Chapter 5 Steel and Shadows

Chapter 5

Lena Shore didn’t go far. She stood on the terrace outside the banquet hall.

The night wind of Ocean City carried a damp chill, plastering her shirt against her back. Her phone buzzed for the fourth time—Old Bill again. The screen lit up, dimmed, lit up again, reflecting off her pale face.

There was no point answering.

The hole in the foundation’s budget was even bigger than she’d expected. A few patent royalties were nothing but a drop in the bucket. Seven years ago, when she nearly died underwater because her oxygen tank malfunctioned, she didn’t cry when she resurfaced—she sealed her samples first.

Back then, she thought that was the biggest crisis of her life.

Now she understood—
being broke is the real hell.

The kind that makes you want to curse at the world.

The railing was cold. It dug into her palms painfully.

“Ms. Shore?”

A timid voice sounded from behind.

Lena turned. A young woman with a staff badge stood there, holding a tablet. She looked barely out of college, completely unaware of how to hide the panic in her eyes.

“The organizing committee just updated the agenda.” She handed Lena a printed sheet, her fingers trembling a little. “Because, um… because the online discussion about you is really heating up, Chairman Allen suggested adding a keynote session tomorrow morning—starring you.”

Lena scanned the paper.

10 a.m., main hall.

Global live broadcast.

This wasn’t an invitation.

It was throwing her straight into the fire.

If she nailed it, she’d rise.

If she screwed up, she’d be a joke.

Old fox Allen really knew how to play his pieces.

“Whose idea?”

“Chairman Allen’s,” the girl whispered. “Actually… everyone’s really looking forward to it. I—I saw the video of your throw earlier. You were really… cool.”

Lena raised an eyebrow, folded the sheet, and tucked it into her pocket.

Cool?

People today could turn even humiliation into a compliment.

“Got it.”

She turned to leave. The girl remained rooted to the spot until Lena was nearly at the door.

Then she heard it, small and earnest:

“I’m a big fan of yours. Good luck, Dr. Shore.”

Lena paused—but didn’t look back.

A fan.

Those two words chafed a little. Once, she’d been the department’s prodigy, and Ethan was the one chasing after her. When the lab worked late, he’d buy everyone coffee—but brought her hot milk, grinning like an idiot.

“My girlfriend’s brain is priceless. She needs nourishment.”

Back then, the world lifted her up.

Later?

The world pushed her down.

And the foot that stomped hardest—

was Ethan’s.

Inside the hall, most people had already left. Those who stayed were exchanging cards, laughing with leftover champagne on their breath.

Lena grabbed her canvas bag and headed for the exit.

“Ms. Shore! Please wait!”

A man in gold-rimmed glasses stepped in front of her, recorder raised. He smiled like a polite predator.

“I’m a special correspondent for Financial Watch. Regarding your conflict with President Grant earlier—was it leftover affection turning into resentment? Or a publicity stunt before your keynote tomorrow?”

He might as well have worn a sign that read:
“Are you desperate for attention?”

Lena stopped, gave him a slow once-over.

“You want to try it too?”

He blinked. “Try what?”

“See if the marble floor is as hard as it looks.” Her tone was flat, like she was discussing a dinner menu. “I didn’t get enough throwing practice tonight. Want me to help you make tomorrow’s headline?”

The man instinctively shielded his lower back and stumbled backward, turning green, then white.

Lena snorted and pushed past the door.

The world was amusing—everyone wanted to pinch soft persimmons.

But the moment you turned into a rock,

they walked around you instead.

Outside, the night was heavy. Streetlights stretched her shadow long across the stone steps.

She took two steps down—

and smelled a familiar cologne drifting toward her.

“Lena Shore.”

Ethan Grant stood in the shadows, a cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing red in the dark.

Lena didn’t even glance at him. She kept walking.

“Stop.”

Ethan strode forward, blocking her path. He was thinner than before, his features sharper, carrying the oppressive aura of someone long accustomed to high places.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it and make it quick.” Lena had no patience left.

His opening line caught in his throat. He inhaled sharply; the smoke hadn’t even dispersed when the wind blew it right at her.

She stepped back, fanned the air with a look of disgust.

“So this is President Grant’s manners? Trying to murder your ex-girlfriend with secondhand smoke?”

Ethan froze, then irritably crushed the cigarette and tossed it into a nearby bin.

“Let me review your keynote draft.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because SkyTech is the primary sponsor.” Ethan’s gaze darkened. “Lena, I know you hate me—maybe you want to ruin me. But business is business. If you say anything on stage that affects our stock, I have plenty of ways to make you disappear from this industry.”

Lena stared at him.

Then she laughed.

Soft, yet cutting through the night like glass.

“Ethan Grant, you really overestimate yourself.”

She stepped closer; her heels clicked sharply against the stone floor.

“You think I came back to get revenge on you? You think you’re worth that much?”

Ethan’s face darkened. “Then why are you back? For that pathetic foundation? Don’t kid yourself—no investor will back a director with a stain on her record.”

“A stain?”

Lena’s expression turned glacial—

not angry, but deadly calm.

“Ethan, you know better than anyone who leaked that data back then. You’re just playing the victim in front of Cecilia.”

Ethan’s pupils contracted. “What are you implying?”

“I’m saying—don’t provoke me.”

Lena reached out, straightened his slightly crooked tie.

The gesture was gentle—

like dressing a prisoner for execution.

“What I say tomorrow is my choice. As for your stock price…”

She tapped a finger against his chest.

“You can start praying.”

With that, she turned and walked away, decisive and unhesitating.

Ethan remained frozen long after her silhouette vanished.

His chest still burned where she’d tapped him.

Seven years apart—

and she had changed.

She was no longer the girl hiding in the lab, smiling at microscopes.

She’d become a blade—

and blades were meant to draw blood.

For one insane moment, he’d actually smelled the familiar trace of sea salt on her.

Cold, sharp, wild.

He used to hate that smell—thought it was provincial.

So why did it tighten something in his chest now?

“Ethan?”

Cecilia Howard’s voice sounded behind him, soft, cautious.

Ethan blinked, mask sliding back into place.

“What are you doing here?”

Cecilia hurried to him and clung to his arm. “You weren’t coming back. I was worried she hurt you… That woman’s crazy. She even slapped you earlier—should we call the police?”

“Call the police for what? To embarrass myself further?” Ethan shook her off and walked toward the Maybach. “We’re leaving.”

“But tomorrow’s keynote—”

“Not your concern.”

He got into the car without looking back.

Cecilia stood there, watching the taillights disappear.

Her perfect smile cracked—

revealing the venom underneath.

If Ethan refused to act,

then she would.

She dialed a number with no label.

The line picked up on the second ring.

“It’s me,” she whispered, her voice tight and cold. “Tomorrow morning’s keynote—I want Lena Shore off that stage. I don’t care how. I want her ruined.”

“Double the price.”

She hung up.

The night wind blew across her face, but her smile was icy and cruel.

Lena Shore, you’re already doomed.