CHAPTER 18

SMILE IN PUBLIC

The annual Laurent Holdings investor reception was held on the top floor of the tower.

Glass walls. City lights stretched out in every direction. Waiters moving through the crowd with trays of champagne that never seemed to empty. The room was full of people who smiled with their teeth and calculated with their eyes.

I arrived precisely on time.

Chloe was already there.

She stood near the entrance in a deep green dress, greeting board members with the soft warmth she used like a weapon. When she saw me she crossed the space between us immediately, linking her arm through mine before I could step away.

“There you are,” she said, loud enough for the nearby cluster of investors to hear. “I was starting to worry.”

Cameras from the company’s press team turned toward us.

I smiled.

The same smile I had practiced in the mirror before leaving the apartment. Warm. Sisterly. Perfectly calibrated to look effortless.

“Traffic,” I said.

Chloe squeezed my arm. “You look beautiful. Doesn’t she?” she asked the small group beside us. A few polite murmurs answered. Someone raised a phone and took a photo.

Side by side.

The recovering heiress and the devoted stepsister.

The image would be on the company page within the hour.

We moved through the room together because separating would have caused more comment than staying linked. Chloe introduced me to two new investors from Singapore. I spoke cleanly about the logistics restructuring. She added soft comments about how hard I had been working since the hospital. Every sentence she spoke layered concern under praise.

I let her do it.

Smiling.

Nodding.

Filing every word away.

Near the main window my father stood with Richard Langley and two senior board members. When he saw us he waved us over. The press cameras followed.

“My girls,” he said, and for a moment the pride in his voice sounded real.

Chloe leaned into his side. I remained where I was, arm still loosely linked with hers, expression pleasant.

A photographer asked for a picture.

The three of us turned toward the camera. Chloe’s hand rested lightly on my father’s shoulder. My smile stayed exact. The flash went off twice.

In the original timeline a photo from this same event had been used months later in a soft feature about family unity. Chloe had looked radiant. I had looked tired. The caption had mentioned my “recent health challenges” in a single careful line.

Tonight the photo would look different.

I would make sure of it.

As the group dispersed I caught Langley’s eye. He gave me a small nod — the residual respect from the charity dinner still present. Chloe noticed the exchange. Her smile didn’t change but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my arm.

“You’re very popular tonight,” she said under her breath.

“Am I?”

“Langley doesn’t usually waste attention.” She released my arm to take a glass of champagne from a waiter. “Be careful. Attention from men like that comes with expectations.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The formal remarks began twenty minutes later.

My father spoke first. Short. Grateful. The usual language about legacy and stability. Then he invited Chloe to say a few words about the family’s commitment to the company’s future. She hadn’t been scheduled to speak. Someone had arranged it at the last moment.

She stepped up to the small podium with perfect composure.

“I only want to say how proud I am of this family,” she began. Her voice was soft but carried. “Especially my sister. She has faced difficulties recently, but she continues to show the kind of strength our mother would have admired. Laurent Holdings has always been about family first. That will never change.”

Polite applause.

Cameras clicked.

I stood in the front row and smiled as if the words had touched me.

Inside, I noted the exact phrasing.

Difficulties recently.

Strength our mother would have admired.

Family first.

Every line was doing quiet work — reminding the room that I had been unwell, positioning Chloe as the emotional center of the family, and tying the company’s identity to a unity she controlled.

When she stepped down she came straight back to my side.

The cameras were still watching.

I leaned toward her slightly, the picture of sisterly closeness, and spoke just loud enough for her to hear.

“That was well done.”

Chloe’s eyes flicked to my face. “I meant every word.”

“I know you did.”

I turned my smile toward a passing photographer and let him take the shot — the two of us close together, her looking at me, me looking calm and faintly affectionate.

The image would be clean.

The damage would come later.

I had spent the previous three days preparing a quiet packet for the head of investor relations. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that could be traced back to a personal grudge. Just a clear, well-documented timeline of certain private share movements and third-party conversations that touched Chloe’s name. The information was accurate. The framing was careful. It would not destroy her. Not tonight. Not even this month.

But it would land on the right desks tomorrow morning.

And when the first questions began, Chloe would find herself explaining things she had never planned to explain in public.

The first humiliation didn’t need to be loud.

It only needed to be precise.

As the event continued I stayed beside her. We posed for two more photos. We accepted congratulations on the family’s “unity” from people who would be reading different information within twenty-four hours. Chloe played her role flawlessly. So did I.

At one point Elena appeared at the edge of the room, watching us over the rim of her glass. Her expression was unreadable. I met her eyes briefly and gave her the same pleasant smile I was giving everyone else.

She did not return it.

Near the end of the evening Chloe excused herself to speak with a group of younger investors. I used the moment to step onto the outdoor terrace. The air was cooler there. The city stretched out below like a circuit board.

My phone vibrated.

A message from the lawyer.

Packet delivered. Confirmation of receipt from investor relations and two board observers.

I locked the screen without replying.

Behind me the glass doors opened. Chloe’s voice floated out, laughing at something someone had said. A moment later she joined me at the railing, still holding her champagne.

“There you are,” she said. “People were asking for you.”

“I needed air.”

She stood beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. For a second the posture looked intimate. A photographer inside the glass captured it through the window.

Chloe spoke without looking at me.

“You’ve been very composed tonight.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” She took a sip of her drink. “Sometimes I think you’re performing as hard as I am.”

I turned my head and smiled at her.

Warm.

Affectionate.

Exact.

“Maybe I learned from the best.”

Something flickered across her face. Not quite anger. Not quite fear. Something closer to recognition.

Then she smiled back, just as perfectly.

“We should go inside,” she said. “Father wants one more photo before people start leaving.”

“Of course.”

We walked back into the light together.

Side by side.

Arms almost linked.

Smiling for the final cameras of the night while the first real crack in her public position moved quietly toward the people who mattered.

Tomorrow the questions would start.

Tonight I gave them nothing but the image she wanted.

Two sisters.

United.

Flawless.

And only one of us knew the image was already outdated.