All Chapters of MISTRESS OF THE GAME: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

STORMI stayed in my office while all the teams were digging through the layers of records, contracts, and system codes. The room outside buzzed with low conversation, clicking keyboards, and shuffling documents. I sat back in my leather chair, watching the movement through the glass wall. They looked like bees in a hive; busy, purposeful, and desperate not to fail me. Good. Fear and money kept them sharp.My phone buzzed a few times with calls, and some messages. I didn’t even check who it was. I had no patience for anyone else right now. I pressed the power button, watched the screen die, and set it face down on my desk. For once, I wanted to be untraceable, disconnected from every distraction except the one right in front of me.Hours dragged by in silence on my end. By noon, the gnawing in my stomach pulled me back to reality. I stepped out into the wide conference room where Dante stood like a sentinel, arms folded, eyes sweeping over the accountants and tech analysts as if he we

STORMI sat at my desk, the weight of silence pressing against my skull like a vice. The office was dim, only the glow from the desk lamp spreading a circle of weak yellow light over the papers, the flash drive, and the laptop screen. I had shut the world out deliberately. no calls, no noise, no interruptions. All I wanted was clarity.But clarity wasn’t what I got.The email chain between Roland and Garrick was staring back at me, each line a blade carving deeper into my chest. For years, years, they had been plotting. The messages were dry, coded in that smug way traitors think makes them clever. Phrases like “as planned” or “as discussed” littered the threads. At first glance, they seemed harmless, but I knew better. These men were not amateurs. Most of their conversations didn’t live in the emails. They existed in phone calls, meetings behind closed doors, whispered deals in dark corners of restaurants I probably paid for.I scrolled through, slower this time, letting the bile ris

STORMAt around noon, while I was still plotting how I would navigate through the layers of betrayal and hidden plots against me, Dante stepped into the office with a look that told me he carried something weighty. His eyes were steady but restless, and when he closed the door behind him, the silence that filled the room was suffocating.“Sir,” he said, voice clipped but urgent.I leaned back in my chair, narrowing my eyes at him. “What do you have for me, Dante?”He approached the desk and placed a flash drive in front of me. “We have audio and visual recordings of Roland plotting with Garrick. Although Garrick will probably wriggle out of this with a good lawyer, Roland is definitely finished. The evidence is too solid.”The words tightened something in my chest. Roland, my trusted man for years, was finally unmasked. I picked up the flash drive, weighing it in my hand like it was a stone I could use to shatter his skull. “Great,” I said, my voice low and deliberate. “Let me have it

MARIEStorm shut the door without answering me that morning and the silence settled like a weight I could not lift. He left me with the question hanging in the air, unclaimed, the space between us stretching wider every hour he was gone. Days bled into weeks and weeks into months. The house was a gilded cage and the ocean outside the windows only reminded me of how small I felt within it.I tried to measure my life in small things to keep from losing the shape of myself altogether. I learned the angles of the beach house, where the light pooled best in the afternoon, how the wooden floor warmed under bare feet at noon, the exact rhythm the refrigerator hummed when it thought no one was listening. I watched the cook move through the kitchen like ritual: palms on the counter, measured pinches of salt, a hum under her breath that seemed to promise continuity. I looked for Sheila like someone groping for a thread at the back of a tapestry, certain it had to be there somewhere. Sometimes I

STORMI did not sleep well that night. The hospital lights had bled into my head, the steady beep of machines stitched into the fabric of my thoughts. I had booked a room in a hotel close enough to the hospital to be there in minutes but far enough away that its anonymity soothed me. I needed the space to think, to put together the pieces that had splintered in the last ten weeks.By dawn I was restless. The sun tore through the curtains and I found myself thinking of Marie not as a problem to be solved but as a person who had nearly been broken beyond repair. There are moments when power feels hollow; this was one of them. I had built walls to protect what was mine, and yet those walls had kept out the one person I did not want to lose. I had told myself I could control everything. The truth was uglier. I had never been good at handing over freedom to someone else, not without a plan to protect my own interests. The baby we had never met had changed something in me I was not ready to