The boardroom was silent, the air so thick it could’ve cracked glass. Helena stood frozen, her lips parted in disbelief as Damian’s hand still rested, trembling, on the polished mahogany table.“Get out,” he said again, each word like broken glass.She didn’t argue. Just turned sharply on her heel and exited, heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor.Damian didn’t move. He just stared at the spot where she’d stood, eyes distant, knuckles white.But the damage wasn’t done.Not even close.⸻Two hours later, the dossier was in his hands.She’d waited for the heat to fade before striking again. This time, she didn’t scream or sabotage in public. She waited until Damian was alone in his office, lights low, tie loosened, and handed him a single, unmarked folder.“No cameras. No reporters,” Helena said. “Just facts.”Damian opened it. Slowly. Warily.Inside were half a dozen glossy photos. Surveillance-style. One looked like Ava entering a run-down building in East London, head
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