The Kane Industries executive suite had transformed into a war room. Phones rang without pause. Screens displayed financial tickers bleeding red. In the center of the chaos stood Camille, her face a mask of calm.
“They’re calling from everywhere,” Hannah said, covering her phone. “Forbes, CNN, MSNBC. They all want a statement about the photos.”
Camille stared at the largest screen showing the New York Spectator’s website with her and Alexander’s private moment splashed across it. Their embrace on his yacht, now public property.
“Who leaked these?” she asked, her voice controlled despite the violation she felt.
“We’re working on it,” said Michael Chen, head of security. “The metadata suggests they were taken three days ago on Mr. Pierce’s yacht.”
Camille’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup. Three days ago. The afternoon she had allowed herself a few hours of peace. The first time she had felt truly alive since Victoria’s collapse.
Her phone buzzed. Alexander.
*I’m downstairs. Security won’t let me up.*
She texted back: *Coming down.*
“I’ll be back in five minutes,” she told Hannah. “Keep monitoring the stock situation.”
“It’s still falling,” Hannah warned. “Down twenty–three points since the photos hit, and the financial allegations aren’t helping.”
The fabricated documents suggesting Alexander had pursued her for insider information had emerged just as the photo scandal peaked. A perfect one–two punch designed to destroy her reputation and their relationship.
Camille rode the private elevator down. When the doors opened, she spotted Alexander immediately.
“This way,” she said, leading him to another elevator requiring her thumbprint. Once inside, away from prying eyes, her guard dropped slightly.
“I’m sorry,” Alexander said immediately. “I should have been more careful. My security team is trying to determine…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Camille interrupted. “It was a targeted attack. The timing, the financial ‘revelations‘ emerging right after the photos, this was planned.”
Alexander’s face darkened. “Rose and Herod.”
Camille nodded. “Who else would benefit from discrediting us both simultaneously?”
The elevator opened directly into Victoria’s office, now temporarily Camille’s.
“The board is meeting in an hour,” Camille said. “Several members have already called for my resignation.”
“Based on what? That you have a personal life?”
“Based on the suggestion that my personal life creates a conflict of interest.” She gestured to a tablet. “These documents they’re circulating, they’re fake, but convincing. Emails showing you pursued me for information about Kane Industries. Records suggesting you’ve been buying our stock through proxies.”
Alexander scanned the article with growing anger. “These emails never existed. I can prove it.”
“By the time we prove it, the damage will be done.” Camille turned toward the window. “They’re trying to force a crisis of confidence. If the stock falls far enough, Herod can move to acquire controlling interest.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Alexander said firmly.
Camille turned back to him. “We need to be strategic. The board will want to separate us publicly to stabilize the stock price.”
Alexander stepped closer. “And what do you want?”
The question hung between them. What did she want? For months, her focus had been on revenge, then on Victoria’s recovery, then on proving herself worthy. Her own desires had seemed irrelevant.
Until Alexander. Until that afternoon when she had allo
omething beyond victory.
Successfully unlocked!
“I want…” she began, then stopped as the door opened.
Victoria Kane stood in the doorway.
Camille froze. Victoria should still be at home recovering. The surgery had been successful, but her doctors had recommended another week of rest.
1/3
Chapter 119
“Victoria,” she said, moving forward. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Victoria waved away her concern, walking in with only the slightest stiffness. Despite her recent surgery, she radiated authority, dressed impeccably in a charcoal suit.
“I go where I’m needed,” she said simply. “And clearly, I’m needed here.”
She crossed to her desk, setting down a small leather portfolio. Her gaze traveled from Camille to Alexander, assessing them both.
“So,” she said finally. “This is our crisis.”
She gestured to the New York Spectator website still displayed.
“Yes,” Camille acknowledged, bracing for disappointment or anger.
Instead, Victoria nodded thoughtfully. “Sit down, both of you. We don’t have much time before the board meeting.”
They obeyed, taking chairs across from Victoria.
“The photos are real,” Victoria stated. Not a question.
“Yes,” Camille confirmed. “Taken without our knowledge three days ago.”
“And the financial documents? The emails?”
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