Chapter 5: Dressing for Battle

"A war?" Charlotte repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. Her head was throbbing. "Nancy, I don't want a war. I just want my life back."

"Your old life is dead, Char," Nancy said bluntly, dropping her spiked iced coffee onto a side table. She wasn't smiling anymore; the sharp, calculating gears of the city's best PR fixer were turning at lightning speed. "And frankly? Good riddance. Andrew was a wet paper towel of a man anyway. But we have a serious situation here. You are caught between a cheating ex who is terrified of public ruin, a backstabbing sister who wants what you have, and a billionaire who just bought your family's legacy to use as leverage."

Nancy began to pace the length of the VIP room, ticking things off her manicured fingers.

"First things first. The wedding. You are not going to say a single word to anyone. Not a tweet, not a text, not a whisper. Let Andrew sweat. The longer you stay silent, the more desperate he’ll get, and desperate men make stupid mistakes."

"What about my parents?" Charlotte asked, a knot tightening in her stomach. "Sienna has probably already gone crying to them. And you know how they are with her. She's the golden child."

Right on cue, Charlotte’s phone began to ring from inside her designer purse.

She pulled it out and stared at the screen. “Eleanor Morrison”. Nancy leaned over, catching sight of the caller ID. "Put it on speaker," she commanded, her eyes narrowing.

Charlotte took a shaky breath, swiped the screen, and placed the phone on the glass coffee table between them. "Hello, Mother."

"Charlotte! What on earth is wrong with you?" Eleanor’s voice echoed through the speaker, tight, breathless, and laced with immediate accusation. "Where are you? Your father and I have been calling for an hour. Sienna is in her bedroom in absolute hysterics, and Andrew is downstairs. They told us everything."

Charlotte's brow furrowed. "Everything? Did they tell you I caught them in bed together last night?"

"Stop this nonsense right now, Charlotte," Eleanor snapped, her tone icy and entirely dismissive. "Sienna told us exactly what happened. She said she was at Andrew's apartment innocently waiting for you so the three of you could have dinner together. She said you barged in, threw hot Italian food all over his hallway in a hysterical fit, and started screaming that you were calling off the wedding because you've been seeing someone else!"

Charlotte froze. Her stomach violently plummeted. They had actually taken the takeout she dropped in her shock and weaponized it as a prop for their lie.

"She said when Andrew refused to just let you walk away," Eleanor continued, her voice rising in pitch, "you fabricated this sick, perverted accusation about catching them in bed together just to cover up your own secret affair!"

Charlotte looked up at Nancy, whose jaw had practically unhinged in sheer, unadulterated disbelief.

"Mother," Charlotte whispered. Her voice was trembling, but not from sadness. It was shaking from a terrifying, rising rage. "I stood in his hallway and listened to them. I opened the door and saw them naked in his bed. Are you seriously taking her side? You're believing that ridiculous lie over me?"

"You know how sensitive Sienna is!" Eleanor fired back defensively. "She would never do such a thing. She's completely traumatized that her own sister would accuse her of something so vile just to ruin her reputation. Your father and I are incredibly disappointed in you, Charlotte. You've always been jealous of the attention she gets.”

Charlotte closed her eyes. It felt like she had been stabbed in the chest all over again. Her entire life, she had been the responsible one, the one holding the family together, while Sienna was coddled and spoiled. And now, they were willing to paint her as a cheating, hysterical villain just to protect Sienna's fragile image.

"Andrew’s mother is furious," Eleanor continued, oblivious to the silence on the other end. "You are coming over for dinner tonight. You are going to sit down, apologize to your sister and Andrew, and we are going to fix this wedding before the press finds out you've been running around behind his back."

Charlotte’s eyes snapped open. The last shred of the dutiful, obedient daughter completely burned away.

"There is nothing to fix," Charlotte said, her voice dropping to a frigid, emotionless register that made even Nancy shiver. "I will never apologize to either of them. And if you or Father try to force me into a room with them, I won't just call off the wedding. I will call the newspapers myself and tell them exactly whose bed Andrew Hart likes to sleep in."

"Charlotte Morrison, you will not dare—"

Charlotte ended the call and tossed the phone onto the sofa.

Nancy let out a slow, low whistle. "Well. That answers that. They didn't just stab you in the back, Char. They twisted the knife and blamed you for bleeding on the carpet." She stepped forward and gripped Charlotte’s shoulders, her eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire. "Listen to me. I am going to destroy them. I will craft a narrative so airtight that by the time I'm done, Andrew won't be able to get a dinner reservation in this city, and Sienna won't be able to show her face at a single gala without being laughed out of the room."

Charlotte let out a shaky breath. The grief was gone, replaced entirely by cold clarity. "What do I do?"

“You,” Nancy said, pointing at Charlotte, “are going to focus on Edward Stewart.”

Charlotte’s pulse spiked at the name. The memory of his dark, commanding eyes and the rough, possessive slide of his hands down her waist flashed violently through her mind.

"He wants a meeting at eight tomorrow morning," Charlotte murmured. "At Stewart Holdings."

"Then you go," Nancy said fiercely. "And you do not let him see you sweat. Your family might have abandoned you, but you still have the gallery. He thinks because he bought it, he bought you. You need to walk into that skyscraper tomorrow and remind him that Charlotte Morrison isn't some terrified little girl he can push around. You know this gallery better than anyone. You built its reputation. Don't let him make you forget that.”

7:45 AM, The Next Morning.

Charlotte stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in her townhouse.

She had not slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she either saw Andrew's panicked face, her mother's accusatory voice echoing in her ears, or she felt Edward’s breath against her neck, whispering 'Finally.' But as she looked at her reflection, she didn't look like a victim. Nancy’s words echoed in her head. She was dressing for battle.

She had chosen a razor-sharp, tailored crimson blazer over a sleek black dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Her blonde hair was pulled into a severe, elegant chignon, and her makeup was flawless. She slipped into a pair of black pointed-toe heels and grabbed her handbag.

At exactly 7:55 AM, Charlotte stepped out of the private elevator onto the top floor of Stewart Holdings.

Kevin Pierce was already waiting a short distance from the elevator.

Edward’s eight-o’clock meeting with Charlotte had been on his schedule since yesterday, and the moment the receptionist notified Kevin that Miss Morrison had arrived on the executive floor, he had stepped out to receive her.

The aesthetic was pure power—dark marble, brushed steel, and glass.

Kevin straightened as Charlotte approached.

“Miss Morrison. I’m Kevin Pierce, Mr. Stewart’s personal assistant. Mr. Stewart is expecting you.”

Charlotte gave him a brief nod.

“Right this way,” Kevin said, gesturing toward the massive double doors leading to Edward’s office.

Charlotte squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and pushed the heavy doors open.

Edward Stewart's office was vast, surrounded on three sides by towering glass windows overlooking the entire city. But Charlotte barely noticed the view. Her eyes immediately found the man sitting behind the massive dark-oak desk.

Edward was wearing a deep navy suit, no tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. He looked up from the file in front of him as she entered.

A slow, predatory heat flickered in his eyes.

He closed the file and leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers.

“Right on time,” Edward murmured. “Please, Charlotte. Lock the door and take a seat. We have a lot to discuss about your future.”