CHAPTER THREE Collateral Damage

By noon, the board at Hart Biotech had called an emergency meeting.

I insisted on attending.

My father argued against it. “You don’t need to walk into that,” he said over the phone, voice strained. “They’ll be brutal.”

“They already are,” I replied quietly. “I won’t hide.”

The company headquarters felt smaller than I remembered when I walked in that afternoon. Or maybe it was just the weight of a hundred eyes following me through the glass lobby.

Some were sympathetic.

Most were not.

I had grown up in this building. I used to sit at the receptionist’s desk doing homework while my father closed late-night deals. The employees here had watched me grow from a teenager into a woman.

Now they looked at me like a liability.

The conference room was full when I entered.

Twelve board members.

Three legal advisors.

My father at the head of the table.

And an empty seat beside him.

Mine.

The silence when I walked in was suffocating.

I took my seat without speaking.

Mr. Halvorsen, the oldest board member, adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

"I'm assuming you are aware of the harm this company has suffered in the past twelve hours."

“Yes,” I said evenly.

“Our stock dropped fourteen percent this morning.”

A sharp inhale traveled around the table.

“Investors are nervous,” another board member added. “Moretti Industries has formally withdrawn their pending capital infusion.”

Of course they had.

Lucian didn’t leave loose ends.

“And,” Halvorsen continued, “there are rumors circulating that the federal authorities may investigate this as corporate espionage.”

My father slammed his hand lightly on the table. “There will be no investigation. My daughter has committed no crime.”

“With respect,” Halvorsen replied stiffly, “that’s not what the public believes.”

Public belief.

To stop my hands from shaking, I folded them together.

“I didn’t leak anything,” I said clearly. “I’ve been framed.”

“And do you have proof of that?” someone asked sharply.

Not yet.

The words tasted bitter.

“Not yet,” I admitted.

A murmur of frustration rippled through the room.

Halvorsen leaned back in his chair. “Elena, perception is reality in this industry. Whether you’re guilty or not is almost irrelevant at this point.”

The statement was a knife disguised as logic.

“What are you suggesting?” my father demanded.

“I’m suggesting,” Halvorsen replied carefully, “that Elena step down from any advisory involvement with Hart Biotech until this matter is resolved.”

The room went quiet.

My father looked at me as if I had just been sentenced.

“They can’t do that,” he said.

“They can,” I replied softly.

Because he had taught me how boards functioned.

And he knew it too.

“It’s temporary,” Halvorsen added. “Damage control.”

Damage control.

I stood slowly.

“I understand,” I said.

My father looked up at me sharply. “Elena—”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

But I wouldn’t let my presence sink the company further.

I gathered my bag and walked out without looking back.

The hallway blurred as I made my way to the elevator.

By the time the doors closed, I was trembling.

Lucian had said he was protecting his empire.

But in doing so, he had lit a fire under mine.

And it was spreading.

When I reached the parking garage, I nearly collided with a group of reporters waiting near the exit.

Cameras lifted instantly.

“Ms. Hart! Did you sell proprietary technology to Adrian Keller?”

Have you been lying to everyone at Moretti Industries since Day one?

“Did your marriage serve as a cover for corporate theft?”

The questions came like bullets.

“I have no comment,” I said tightly, pushing forward.

“Is it true Mr. Moretti is pressing charges?”

I froze for half a second.

Pressing charges?

Lucian hadn’t said that.

But the threat had been clear.

The cameras caught my hesitation.

And I knew it would be replayed a thousand times before sunset.

That evening, my father collapsed in his office.

It wasn’t dramatic.

There was no shouting.

No warning.

Just a call from his assistant saying he had felt dizzy and fallen against his desk.

By the time I reached the hospital, they were running tests.

Stress-related cardiac episode, the doctor said gently.

“He needs rest. No high-pressure situations.”

High-pressure situations.

I stood outside his hospital room and felt the full weight of what Lucian had set in motion.

This wasn’t just about me anymore.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number again.

Collateral damage is unfortunate.

My hands went cold.

Stop this, I typed back.

I didn’t start it, came the reply.

Rage surged through me.

You wanted leverage?

Fine.

You just found it.

That night, I drove to the Moretti Tower.

It was reckless.

Impulsive.

And completely against my better judgment.

But I needed to see him.

The building loomed against the skyline like a monument to power. Lucian’s name glowed across the top in steel letters.

Security tried to stop me at the entrance.

“He’ll want to see me,” I said quietly.

They hesitated.

Then one of them made a call.

Minutes later, I was escorted to the private elevator.

The penthouse office was dark except for the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Lucian stood with his back to me.

Hands clasped behind him.

Immovable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said without turning.

“My father is in the hospital.”

A pause.

Then, flatly: “I’m aware.”

Of course he was.

"As soon as the news went public, you withdrew your financial support - no hesitation, no explanation."

“Yes.”

“You knew what that would do.”

“I calculated the risk.”

The coldness of it nearly stole my breath.

“He had a cardiac episode,” I said, my voice cracking despite my effort to control it.

Lucian finally turned.

His face didn’t change.

“I didn’t harm him.”

“You created the conditions.”

“I protected my company.”

“And destroyed mine.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

"You ought to have considered the consequences before you turned on me like that ."

I stepped closer.

“I didn’t.”

Silence stretched between us.

For one fragile second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes.

Doubt?

No.

It vanished too quickly.

Calmly, he responded, "Talk to my lawyers if you're here to negotiate."

“I’m here to warn you.”

That got his attention.

“Warn me?”

"An insider within your company is setting things up to keep you isolated.''

His gaze sharpened.

“Careful.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re accusing my inner circle now?”

“I’m telling you I was set up.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to question everything.”

He stepped closer until only inches separated us.

“You lost the right to advise me.”

The words hit like a slap.

 "You don't care if what I'm saying is true," I whispered.

“Truth,” he replied, “is what can be proven.”

“Then prove it,” I shot back. “Investigate beyond the surface.”

His eyes darkened.

“You think I haven’t?”

“Then look again.”

The tension between us crackled.

Anger.

History.

Unspoken love.

“You should leave,” he said finally.

“I will.”

I turned toward the door.

“Elena.”

I stopped.

His voice was lower now.

Controlled.

“If criminal charges become necessary, I won’t hesitate.”

There it was.

The final line.

Not husband.

Not partner.

Adversary.

I nodded slowly.

“I expected nothing less from you.”

And then I walked out of the empire that had once felt like home.

Two days later, the annulment papers arrived.

And so did the federal inquiry notice.

He had followed through.

I was officially under investigation.

The news broke before sunset.

And by nightfall—

Hart Biotech’s largest investor withdrew completely.

We were bleeding.

And somewhere inside Moretti Tower—

Lucian Moretti was still standing untouched.

But wars have a way of circling back to the men who start them.

And as I stared at the legal documents spread across Mara’s kitchen table, one truth settled deep in my chest:

If I was going to survive this—

I would have to stop being his wife.

And start being his enemy.