CHAPTER 20: THE COUNTER-ATTACK

CHAPTER 20:

Matthew paced behind his desk like a caged animal. His phone buzzed against the floor, and he scooped it up and pressed it to his ear.

"Where are you? What happened?" he demanded. "Did you get anything?

"He knows, Matthew! He knows everything!" Tyla's voice cracked with terror over the line. "James caught me, and now they're saying Soren is carrying his baby. We're finished! James is going to destroy us!

The phone slipped from Matthew's fingers and clattered onto the desk. His face drained of color. Every careful plan he had built was coming apart.

Early the next morning, the counter-attack began.

The boardroom of Mercer Holdings was glass-walled and silent, the board members stiff in their leather chairs. James walked in first, his presence filling the room. I walked beside him in a sharp, tailored suit, my head held high, one hand resting briefly at my stomach before I let it fall.

Arthur followed and laid a copy of the audit files in front of every board member. Pages rustled around the mahogany table.

"With the backing of Vance Enterprises and the rightful Mercer heir," Arthur said, "we are presenting evidence of embezzlement against Matthew Vance. We are asking for an immediate vote to remove him as CEO."

An older board member cleared his throat. "These are serious accusations. Has this been verified?"

"Independently audited, and the originals are already with our lawyers," Arthur said evenly. "The authorities will receive them by the end of the day."

The room was quiet as pages turned. One by one, the board members read, and I watched their expressions harden. Then hands began to rise, until all of them were raised.

The vote was unanimous. Matthew Vance was stripped of his power and voted out of the company.

Later that afternoon, I needed to breathe, away from the cameras and the legal teams. I drove the matte-gray BMW straight to Charles's bakery.

A sleek black Mercedes was parked across the street. I barely noticed it. I assumed Charles had a catering client.

The bell over the door jingled, and the warm scent of baked bread wrapped around me. "Charles?" I called, stepping toward the counter.

No one answered. Then a figure stepped out from the back kitchen, and my breath caught.

Matthew.

His suit was rumpled, his hair unkempt, his eyes red-rimmed and wild. He looked at me with a hollow stare.

"I figured you'd come here," he said quietly. "Where else would you run?"

My hand moved to my stomach before I could stop it, and his gaze dropped to it. His mouth twisted.

"So you really want to destroy me, Soren? Have you forgotten everything we had?"

I kept my posture cold and still. "Have you forgotten? I'm married to your uncle. I'm sure Tyla has told you I'm carrying his child. Don't come near me again. We're over."

Matthew let out a harsh, bitter laugh and stepped closer. "He doesn't love you, Soren. You're just a vessel to him. He will never love you."

For a second the old doubt stirred in me. Then I thought of James's hands on my face, of the folder we had picked up together, and it settled.

"You don't know him," I said. "And you never knew me."

"That's enough!"

Charles burst out of the storeroom, a heavy rolling pin in his hand, his face flushed with anger. He slammed his other hand on the counter. "Get out of my shop, Matthew. Now!"

I stepped between them and held Matthew's eyes. "You heard him."

Cornered and humiliated, Matthew glared at me with pure hatred. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the glass rattled.

Charles hurried to my side, searching my face. "Are you all right, Soren? I was in the storeroom. I didn't even hear him come in."

I took a slow breath and watched through the window as the black Mercedes sped away. "I'm fine, Charles. He can't hurt me anymore.

That night, every news channel ran the same story: Matthew Vance, voted out. The Mercer heir, vindicated.

In a dark room across the city, someone watched without blinking, a drink untouched on the table. The screen lit with a single message from an unsaved number: It's done. What now?

For a long moment, there was no reply.

"Now," the voice said quietly, "we let him be happy for a while."