Chapter 8
370words
He stood in my doorway, his tailored suit immaculate, eyes glittering like venomous barbs.
"We need to talk." He strode in without invitation, deliberately clicking the lock behind him. "About your recent activities. Don't pretend ignorance."
I kept my expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're referring to."
His lips curled as he tapped his phone screen. A recording began to play—
My own voice, crystal clear, instructing Pierce to dig into Chloe's past.
"You've been spying on me?" Ice slid down my spine.
"Insurance policy." He pocketed his phone like a gunslinger holstering a weapon. "But I'm willing to offer you an exit strategy."
He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm finalizing a government smart city contract worth billions. The investors are old-school—they value family stability and spotless public images."
"Until the deal closes, you'll play the devoted wife. No more amateur sabotage attempts."
I fought to keep my voice steady. "Why would I agree to that?"
"Because of this." He tapped his phone. "This recording alone is enough for criminal charges."
He invaded my space, his breath hot against my cheek. "By the way, your fake investor? Painfully obvious. Amateur hour."
I said nothing. He'd outmaneuvered me. For now.
"I'll need time to consider."
"Tomorrow." He turned toward the door, his tone brooking no argument. "And Eleanor? This is your only lifeline."
The moment the door clicked shut, I called Pierce.
"He's onto us, but he just handed me the perfect opportunity."
"How so, Miss Laurent?"
"We'll weaponize his own strategy." My voice turned glacial. "He's building the stage, I'll direct the performance. Let's see who gets crucified when the curtain falls."
I ended the call and sank onto the sofa, my blouse suddenly damp with cold sweat.
Not merely from Victor's unexpected countermove.
But because of the lab results burning a hole in my pocket—
Positive.
At this most catastrophic possible moment.
When I'd wagered everything on this vendetta, ready to destroy Victor or die trying.
When my existence had been shredded by hatred, when even my grief required strategic planning.
A child.
Victor's child.
