Chapter Eighteen

Elena  

By midnight, Damien’s apartment looks nothing like a home. The dining table is covered in laptops, open files, scattered photos—both the real ones and the edited ones, lined up like evidence in a crime scene.

Three strangers sit there, all of them too calm, too sharp, the kind of people rich men call when things go bad.

“Elena,” Damien says, “my team.”

He points to a man with military posture. “Robert Chen. Head of corporate security.”

Robert nods once. Cold, precise.

Next is a woman with a sleek suit and unreadable eyes. “Diana Kowalski. My personal attorney.”

She gives me a thin smile. “Ms. Martinez. I’ve been briefed.”

Of course she has.

“And James Park,” Damien adds, “digital forensics.”

James is young, already typing on three keyboards at once. “Those photos sent to Marcus?” he says without looking up. “Beginners’ work. Metadata still on. Sloppy edits. Whoever did it isn’t a pro.”

“Or wants us to think that,” Diana says.

“Doesn’t matter,” James replies. “They’re traceable.”

He taps faster. A screen lights up. “Three IP addresses used over two weeks. Two masked by VPNs. But one—” he grins, “—one came directly from Blackwood Enterprises. Ninth floor.”

“Claire’s floor,” I say.

“Her terminal,” Robert confirms. “She has access. But fifteen people use it.”

Damien leans forward. “Narrow it down.”

James nods, fingers flying. “Working on it. Cross-referencing building access logs, email timestamps, meeting records.”

I sit, overwhelmed by the quiet efficiency. This is what power looks like. Not noise. Not chaos. Just people who know exactly what they’re doing.

Damien places a cup of coffee beside me. “You okay?”

“No,” I admit. “You called one number and built an entire war room.”

He looks at me, steady, sure. “I protect what’s mine.”

I swallow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says softly. “Maybe we haven’t labeled it yet. But to me? You are.”

The words shouldn’t warm me. But they do.

“Got it.” James turns his computer. “Only three people accessed Claire’s terminal at the upload times. Claire herself. Marcus Vale.” He glances at Damien. “And the third person—Victoria Blackwood.”

The room freezes.

“My mother?” Damien asks.

James nods. “Logs show her accessing Claire’s station four separate nights. After hours.”

“That makes no sense,” Diana says.

“She has her own office,” Damien mutters. “Her own terminal. Why would she use Claire’s?”

“To avoid digital fingerprints,” Robert replies. “Make it look like Claire instead.”

I whisper, “Why would your mother want me gone?”

Damien is quiet. Too quiet. Then he says, “The vote. She wants to take the company public. I’ve blocked it for a year.”

“And a scandal,” Diana realizes, “would weaken your influence on the board.”

“Exactly,” Damien says.

“So she tries to push Elena out,” Robert adds, “and destabilize you at the same time.”

My stomach twists. “Your own mother?”

“You don’t understand Victoria,” Damien says. Bitterness edges his voice. “She loves the legacy more than the people in it. If she thinks I’m not strong enough to lead, she’ll burn everything to force my hand.”

James keeps typing. “I’ll trace the photo edits. Same software leaves a digital signature. If she downloaded or bought it with any account tied to her, I’ll find it.”

“Do it,” Damien orders.

My phone vibrates. I check it.

Sophia:

Whatever you’re doing, hurry. Claire just sent a company-wide email announcing your resignation. Official reason: ‘personal conduct incompatible with company values.’ People are already whispering.

I show Damien.

His jaw locks.

“That’s defamation,” Diana says. “We can sue.”

“Not yet,” Damien replies. “That email means one thing—they’re afraid. They know we’re digging.”

“Or they’re planning to leak the fake photos to the board,” Robert warns.

“Then we move faster,” Damien says. “By morning, we confront them.”

He snaps into CEO mode.

“Robert, I want a month of building access logs.”

“Diana, prepare a presentation, airtight.”

“James, trace everything—photos, emails, calls. Find the link to Victoria.”

They scatter like soldiers after orders.

Damien turns to me. “You should rest.”

“No.”

“Elena—”

“I’m not sleeping while you fight for me. Put me to work.”

Something softens in his eyes. “Okay. Sit with James. Help him analyze the real photos versus the edited ones. You know the truth. He needs that.”

For five hours, that’s what I do.

We go through every photo. Every angle.

“This one was taken at night, but the light looks like morning.”

“This window faces west, not east.”

“He was across the room, not standing that close.”

“My shirt wasn’t white. They changed the color.”

James builds an evidence wall. Real vs. fake. Truth vs. manipulation.

At 5 AM, we have a workable case.

At 6 AM, Diana’s presentation is sharp enough to cut steel.

At 7 AM, Robert confirms something huge:

“Victoria’s personal credit card purchased the editing software,” he announces. “Same version used to alter the photos.”

Damien closes his eyes, just for a second. “She really did this.”

“She underestimated you both,” Diana says.

“No.” Damien looks straight at me. “She underestimated Elena.”

I feel that. Deep.

He steps closer. “The board meets at eight. You don’t have to come.”

“I’m coming.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“She threatened my grandmother. Tried to ruin my life. I want to see her face when the truth hits.”

He studies me. Then nods. “You sit in the back. Quiet. No reactions. Let us handle everything.”

“I will.”

At 7:45 AM, everything is ready. James hands Damien a USB drive. “Complete evidence package.”

We head downstairs. In the car, Damien stares out the window, jaw tight.

“You okay?” I ask.

“No,” he admits. “I’m about to expose my own mother. Strip her power. Possibly have her removed from the board.” He breathes out. “But she crossed a line.”

He looks at me.

“She made you a target. She tried to control me through fear. That ends today.”

The Blackwood Tower is waking up when we arrive.

We take the executive elevator up.

The boardroom is glass and steel, bright with morning light.

Victoria sits at the head of the table, elegant in a cream suit, her silver hair perfect. When she sees Damien, she smiles like a queen greeting her heir.

When she sees me, the smile freezes.

“Damien,” she says. “Why is she here?”

“Elena is here because she has information relevant to this meeting.”

Her eyes sharpen. “This meeting is about her misconduct.”

“No,” Damien says. Calm. Lethal. “This meeting is about the blackmail campaign against her.”

Victoria doesn’t flinch, but something cold slides into her gaze.

Other board members enter. Marcus walks in, confused. Papers rustle. The room fills.

At 8 AM sharp, Damien stands.

“Thank you for coming on short notice. We’re here because someone inside this company has orchestrated a targeted attack against a Blackwood employee—and attempted to use manipulated evidence to pressure her resignation.”

Diana clicks the first slide.

The screen lights up with the doctored photos… then the originals.

And that is when Victoria’s face finally cracks.

The war officially begins.

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