Chapter 6
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Cherry drummed her fingertips against her desk, the private detective's report echoing through her mind.
"The Lakeside Apartments lease wasn't signed by Victoria Skye, but by an overseas shell company. This company has made several suspicious transactions with an offshore account controlled by a Sinclair Corporation director over the past six months."
Director Chandler was one of the old guard from Sullivan's father's era. Since Sullivan's takeover, Chandler had been gradually sidelined—and he wasn't quiet about his resentment.
The evidence hinted at internal power struggles. Was Chandler using Victoria as a pawn to undermine Sullivan's authority? Perhaps even planning a boardroom coup?
The theory made sense, but something felt off. It was too obvious—like bait deliberately left in plain sight.
If Chandler was truly behind this, would he use a shell company so easily traced? And would he orchestrate such a devastating scene at the wedding—a trap with no escape—just for corporate politics? This felt more like an attempt to utterly destroy Sullivan, not simply outmaneuver him.
Henry Sinclair's words echoed in her mind: "Some would love nothing more than to see him fall."
She needed more pieces of this puzzle.
Meanwhile, the bidding for the eastern city plot reached fever pitch. Cherry threw herself into the work, leading her team through marathon sessions—analyzing data, refining proposals, and war-gaming their strategy. Her professionalism, decisiveness, and meticulous attention to detail gradually won over the project team. Even Winston Zachary, her initial antagonist, had to set aside his contempt when faced with her incisive questions.
Sullivan observed her efforts from a distance. During joint planning meetings, he sat silently at the head of the table, watching Cherry dissect problems and expose weaknesses in proposals. Her focus and precision felt alien to him—yet strangely magnetic.
He caught himself studying her—the shadow of exhaustion beneath her eyes, the slight furrow in her brow during discussions, the rare moments when her guard slipped to reveal her fatigue.
His fascination troubled him deeply. He should despise this woman who had threatened and coldly negotiated with him. Yet somewhere in his heart, he couldn't deny her capability—or her allure.
That night, Cherry worked late again. She sat alone in the empty office, her face illuminated by the soft blue glow of her computer screen.
She rubbed her throbbing temples and began gathering her things when the internal phone rang.
Sullivan Sinclair.
"Come up for a moment." His voice carried a hint of roughness.
Cherry frowned but rose and headed for the top floor.
The CEO's office was dim, lit only by a single desk lamp. Sullivan sat on the sofa, jacket discarded, tie loosened, nursing a glass of whiskey. The faint scent of alcohol hung in the air.
"Something wrong?" Cherry remained in the doorway, keeping her distance.
Sullivan looked up, his gaze slightly unfocused in the dim light. "The final bid for the east city plot needs to be finalized tomorrow."
"I know. The team is ready. You'll have the final version in your inbox by 9 AM."
"How confident are you about winning?" he asked, his eyes suddenly sharp on her face.
"Seventy percent," Cherry answered cautiously. "Horizon is no pushover. And I suspect they've gotten their hands on some of our core data."
Sullivan's pupils contracted. "Evidence?"
"Circumstantial. Their recent adjustments have been too precisely targeted. I've already launched a security investigation and prepared contingencies." Cherry spoke with detached calm, as if discussing someone else's problem.
Sullivan stared at her silently before speaking, his voice laden with complex emotions: "Cherry, you've changed."
Cherry paused briefly, then curved her lips into a smile devoid of warmth. "People always change. Especially after reality slaps them hard across the face."
Her words pierced through Sullivan's carefully maintained composure. He tilted his head back and drained his glass, his throat working as he swallowed. "About the wedding… I'm sorry."
His belated apology hung hollow in the empty office.
Cherry felt a brief sting in her heart, a faint numbing pain quickly smothered by cold rationality.
"President Sinclair, apologies mean nothing now. Between us, only business remains. If there's nothing else, I'll be going."
She turned to leave.
"Wait!" Sullivan suddenly rose—whether driven by alcohol or the mounting pressure of recent days—and stepped in front of Cherry, blocking her path.
"Is this really all that's left between us? What about those ten years? Cherry Thorne, we had ten years together!"
He'd finally acknowledged those ten years.
Cherry lifted her gaze to his, her eyes showing no emotion—only a desolate calm. "Those ten years were mine alone. You destroyed them with your own hands. The moment you let go of my hand for Victoria Skye, everything died."
Her soft voice struck his heart like a sledgehammer.
He searched her cold eyes for any trace of past warmth or love, finding only detachment and hatred.
Panic and loss seized him.
He realized with sudden clarity that he'd prefer her tears, her rage, her hysterical accusations—anything but this calm, complete exclusion from her world.
"Victoria, she…" Sullivan tried to explain, only to find words utterly inadequate.
"I don't want to hear your story." Cherry cut him off, her tone resolute. "That's your business. All I know is that I'm Vice President of Sinclair Corp with responsibilities to my project and my team. Everything else is irrelevant."
She brushed past him, heading for the door.
Just as her hand touched the doorknob, Sullivan's voice reached her, tinged with desperation: "What if I told you Victoria Skye's appearance wasn't what it seemed?"
Cherry froze but didn't turn around.
Sullivan moved close behind her—so close she could smell the sharp tang of alcohol on his breath. "I've checked her background. It's clean—too clean, like it was carefully crafted. And her timing was too perfect. Father had just finalized his will, and several major projects were at critical junctures…"
Cherry's heart skipped. He'd finally begun to doubt.
"So?" She turned slowly to face him. "Is President Sinclair asking for my help? Or do you hope that I, the 'victim,' can help uncover the truth and protect you and your lover?"
Her sarcasm drained the color from Sullivan's face.
"Cherry, I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But this could affect Sinclair Corp's stability…"
"Sinclair Corp's stability is in my interest too," Cherry said coldly. "I'll do my part. As for the rest," she fixed Sullivan with a penetrating look, "President Sinclair should be more careful. After all, someone who could make you lose control at your wedding must hold significant weight in your heart."
Without another word, she opened the door and walked out.
The hallway's harsh light stretched her solitary figure into a long shadow.
Sullivan watched her walk away, then leaned helplessly against the doorframe and closed his eyes. The alcohol's dizzying effect combined with his churning emotions left him with a bone-deep exhaustion he'd never known before.
Meanwhile, Cherry leaned against the cold elevator wall and exhaled slowly.
Sullivan's suspicions confirmed her own. Someone was indeed pulling Victoria's strings—someone with dangerous ambitions.
But Sullivan's question—"What about those ten years?"—had stirred something in her heart. She quickly smothered those feelings beneath her hatred and thirst for revenge.
Now was not the time for weakness.
She pulled out her phone and texted her investigator: "Check all of Chandler's recent communications and financial transfers, especially overseas accounts. Also, get DNA samples or fingerprints from Victoria Skye for deeper background verification."
The fragments of truth were slowly coming together. And what lurked behind the fog might be an even more shocking conspiracy.
She needed to move faster—and more carefully.
