All Chapters of The Dead Bride's Revenge: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The meeting ended.Nobody rushed for the door.Folders stayed open across the polished table. Coffee had gone cold. Someone had forgotten a pen near the projector. Small things. Ordinary things.Yet the room felt different.A decision had been made that none of them would have imagined six months earlier.Arthur Bennett remained seated while the others gathered their papers."You look unhappy," he said.The chairman gave a dry laugh."We've just voted to hand creative control of our luxury division to someone we've never met."Arthur shrugged."Or we've admitted we should have met her sooner."The chairman didn't answer.There wasn't much left to say.Across the room, the legal director was already making notes."If we're doing this," she said, "it has to be different."The marketing director nodded."No partnership proposal.""No s

The call ended. Wren placed her phone beside the invitation and sat back in her chair. For several seconds she did nothing. Then she opened the document again. There was one page she had not studied closely enough. The final section. The authority attached to her proposed position.She read it once. Then again. A smile touched the corner of her mouth. They had given her exactly what she needed. She picked up her pen and circled three paragraphs."Creative appointments.""Internal access.""Executive reporting."Those three sections mattered more than the salary. She reached for her laptop. The first file she opened contained everything Calloway had gathered on Wrexley Group during the past eighteen months.Corporate structure. Subsidiaries. Board members. Acquisitions. Charitable foundations. Private holdings. Legal disputes. Nothing had been left to chance. She added one new folder.WREXLEY.Then she created another inside it.ACCESS.She stared at the empty folder for a moment. Soon

The private jet touched down shortly after nine in the morning, and by the time Wren unfastened her seat belt, her phone had already begun to vibrate—once, then again, then three times in quick succession. She didn’t need to look at the screen to know what awaited her. Her legal team would have been first, followed by her assistant, and then someone from Calloway’s European office. The pattern was always the same. News moved faster than intention, and the moment the aircraft had entered the city’s airspace, someone, somewhere, had noticed.Private arrivals rarely stayed private when the person stepping off the plane was Wren Calloway. Lucian stood before her and held out his hand. “Ready?”Wren looked at it for a moment, expression unreadable. “No.”He nodded once, as if that answer was the only one he had expected. “Good answer.”She took his hand anyway and rose.The private terminal was meant to shield them from the press, but it had already failed. Cameras waited beyond the securi

The office was larger than Wren expected, although size had never been something she cared about. It had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a dark wooden desk positioned directly in front of them, two leather chairs near the wall and a small sitting area that looked as though nobody had ever actually sat there. Everything was expensive without trying too hard to look expensive. A bottle of champagne waited on the desk beside a folder containing her new access credentials, and a small brass plaque had already been fixed outside the door with her name engraved across it. WREN CALLOWAY. She stared at it for several seconds before walking inside.Lucian followed her. "You hate it." "I didn't say that." "You've been standing in the doorway for thirty seconds.""I was reading.""You were glaring."Wren looked at him. "There's a difference.""Not with you."She walked toward the desk and placed her handbag beside the champagne. "The office is fine." Lucian looked around. "You're

Wren became more careful after Killian asked if they had met before. She did not change her schedule or suddenly avoid him, because either reaction would have been worse than the mistake itself. Instead, she started paying attention to the small things she had stopped noticing years ago. The way she picked up her pen. The hand she used when reaching across the table. The position of her head when someone said something she didn't believe. She had spent so long changing the obvious parts of herself that she had forgotten the body had its own memory. A new name could be printed on a passport. A new accent could be practised until it sounded natural. A different hairstyle could make an old photograph almost useless. The little habits were harder. They appeared before she had time to think about them.She noticed the first one during a meeting with the finance team. Someone placed a file near the edge of the table, just outside her reach, and Wren reached for it with her left hand without