THE INTERIM QUEEN

THE INTERIM QUEEN
We’d driven in silence for over an hour, weaving through backroads Ethan swore no GPS could trace. At some point, I stopped checking behind us. No headlights. No drones. Just the hum of the engine and the weight of what we’d done. When Ethan finally veered off the main road and into a dense stretch of forest, I didn’t ask questions. I trusted him.

The hideout wasn’t much to look at—just an old converted storage barn tucked deep within a tree line, camouflaged by years of moss and forgotten paths. The windows were boarded up, the roof sagging slightly at one end, but it was off-grid, surrounded by acres of quiet, and for now, it was safe.

Ethan parked the truck carefully behind the thickest line of trees, switching off the engine and leaving the headlights dim. The silence that followed felt almost unnatural after the chaos of the chase. My heart was still pounding, but not as violently as when the bullets had grazed the metal near us—missing lives by inches.

Adrian lay unconscious in the back seat, his head tilted against the window. I reached over, my fingers brushing the side of his neck.

Still there. A pulse. Steady, but faint.

“We need to get him inside,” I said, urgency cutting through the fog in my mind.

Ethan nodded and stepped out, opening the rear door. Together, we eased Adrian from the vehicle. He groaned softly as we lifted him, but didn’t wake. He felt heavier than I remembered—more fragile. The weeks in the clinic, the coma… they’d stripped him of the strength I used to see in every confident stride, every careless smirk.

“Set him down there,” Ethan instructed, motioning to a dusty cot in the corner of the main room. “I’ve got some emergency supplies. Water, pain meds. Nothing fancy, but it should help.”

We laid Adrian down gently. I pulled a folded blanket over him, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the edge of my sleeve.

He was safe.
For now.

I stepped back and watched him, eyes full of questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answered. Then I turned to Ethan.

“Victoria’s going to spin this,” I said, voice low.

Ethan had already moved to the corner of the room, settling behind a portable setup: laptop, backup batteries, a secondary signal booster. Always one step ahead. He was typing rapidly, opening multiple windows—media feeds, dark web chatter, internal sources.

“She already is,” he muttered. “Come look at this.”

I leaned over his shoulder, dread curling in my stomach. On-screen was a live broadcast. In the bottom corner, a familiar gold logo shimmered. And there she was—Victoria—standing tall behind a podium, Blackwell Holdings’ insignia draped behind her like a crown. She wore a sleek black suit, hair immaculate, grief perfectly styled.

Ethan clicked up the volume.

“…as of this morning, my nephew, Adrian Alexander Blackwell, remains missing,” Victoria announced, her voice smooth and measured. “His vehicle was found abandoned outside the city limits, with evidence suggesting foul play. Due to the seriousness of the matter, we have involved both state authorities and federal investigators to ensure a swift recovery.”

My fists clenched.
Liar.

“I want to be very clear,” she continued, gaze steady on the cameras. “The individuals believed to be responsible for his disappearance are dangerous. They are to be considered armed and possibly mentally unstable. One is an ex-employee with known ties to cybercrime. The other… a woman named Anna Carter.”

Then the screen changed—a photo from a security cam. Me and Ethan, sprinting into the woods near the warehouse. Blood on our clothes. Shadows in our eyes.

I gasped.
“She just named me,” I whispered. “She really did it.”

Ethan’s jaw was like stone. “She’s setting the stage. Claiming Adrian’s dead, painting us as criminals, and herself as the grieving aunt—conveniently stepping in as acting CEO. Textbook corporate coup.”

On-screen, Victoria pressed forward.
“Given this tragic and unexpected development, the Board of Blackwell Holdings has appointed me as Interim Chief Executive Officer. I will ensure the continuity of this company during this turbulent time, and I promise to uphold Adrian’s legacy until we receive more information.”

The applause that followed was hollow. Perfunctory. Even through the screen, I could see it was forced.

“She’s acting like she’s already won,” I muttered.

Ethan clicked off the audio. “Because she thinks she has. With Adrian missing and you named, she can move unchecked. By the time the truth surfaces, she’ll have rewritten the entire narrative.”

I turned away, pacing. My hands trembled slightly.

“She said Adrian’s legacy. Not Adrian himself. She’s already telling the world he’s dead.”

“He’s not,” Ethan said, nodding toward the cot. “He’s right there. And when he wakes up—”

“I’ll tell him everything.”

I stopped, forcing myself to breathe. The weight of my past—of everything I’d been hiding—pressed against my chest.

“He deserves to know. About Victoria. About my father. About who I really am.”

Ethan looked at me for a moment, something like understanding flickering in his eyes.
“He does,” he said. “He deserves the truth. All of it.”

I glanced back at Adrian, watching his chest rise and fall, steady but slow.

“I just hope it’s not too late.”

Back in the city, high above the noise and smoke, Victoria watched the broadcast on a monitor in the quiet luxury of her penthouse lounge.

It had gone exactly as she planned—no leaks, no board resistance, no press outbursts. The world saw a grieving woman doing her duty, stepping up to save the empire. And with my name flashing across every screen, the damage was nearly irreversible.

“Miss Hashting,” her assistant entered quietly. “The markets responded positively. Shares have stabilized. And the transition paperwork has been filed with the registrar.”

Victoria nodded, sipping her tea with practiced calm.

“And the memo to legal?”

“Ready to send. Once it goes out, you’ll be formally recognized as acting CEO within forty-eight hours.”

“Good,” she said. “And keep an eye on internal chatter. I want to know the second someone starts doubting the official story.”

The assistant left.

Victoria leaned back in her chair, the skyline bathing her in gold as the sun dipped below the towers.

“Soon,” she murmured to no one.
“It will all belong to me.”