his cool. And even if he concealed his fury beneath a chill smile, she felt a fissure opening in his seemingly armoured shell.
It was in the courthouse's bare-bones auction room that the tension was palpable as Celeste stood near the back, eyes darting from the auctioneer's upraised gavel to the scattering of bidders who were whispering in hushed tones. There was a hush shattered only by the sound of papers ruffling around and movings of throats clearing. The main auctioneer — a greying man in a neat suit — stood behind the middle of three plain podiums, his face the very definition of politeness but without any excitement, ready to begin.
In her ribcage, her heart pounded. She glanced at the big clock on the wall. Minutes dragged on slowly and painfully. Caspian had not contacted her, and her stomach knotted tight with helplessness. I sat there, tight and suffocated by the stale air of that room with every breath. The memory of her childhood, her parents' voices, and the warm glow of that house hovered in her mind just out of sight.
When suddenly, the double doors burst open. A ripple of shock ran through the witnesses. Caspian entered then, his chest expanding and contracting. Roman paced in step with him, and a business-like envelope was in Caspian's palm. Heads turned, the air crackling with excitement. Celeste's hand flew to her chest, shock and relief giving her a little gasp. When she laid eyes on him, she tried not to cry.
The auctioneer stumbled, startled at the interruption, but he did not drop his gavel. The voice echoed through the now quiet space as Caspian stepped up to the front, "My interest is to pay the overdue debt on this property." Whispers scattered through the crowd. Some bidders winced, their ferociousness deflating as they grasped that the prospective purchase that they bid on might be wrenched away from them. Others seemed to lean in to see how the drama would play out.
Soren in the back, a cold glint in those eyes, fingers pressed until the knuckles whitened. Celeste met his gaze with a swell of defiance in her chest. She knew what a risk Caspian had taken, discarding every wall Soren had erected. Their eyes met in a wordless stalemate that she felt said Soren would never be cool with this kind of rebellion.
Caspian handed the envelope to the auctioneer, who flipped through the contents. The man's eyes opened wide, and astonishment swept his features. "This pays off the mortgage entirely," he said, his voice shaking with disbelief. There were gasps of disbelief among the bidders — some already shuffling out dejectedly, others craning their necks to see how the drama unfolded.
Celeste handed the boy over to Caspian, and she moved closer to her husband, tears of overwhelming gratitude streaming down her face. Waning excitement was snuffed out as Talia, entering the room after them, caught Caspian's eye. Her breathy hiss cut through the air next to his ear: "He's going to retaliate now — Soren's coming for the company next. He wants to kill everything." And then the tension unfurled yet again, them teetering on the brink of another battle of how far Soren would attempt to reclaim his power.