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The flowers arrived faster than even the outrage faded. White roses, red roses, orchids. Luxury arrangements large enough to crowd my whole sitting room. By evening, there were more gifts than table space. Designer handbags, jewelry, even handwritten letters from celebrities. And most importantly, brand packages tied with silk ribbons. The television across the room continued cycling through my face every few minutes. “We stand with Eva Sterling #cancelDharkholdings” “Public Support Surges.” “Fans Rally Behind Actress Following Abuse Allegations.” I watched quietly from the couch while my assistant sorted through contracts on the marble dining table nearby. “Belle AO officially wants you as the face of their new campaign,” she said informed me. “They’re increasing the offer if you agree to the interview circuit.” I smiled faintly then. “Of course they are.” Sympathy sold beautifully… when packaged correctly, that is. Another notification flashed across the screen. Wom
I hadn’t gotten any proper sleep. By the time morning settled over the city, I was still sitting in the downstairs lounge in yesterday’s clothes, my tie loosened slightly, my injured, bandaged hand resting against the arm of the chair while untouched coffee cooled beside me. The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. It had always been quiet, even with the staff. But now, it just felt abandoned. My gaze moved slowly across the room. Claire’s books were still arranged on one of the shelves exactly the way she used to leave them. A tea set she once insisted looked “less depressing” than the black porcelain I preferred still sat untouched near the kitchen entrance. Even the flowers near the windows reminded me of her. White carnations. I hated carnations. But Claire had loved them. And somehow, despite everything, no one had replaced them. I leaned back slowly, exhaustion pulling heavily at the edges of my body. The worst part was that I could still remember her here too clearly
The hospital looked different in daylight. Not calmer, but quieter in a way that somehow made everything feel much more grim. The sharp panic from the previous night had dulled into exhaustion now, mixed with abandoned coffee cups and low conversations spoken in tired voices. Associates from Sinclair & Co. were beginning to leave one by one, reluctantly returning to work and courtrooms and lives that could not be stopped simply because Margot Sinclair’s had. I sat in the waiting area with my untouched coffee cooling between my hands, staring at the ICU doors again like I was in a trance, waiting for a miracle to happen. But nothing had changed. Margot was still unconscious. Still critical, still unmoving behind glass and machines and sterile white walls. Nathaniel sat beside me quietly. I would feel his shoulder brush against mine occasionally whenever someone walked past too closely. Thankfully, he hadn’t pressured me to speak all night or even tried to force comfo
By the time the last investor disconnected, I could barely feel my hands anymore. The screen in front of me dimmed slightly going off completely, returning to the reflection of my own face. Tired. And failing. Another call notification appeared almost immediately. From Tokyo. The fourth international partner that day. I answered without hesitation— because I had no choice. “We value our relationship with Dhark Holdings,” the man said carefully, but the practiced diplomacy almost felt insulting now. “But given the current climate, our board believes it would be… prudent to suspend negotiations until the situation stabilizes.” ‘Suspend’ was corporate language for retreat— I knew that better than anyone. “I understand,” I replied evenly. That was a lie. Nothing about this was understandable, but I knew I couldn’t convince them otherwise. “We hope this matter resolves itself quickly.” It won’t. Because scandals faded. But public hatred? That lasted. The
The drive to the hospital felt endless, even though Nathaniel was speeding through half the city. Even with the traffic parting faster than usual once people recognized the emergency lights escorting one of the Sinclair & Co vehicles ahead of us. It still felt way too slow. I sat rigidly in the passenger seat, my phone clenched tightly in my hand while I tried to steady my breathing. Nathaniel hadn’t tried forcing conversation during the drive. He knew better. Still, every few minutes, he glanced at me briefly, checking. Grounding. “We don’t know how bad it is yet,” he said carefully at one point. I stared ahead, unmoved by his attempt to reassure me. “They said she’s unconscious.” “That doesn’t mean—” “I know what it means.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but Nathaniel didn’t react. After a moment, his voice lowered slightly. “Claire.” I closed my eyes briefly. And immediately, I saw Margot again outside the courthouse, watching me. Hesita
Nathaniel’s home was quieter than I expected. Not empty, not cold. Just… calm. The kind of calm I still didn’t entirely know what to do with. Soft jazz played somewhere low in the background, blending into the muted sounds of the city. The kitchen lights cast a soft, gold glow across the marble counters, and for once, there were no files spread between us. No courtroom strategies, no headlines, no discussions about Langford vs Virex or KVEK or even Lucian Dhark. Just dinner. Or at least our attempt at it. “You’re cutting those like you’re angry at them,” Nathaniel observed dryly from across the counter. I glanced up from the vegetables beneath my knife. “Maybe I am.” “That tomato had a family, Claire.” I rolled my eyes, letting out an amused breath and continued slicing the tomatoes. Nathaniel smiled faintly at that before returning his attention to the pan on the stove. The entire scene felt strangely domestic. Strangely easy. And somehow, I realized
The house was too quiet. But not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the dreadful one. The kind of quiet that made one feel watched. I sat on my bed, staring at the unsigned divorce papers on my desk. I told myself I was waiting for stability. For a first paycheck that would let me leave wit
I felt uneasy the minute I walked through the door. I couldn’t help but wonder why the estate administration had sent me a message; “Mrs. Dhark, please return to the mansion immediately. Your presence is required.” Deep down, I was quietly satisfied. The interview was over. And although I didn
Eva and I stood there for several seconds, staring each other down with pure resentment. That’s when Lucian entered the room. As expected, he immediately took a stand beside Eva. “What’s going on here?” He inquired. “She involved a lawyer.” Eva said, pointing an accusatory finger at me.
Less than an hour after the gala, I contacted an old classmate of mine, who had grown into a prominent lawyer. That was how I was able to get Margot’s phone number. I waited until the house went quiet before I sent the message. It was a simple, professional text. ‘Thank you for the opportun







