Celeste walked into Soren’s office, the click of her heels ringing against the tall ceiling. The event took place at the Westin St. Francis, and while sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, the ambience was oppressively cold. Soren lounged behind his massive desk, his unblinking gaze trained on her as if he were about to devour any weakness that passed her lips. The low rumble of the air-conditioning punctuated the charged silence.
Gathering what courage she had remaining, Celeste stepped forward to meet his gaze. “You’ve driven this family to the brink,” she said quietly, fury bubbling under the surface of her calm demeanour. “Your vicious attacks are why Caspian is recovering in the hospital — but you don’t stop.”
Soren half-smiled mirthlessly, one corner of his mouth twisting upward. “Your being here just now is a sign of how desperate you are, my dear,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “What is a marriage worth if one of its parts is found to be mentally deficient? “You know that the board won’t trust Caspian if the rumour mill has it that he’s volatile.” He plucked a manila folder off his desk, fat with papers. “These are the manipulated medical reports. “One word in the proper ear, and he’s out the door; shareholders make sure of that.”
Celeste’s ears pounded with blood. She remembered sitting at Caspian’s side, holding the feather in her hand and willing every muscle in her body to be taut whenever insomnia had his tender sleep shattered. Soren’s latest scheme further undercut the legitimacy of their marriage and Caspian’s right to the throne at Hayes Enterprises. “You’re blackmailing me into leaving him,” she said, her voice quivering with anger. “All to shield your perverse sense of control.”
He shrugged. “Dump him, or sit back and watch him crumble before the onslaught of public scorn and official scepticism. This envelope,” he pushed it forward, lettered in the bold black script that read “To the Board,” “contains just enough evidence to implicate him as incompetent. You know what that means.”
Her stomach knotted. She recalled Caspian’s haunted eyes in the hospital and the tremors in his hands whenever he had to pretend he was strong. Soren’s threat clawed at her heart — did she dare call his bluff if it meant the final undoing of Caspian? “You can’t stop him from leading forever,” she murmured, but the quaver in her voice revealed a glimmer of doubt. “And even if you break us, you’ll have an empire full of scandal.”
Soren chuckled quietly and leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “If I cannot have a secure bloodline, I will devastate the inheritance and create it again with my hands.” He looked her up and down, long and appraising. “So, which is it? Abandon him, or see him devoured by allegations?”
Silence hung, thick and frigid. Unable to fire back a retort that might dispel the threat, Celeste slid her gaze to the sealed envelope, the sick dread uncoiling in her chest. This was not just a legal ceremony — Soren held a weapon that could turn Caspian into a laughing stock in a heartbeat. He nodded with curt dismissal, though, and waved her away, leaving her to battle the impossible dilemma: walk away in order to save Caspian’s leadership or stand firm and risk his career’s complete obliteration.
Roman rushed through his cramped little flower shop. Closing time had passed, and he still held some documents in his chest — his heart was racing from what he had just discovered. Pillars of fresh lilies and scarlet roses lined his path, their gentle scent at odds with the grim offering he bore. He placed the papers on the counter, turned on a dim overhead light and examined them closely. Each line led to one inescapable conclusion: Sterling Price was siphoning resources out of Hayes Enterprises in a bid to sabotage Caspian’s most profitable projects and ensure the board lost faith in Caspian.
The indignation rose up in him. He recalled how Talia had told him in confidence that Sterling may have been straddling the fence, never believing he’d throw all in with Soren. The evidence Roman held now — spreadsheets, secret emails, coded instructions — was enough to lay out an ugly narrative of Sterling’s treachery. Roman prepared himself for the blow this would deliver to Talia. She thought at least her father had some moral boundary. It seemed she was wrong.
He flipped to the last page, scanning the amounts of Sterling she had siphoned off. It was a huge number, one that would cripple the firm’s capital flow if it was discovered late enough. “How far will they go?” Roman muttered, his voice echoing in the silence of the shop. Outside, a light drizzle tapped the windows as if the city was crying with him.
His phone buzzed. Passing his eyes over the screen, he read a text from Talia: “Any news? Soren’s pushing harder. Sterling might be involved.” He thought about texting everything he learned back, but a weight dropped into his chest. How to tell her that her father had become a complete accomplice in Soren’s sabotage?
Before he could write back, the shop’s door chimed. Roman stiffened and glanced at the clock — past closing, no delivery expected. He scanned a tall stand of orchids, heart lurching when he spotted a single envelope stuck through the mail slot. The knell of a figure departing into the dark street. Roman picked it up warily, noting the black ink scrawled across the front: “Keep out of Montague business or be buried with your flowers.”
His spine tingled as he ripped open the envelope to find a crude printed note, with the text mirroring the warning on the front. The threat seemed personal, too; with the subtext, the message was clear: If Roman didn’t stop helping Caspian and Celeste, he’d be next to be targeted. That anger was real, but dread was the more powerful emotion. My concern was growing more serious by the day with Soren and Sterling’s network. They were never shy about targeting bystanders if the attack helped their cause.
Gripping the note tighter, Roman slid back to the counter, reexamining the damning files under a different light. A coil of fear squeezed his gut, but so did loyalty to his friends. But he was not going to be silenced by some shadowy actor attempting to bully him into silence. Energized, he whipped out his phone again, noticing that his hands were shaking, prepared to alert Talia that the hourglass was running out on all of them.
Caspian blinked awake to the low hush of a hospital room all around him, a faint antiseptic tang in the air. Overhead fixtures cast sterile light, and the gleam of polished linoleum spread across the floor. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, tinging his senses with a reminder of how near he’d been to the apex of exhaustion. Weariness tugged at his limbs, but a jolt of relief coursed through him: At least he was still alive.
Celeste sat cross-legged on a metal stool across the bed, her hands knotted in her lap. Her eyes were rimmed red, tension etched on her features. When she saw that he was awake, tears of brittle relief misted her eyes. “You scared me,” she whispered, her voice strangled on the memory of him sinking to the board.
He let out a long, tremulous breath, guilt rising like bile in his throat. “I should’ve taken more precautions,” he admitted; he’d skipped doses of the drugs that the doctors prescribed. Pride and fear of looking weak provided his blinders. Words tasted bitter in his mouth as he swallowed. “I was afraid Soren would use my reliance on meds against me, so I… pretended I was fine.”
Celeste’s face hardened into sorrow and a flash of exasperation. “Your father’s manipulation shouldn’t have made you sick,” she said gently, carefully putting her hand over his. “You can’t fight him from a hospital bed.” Her soft admonition cut deeper than any scolding. She was right — that recklessness had almost cost him the company he struggled to save, the woman he would never let go.
There was a soft knock on the door, and a doctor walked in. She was middle-aged and had the wrinkles that came with experience, and she walked up to the bed with a clipboard. She looked toward Caspian’s monitors, pursing her lips. “We rescued you from a perilous edge,” she said. “But next time may not be quite so merciful. Another collapse could lead to complete cardiac failure.” Her grave tone sent a chill through the room. Celeste squished Caspian’s bent fingers, her eyes filling with worry.
He gave a slight nod, a quaver of resolve stirring his weary voice. “I’ll do better. No more skipping,” he assured the doctor, but Celeste saw the flicker of fear that passed over his face. The doctor nodded briefly, then left them in the quiet of beeping monitors.
Caspian looked at Celeste, heartache and resolve shining in his eyes. “I promise,” he said, “to follow the regimen. I can’t let him—” He broke off, fury coursing at the thought of Soren’s evil campaign. “I will not allow him to destroy what we have built.”
Celeste stroked the hair off his forehead. “We are standing strong together,” she told him. But the doctor’s warning had haunted them. The war with Soren had much yet to unfold, but the distinction between Caspian’s continued existence and complete breakdown had never seemed so the width of a razor.