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Chapter 027: Boardroom

Siyah Mcluxe
last update Veröffentlichungsdatum: 11.08.2026 20:20:20

Natasha's POV

The conference table was longer than my old apartment.

I noticed that first, walking in — the sheer, unnecessary length of it, glass and polished steel stretching out under lights bright enough to make every gray hair and every expensive watch in the room equally visible, and eleven men already seated who all turned, briefly, to register my arrival before turning back to their coffee like I'd already stopped being interesting.

Ace pulled out the chair beside his own withou
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    Noel's POV "Twenty thousand isn't going to feel real to you in six months, Devon. Debt like yours never does. It just becomes the weather." He flinched at that, which was exactly the reaction I wanted — not offense, just the specific, tired flinch of someone hearing an uncomfortable truth said plainly by a stranger who clearly understood his situation better than his own family did. The coffee shop hummed around us, crowded and anonymous in the particular way I'd chosen it for, forty conversations happening at once, the espresso machine hissing every few seconds, everyone around us absorbed in their own laptops and conversations, exactly the kind of crowd I'd chosen the place for. "I don't even know what you actually want me to do," Devon said, low, glancing at the manila folder I'd slid halfway across the table like it might leave fingerprints. "I left Bloom and Co. eight months ago. I don't have current access to anything. They'd have wiped my credentials the day I resigned.

  • The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife    Chapter 034: A Client Named Harrington

    Cassandra's POV "You just left the name field blank?" Noel's voice, sharp through the phone, somewhere between amused and appalled, the exact register she used when she thought I'd done something reckless and hadn't yet decided whether she approved. "Requested it be withheld entirely," I said, checking my reflection in the elevator mirror one last time before the doors opened. "Cleaner than a fake name. A fake name is still a thread someone can eventually pull on. No name at all is just — nothing. Nothing to trace, nothing to deny later if she asks." "You could have sent someone else in your place." "I could have. I wanted to see what she does without a script waiting for her." I stepped out into the lobby, heels clicking sharp against polished stone. "You've told me she's soft. Overwhelmed. Riding entirely on Ace's money and Ace's security detail. I'd like to see that for myself before I stake my time on tearing it apart." Noel didn't answer that right away, which told

  • The Billionaire's Scandalous Fat Wife    Chapter 033: Building Something Hers

    Natasha's POV "Tell me you're not still living on gas station coffee and adrenaline." Priya said it the second she walked through the office door, two paper cups balanced in one hand, a garment bag over her shoulder that turned out to hold, when she finally set it down, three framed prints she'd apparently had made without asking me — old event photos, ones from years back at Bloom & Co. that neither of us had ever gotten proper credit for. "I switched to real coffee yesterday," I said. "Progress." "Barely." She looked around the space with an expression somewhere between pride and disbelief, taking in the exposed brick, the long worktable I'd found secondhand and had refinished myself over a weekend, the single elegant chandelier the previous tenant had left behind that I'd decided, against all reasonable financial sense, was nonnegotiable. "It's real, Natasha. Two weeks ago this was a sketch on a napkin. Now it's — this." "It's real," I agreed, and felt the truth of that settl

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    Ace's POV The restaurant was still less than ten minutes behind us — the warmth of it, the too-warm bread, two hours of easy, ordinary conversation that had felt, for the first time since this entire disaster began, like something close to a normal life — when I stared at the message for longer than I should have before I showed it to her. The highway unspooled dark and empty past the windows, streetlights strobing across the interior of the car in slow, indifferent intervals, and I read the words again in the glow of my own screen, trying to decide whether showing her was protection or accusation, and hating that I couldn't immediately tell the difference. She's not who you think she is. Ask her what she's really been building behind your back with the board seat you handed her. Twenty four words. No name attached, no evidence offered, nothing that could be traced or verified or disproven outright — just a clean, surgical insinuation dropped into my night with the precision of s

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