Agatha POV:
The walls of the conference room seemed to spin around me, the voices of the board members fading into a distant, muffled hum. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles turning white, my body swaying precariously.
"Ms. De Rossi, are you alright?" Sarah's voice, sharp with concern, cut through the fog in my brain.
"I… I just need a moment," I stammered, my voice a shaky whisper, my hand reaching up to my forehead, trying to steady myself, to push back the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me.
But it was no use. The room tilted, the faces around the table blurring, the floor rushing up to meet me. And then, darkness.
I woke up to the insistent beeping of a machine, the scent of antiseptic stinging my
Agatha POV:The warmth of Charles’s arms around me in that chaotic emergency room, the solid feel of his chest against mine, had been a momentary, deceptive haven. It was the primal fear talking then, the relief of seeing him alive, the undeniable pull of a connection that refused to be severed, no matter how frayed or toxic it had become. But back in the sterile grandeur of his penthouse, with the adrenaline fading and the reality of our situation crashing back in, the illusion of safety shattered.He’d been discharged just a few hours after I’d rushed to St. Jude’s. "Superficial injuries," the doctor had said, "a mild concussion, some bruising." But looking at him now, pacing the length of his enormous living room like a caged tiger, his arm in a sling, a livid bruise blooming on his cheekbone, "superficial" felt like a gross understatement. The attack had been real, violent. And it had changed him. Or, perhaps, it had simply stripped away another layer of his carefully construc
Agatha POV:"Yes, Sarah?" I answered the phone."Ms. De Rossi," Sarah’s voice was tight, high-pitched with panic. "It's… it's Mr. Campbell! There's been… an accident!"Ice flooded my veins. The world tilted, the budget figures swimming violently before my eyes. "Accident?" I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. "What kind of accident? Is he… is he okay?""I don't know!" Sarah sounded close to tears. "Someone from his office just called, Thompson, I think? Said Mr. Campbell's car was hit… a hit-and-run downtown. They're taking him to St. Jude's, but he didn't know how badly hurt he is…"The carefully constructed walls I’d built around my heart crumbled instantly. The anger, the suspicion, the fear
Nathan POV:The image flickered on the cheap laptop screen, grainy footage from a hidden camera I’d paid a disgruntled security tech (courtesy of Manuel’s untraceable funds) to install overlooking the entrance to Agatha’s ridiculously opulent mansion.There they were. Campbell, playing the dutiful partner, opening the car door for her, his hand lingering possessively on her back as she stepped out. Agatha, pale and tired, offering him a tight, forced smile before disappearing inside.My teeth ground together. His hand on her back.The sight sent a familiar surge of bile rising in my throat. P
Charles POV:The sleek, minimalist reception area of Moretti Legal was offensively serene. Soft lighting, muted grey tones. It projected an image of calm competence, of controlled efficiency. An image that did nothing to soothe the tempest raging inside me."Mr. Campbell," the receptionist, a young woman with sharp eyes, greeted me with professional, if slightly wary, politeness."Do you have an appointment with Ms. Moretti?""No," I stated flatly, striding past her towards the frosted glass door bearing Lena Moretti's name. "But she'll see me."I didn't bother knocking. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.Lena Moretti looked up from the documents spread across her wide, uncluttered desk,
Charles POV:The sharp click of the phone disconnecting echoed in the sudden silence of my office.Agatha stood frozen, the color drained from her face, her eyes wide with a horror that mirrored the jolt of pure panic shooting through my own system.Lena Moretti. That interfering, sharp-tongued lawyer.What the hell had she just told Agatha? Something about Nathan, clearly. Something devastating, judging by Agatha's reaction.My mind raced, calculating angles, assessing damage, scrambling for control. This was bad. This could undo everything."Agatha, what is it?" I demanded, striding towards her. "What did she say?"I snatched the phone f
Agatha POV:"Lena," I answered, my voice tight, trying to sound normal, professional, acutely aware of Charles standing rigidly by the window, his back to me, but radiating tension like a high-voltage wire. "What is it? What leak?""Agatha," Lena’s voice was low, urgent, stripped of its usual calm professionalism. It sounded… strained. Scared. "Are you sitting down? Are you alone?"My heart lurched. "No, Charles is here," I whispered, glancing nervously towards his still figure. "Why? Lena, what's happened?""Okay," Lena took a deep breath, the sound crackling slightly over the line. "Okay. Just… listen. Don't react if you can help it. This is… bad, Agatha. Really bad.""Lena, you're scaring me. Tell me." My knuckles wer
Agatha POV:"...so if we shift the Q4 projections for the micro-optics division slightly, it buys us breathing room with the Tanaka investment without raising immediate red flags for the rest of the board." Charles tapped a pen against the polished surface of my desk – Dad’s desk – his brow furrowed in concentration. He’d shown up unannounced an hour ago, ostensibly to discuss NexGen strategy, though his presence always felt like more than just business these days. Ever since the hospital, since Dad started recovering… things between Charles and me were… complicated. Strained. He acted like everything was fine, like our brief intimacy had sealed something permanent, but I kept pulling back, needing space he seemed unwilling to grant."It's aggressive, Charles," I countered, leaning back in my chair, trying to focus on the figures he’d laid out, not on the way his knee occasionally brushed mine under the desk. "Moving those projections relies heavily on the successful rollout of Pha
Nathan POV:The chipped Formica tabletop felt gritty beneath my elbows.Outside the grimy window of this third-rate apartment Manuel had dug up, the city skyline was a distant, mocking silhouette.No penthouse views here. Just peeling paint, the lingering smell of stale cigarettes, and the constant drip, drip, drip from a leaky faucet in the kitchenette sink – a fitting soundtrack to the wreckage of my life.After knocking James Wei out cold back in his NYC office, I’d made that frantic call to Campbell, thinking I could leverage what I knew, maybe force an alliance against Wei. What a joke. Campbell had probably laughed after hanging up.I’d grabbed Wei’s burner phone – the one he used for his dirtiest dealings – and bolted, getting o
Agatha POV:The automatic doors of St. Jude's Hospital slid open with a quiet whoosh, admitting us into the familiar chill of conditioned air, tinged with the unavoidable scent of antiseptic and floor cleaner.Beside me, Charles radiated an almost unnerving enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach."Ready, darling?" He placed a hand on the small of my back, a proprietary gesture that had become disturbingly frequent."Aldo's going to be so thrilled to see you looking so well. And to hear our news, of course.""Charles, we talked about this," I started, trying to keep my voice low, even. "I don't think today is the day to…""Nonsense," he inter