The paparazzi outside Hayes Enterprises were becoming a cacophony, cameras ready to capture every tremor on Caspian’s face. Up top, in the conference room on the highest floor, the board had assembled for a rushed meeting, the posture of each member poised for another squall. At the far end of that table, Soren lounged in a posture of victory, arms crossed over a perfectly tailored suit jacket, lips curled up at the corners. He seemed unfazed by the allegations against him, or at least more so than the board’s tentative whispers did to crack his composure.
Caspian, sitting at the head of the table, took a deep breath. He felt Celeste’s eyes on him, a quiet gravity that grounded him through all they had been through. At last, he got up, setting both palms on the bright surface. “I’ve called this meeting,” he began, voice tense but not breaking, “to address the growing rumors and clarify my position.”
A hush descended. A few board members exchanged uneasy glances across the polished wood. Soren’s eyes darted toward Celeste with barely disguised disgust, as if he expected Caspian to distance himself from her. Caspian bit his lip instead, lifting his chin. “I will not let slander define this company or my wife,” he said, a hint of shake in his speech. “Soren’s repeated attacks against Celeste know no limits. “Today, I agree with her—unreservedly.”
A murmur rippled among the gathered directors. Others looked to Soren, seeking to gauge his reaction. A flash of irritation flared in his dark eyes. “You’d undercut your father’s advice?” he asked in a low, oily undertone, his voice oozing with false compassion. Caspian turned away from the bait and looked to Celeste, who gave him an encouraging nod.
He went on with a steadiness he barely felt. “Cascading misinformation — tabloid stories, forged documents — this harassment of Celeste is coordinated, this defamation of her name is coordinated. I have enough evidence to indicate they originate from within. The rot has persisted far too long.” The silence grew thicker as he allowed the words to hang. “Hayes Enterprises is better than this.”
Outside reporters seized the livestream — “Caspian Hayes Defends Wife, Rejects Father’s Claims,” the headlines flowered across social media. Whispers buzzed in the corridor like spark, crackling—Caspian, denouncing Soren’s manipulations in the very public eye, had surprised even the fiercest cynics. Talia and Valentina peeked through a side door, hearts racing. They got to see Soren’s mask falter for a moment, a twist of rage knitting his features.
As they left the meeting, Caspian walked Celeste past the barrage of flashing cameras. Employees scuttled in the hall, murmuring in admiration of his open affection for his wife, once branded a gold-digger. Meanwhile, Soren stood back with his lips pursed. Turning his back on the crowd, he raised his phone to his ear, voice low and venomous. “Prepare the papers,” he said, hissing. “It’s time he knows who’s in charge.” His eyes darted back to the room where Caspian and Celeste had vanished, a silent vow of revenge forming in his obsidian depths.
In the mansion’s library, with shelves of ornate books stacked from floor to ceiling, a muted tension reigned that same afternoon. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting dust motes as drifting specks of gold. Roman was standing over a low table, a laptop open in front of him, looking through new receipts for Soren’s suspect transactions. His shoulders stiffened all the more; each new wrong only widened the family’s divide. He heard a faint rustle at his back.
He turned and saw Valentina come into the room, graceful but undeniably nervous. She held a thin file folder to her chest. Her eyes, usually placid, were like a civil war. Roman lowered the laptop lid. “Is everything alright?” he asked gently. Through all the chaos, he still saw Valentina as a reluctant bystander; someone complicit in Soren’s machinations a she now tried to make amends.
Valentina came forward slowly, looking around as if afraid Soren would suddenly spring from the shadows. “I can’t stay quiet,” she admitted, voice shaking with remorse. “I’ve benefited from Soren’s... shady deals. Burns admitted it a long time ago, and I closed my eyes for years.” There was a pause, and she pushed the folder forward, handshaking. “These records provide insight into how he utilized Hayes Enterprises’ budget lines to fund personal indulgences, whether hush-money payments or the mistress’s extravagant spending.”
Roman took the folder, leafing through pages of bank statements and codes. Dazed, there was also a tired relief. “This is enough to make him implicated in outright fraud,” he murmured as he looked down the lines. The weight of her choice lingered in the still air: In coming forward with these documents, Valentina did not only threaten Soren but the fragile balance of the entire empire.
Tension coiled in her throat. “You have to use them very wisely,” she begged. “I have grown to admire Celeste’s loyalty to Caspian. “She didn’t deserve Soren’s cruelty or mine.” Her chest tensed with a wave of emotion. “If these files come to light, Soren will take revenge. He has more influence than the public thinks.”
Roman laid the folder out on his table, deathly solemn. “I’ll take precautions. We have friends who will protect you if it comes to that.” There was a reassuring gentleness in his tone despite a cloud of worry hanging over him. She held his gaze, entering into a silent agreement to put an end to Soren’s reign of terror.
When Valentina turned to walk away, a soft clicking sound startled them. From the gap in the doorway, a camera lens disappeared, capturing it. Roman rushed outside but only saw an empty hallway. The realization had all the warmth of ice through his veins—someone had taken Valentina’s picture, passing him the incriminating documents. His mind played Soren’s fury, how soon these images would be turned into a weapon. Valentina turned pale at the thought; their audacious bid to oust Soren had only set off another shadowy move in a cat-and-mouse game.
In the silence of Hayes Enterprises’ executive lounge, Talia rushed through tinted windows and brown leather sofas, a hint of espresso still in the air. Anxiety galloped through her pulse as she neared a largely deserted corner, getting her bearings with a cryptic text message from Sterling Price — her father. She had checked on him, standing with ghostly casualness by a coffee machine but full of other (over)tension. He looked up, his eyes locking with hers in a wordless warning.
“Ooh, child, you took your time,” Sterling said, voice tight. Talia squared her shoulders, determined that he would not see the intimate tremor of guilt that tugged at her. She remembered having taken Caspian’s side before, revealing Soren’s manipulations. Now, staring down her father’s return, she steadied her voice. “I’ve nothing to say to you, not now that I’ve learned your alliances with Soren.”
Sterling let out a weak, humorless laugh. “You overestimate me, Talia.” There was a note of condescension in his words that pierced. “Blood is thicker than water, don’t forget. You are loyal to me, not Caspian.” He looked around to see if any eavesdroppers were lingering. “Get me the Hayes financial data. Documents that reveal the company’s vulnerabilities. Or I make your complicity with Caspian’s meddling a matter of public record.”
Her breath caught. Memories poured over her: the day she first challenged Soren, her father’s crafty schemes, how she had once believed in a paternal love that later became blackmail. “Why can’t you just leave them alone?” she said, her voice wavering. “Haven’t we inflicted enough pain?”
Sterling’s eyes hardened. “Your cousin is foolish, Celeste is meddling, and Soren is reckless. Although I don’t care about their downfall or success — only my gain.” He leaned in closer. “Which side are you on, Talia? You share my blood. I could have given you a future outside these piddling family dramas.”
A whirlpool of conflicting emotions swirled in her stomach — pride in opposing corruption, guilt in betraying her father. His threat bore down on her with weight. She envisioned the precarious alliances she’d formed with Caspian, Valentina, and Celeste, all of which were predicated on trust she never thought she could feel. “I’m not going to give you anything,” she finally said, although her voice trembled. “They’re the only ones who embraced me unconditionally.”
Sterling’s lips formed a thin line. “Your feeling is beautiful but worthless. Remember whose blood flows through your veins.” Announcing over the tops of his glasses and below the well-groomed density of his yellow hair, he pulled a keycard from his jacket; he laid it on the nearest table with a directive point. “Take it and access the records, or else.” Talia hesitated, her heart thundering. Bile rose in her throat, and her shivering fingers curled around the keycard. A jolt of shame shot through her veins. Had she really folded, or was she playing her father’s game as a means of intelligence gathering?
He smirked, satisfied. “We may indeed reenter,” he said, walking off! Alone in the quiet lounge, Talia’s mind whirled. She was caught between loyalty to Caspian and her father’s manipulative grip. The keycard was heavier than any metal, a vow of silent treachery. But a flame of resolve ignited in her breast: she wouldn’t be a pawn in Sterling’s sick game—whatever secrets she might have to dig up or betray in the process.