Chapter 143 Chapter One hundred and forty-two
ARA
“Ara, you don’t have to come with us, please.” Thayne said as we strode out of the room, his voice low but firm, like he was already bracing for the argument he knew was coming.
I didn’t even slow down.
“Imagine begging me to stay under your control, dear husband,” I replied, my tone flat enough to frost glass. I kept walking, forcing him to match my pace. “Nick lost the tape, Thayne. We need all hands on deck.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I’m sure they didn’t include pregnant women when they coined that phrase.”
The sharp response burning on my tongue died before it could form.
Stuart’s voice cut through the corridor.
“I’ve got intel on Jimmy. His team is preparing for a press release by noon.”
That stopped all of us.
Sasha clapped once, already growing impatient.
“So we’re not going to ask Ara’s fine step-daddy over there how he managed to lose the tape he was supposed to be guarding with his life?” she asked, folding her arms as her gaze slid straight to Nick.
Nick flushed instantly, the color crawling up his neck to his ears. Had she really just called him that?
“Sasha,” Thayne warned, his voice carrying the quiet edge of command.
But Sasha had never been one to retreat easily.
“I was robbed,” Nick said before the tension could thicken further. His tone was controlled, but the embarrassment lingered beneath it. “That’s all I know. I dozed off in my office, and when I woke up, it was gone. The tape, my laptop, two encrypted drives, all missing.”
Sasha’s brows lifted.
“Why was it in your office in the first place?” she pressed.
The question lingered in the air, accusatory, logical, unavoidable.
“Stop it,” Stuart murmured.
Surprisingly, Sasha did. But not before shooting him a glare hot enough to scorch paint off the walls.
Silence fell as we resumed walking, the weight of the missing tape pressing in on all sides.
Because it wasn’t just evidence anymore. Now that It was in my father's hands, it was leverage.
“Do you have anything meaningful to contribute?” Thayne asked, his patience thinning by the second. “Something unrelated to glaring?”
Sasha didn’t even look up from her tablet.
“Actually, glaring is a huge part of it,” she replied coolly, the stylus trapped between her fingers gliding across the screen. “Because I imagined Nick would be smart about safeguarding the tape. But no, he took it to his office. Trust men at your own risk.”
The temperature in the corridor dropped.
“Say that again,” Stuart growled, his voice low and dangerous, like thunder rolling just beneath the surface.
Sasha paused. For once, she chose survival.
She lifted her head, cleared her throat, and shifted gears with impressive speed.
“In light of our tight situation,” she continued briskly, tapping her screen again, “we’ll be on air in the next thirty minutes.”
That stopped me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, blinking at her, “but how do we roll out a live press release when we don’t even have the tape?”
Sasha finally faced me fully, the corners of her mouth curving in something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like the look of someone three steps ahead of everyone else.
“Because,” she said, holding up her tablet, “Jimmy thinks the tape is our only weapon.”
A beat. “We’re about to make the world believe it still is.”
Nick frowned. “But he knows it’s gone, he sent a thief to steal it. It's why he's about to issue a release, he has it and—”
“He does, yeah, super,,” Sasha cut in smoothly. “But panic is a luxury we cannot afford right now. He’s preparing his own narrative, which means he assumes we’re preparing ours.”
Thayne’s gaze sharpened, understanding dawning.
“So we bluff.”
Sasha’s eyes gleamed. “Sorry, boss, but we don’t bluff,” she corrected softly. “We control perception.”
She began pacing now, energy crackling around her despite the exhaustion she clearly carried.
“We go live. We speak with certainty. We imply evidence without displaying it. We apply pressure without revealing our weaknesses. Jimmy will have two choices, or retreat quietly or escalate publicly.”
“And if he escalates? What then?” I asked.
Sasha stopped walking.
“Then he exposes himself,” she said simply.
Silence wrapped around us again, but this time it felt different, heavier, strategic, and dangerous.
Nick exhaled slowly. “You’re gambling.”
Sasha shrugged. “We’ve been gambling since the day Slade Senior decided to knock down his son. Jimmy just happened to be an attention seeker in the middle of the show.” she replied.
“Tell me my role so I can start prepping,” I said to her, already bracing myself for resistance from my husband.
Stuart was the one who actually tried to crush the idea. Imagine.
“With all due respect, you are not—”
“Get in line, Stuart,” I cut in sharply.
He blinked. “Of what?”
“Of the men in my life telling me what to do.”
A brief silence followed, the kind that trembled on the edge of amusement.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Nick interjected mildly, “but I’ve never told you what to do.”
I turned to him instantly. “The first time I saw you, you yelled get in.”
Nick dragged a hand down his face like a man reconsidering every life choice that led him here, then glanced at Thayne, who was watching me with a soft, almost ridiculous fondness.
“Is she always this cranky?” Nick asked.
Thayne shrugged, his lips twitching. “When she’s hungry.”
As if summoned by betrayal, my stomach growled loud enough to echo.
Sasha clapped once, decisive.
“Perfect. Come on. You’ll eat while I prepare your script. We don’t have time,” she said, already ushering me down the corridor before anyone could object.
I honestly couldn’t explain how Sasha managed it.
One moment I was sitting at a small table with a bowl of something warm and fragrant pressed into my hands, and the next she was pacing in front of me, her tablet glowing, her voice moving faster than my chewing.
“Pause after this line,” she instructed, tapping her stylus against the screen. “Eye contact with the main camera. Don’t rush the last sentence, let it land.”
I swallowed another spoonful, nodding between bites.
“Again.”
I repeated the paragraph. She gave me a five out of ten.
“Better. But less anger, more truth. You’re not attacking, Mrs Slade, you’re revealing.”
Twenty minutes later, my plate was empty, my throat was dry, and the words had carved themselves into memory.
Sasha lowered her tablet slowly, studying me.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
I inhaled. Somewhere deep inside me, fear shifted.
It didn't disappear entirely, but it grew quieter, smaller than the purpose filling my chest.
I thought about my mother. About the silence she’d lived inside. About the truth that had sat like a stone in her throat for years.
“I’m ready,” I said.
Because today wasn’t just a press conference.
Today, I was giving a voice to the woman who had spent her whole life whispering.
Today, I would tell the world the truth my mother had been too terrified to speak.
And maybe, just maybe, I would finally give her the closure she had been waiting for.