Chapter 22
May 30, 2025
Rhys’s POV
I hadn’t slept in three days. I told Bianca I had a client dinner. I told my assistant I needed time to realign. I told myself I was fine. Lie. God-tier delusion. Truth was, I couldn’t stop seeing her. Celene, in that damn red dress. Looking like revenge had a heartbeat. Looking like she’d finally found the version of herself I always tried to tame, and left that version of me behind. And now? Now I missed her more than I ever admitted I loved her.
It was 1:42 a.m. when I opened the old Monroe archive drive. No reason. Just a habit. Ghosts. Maybe guilt. I was scrolling through outdated files, watching myself spiral, when something caught my eye. No subject. No signature. Just a quiet little bomb buried in an internal thread.
A forwarded file labeled “Projections_2022_RECONFIDENTIAL.” Attached was a spreadsheet. Numbers that looked… wrong. Off. Misaligned by design. Then I saw it. The metadata. Celene’s name. Her employee ID. Her credentials all over the access trail. It was clean. Too clean. Perfect, if you didn’t know her. But I did. And she didn’t use hyphens in subject lines. She didn’t save files without versioning. And she sure as hell didn’t sign off without a header tag.
This wasn’t a mistake. This was planted. Sloppy tone. Fake urgency. The language, mechanical, cold. Like someone tried to mimic her and ended up sounding like a machine in lipstick. And the timestamp? It was the night of the launch gala. She was on stage that entire night. Lit from every angle. I know, I watched her like a man starved.
She didn’t send that file. She couldn’t have. I opened my VPN tracer and followed the IP breadcrumb trail. A bad proxy. Bad on purpose. They wanted it traced. Wanted someone to look. To doubt. To accuse. And just like that, I saw it. Not a file. A setup.
I was out the door before my pulse even caught up. Didn’t grab a jacket. Didn’t think so. Just rage in my throat and keys in my hand.
It was past midnight when I found myself standing in front of my mother’s townhouse. The lights were still on.
Of course they were. People like Vivian Carrington didn’t sleep when they were orchestrating someone else’s downfall. I stormed inside without knocking. Bianca was on the couch, barefoot, drinking wine like we didn’t share a bank account and a broken reputation.
She blinked. “Rhys? What the hell-”
“Where is it?” I snapped. “The file. The one with Celene’s name on it.” Her face didn’t twitch. Not guilt. Not fear. Just… calm. Too calm.
“What file?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” I barked. “I found the leak. The one you both set up to make her look like she tanked Monroe projections. It’s traced to her ID. Her drafts folder. Are you serious right now?!” Vivian entered the room, regal and composed in a silk robe like this was tea hour.
She set her glass down without blinking. “Lower your voice, Rhys.”
“I’m not here to be polite,” I hissed. “I want answers.”
Vivian walked to the fireplace, eyes never leaving mine. “And what if I told you… we’re protecting the company?”
I laughed. Bitter. Ugly. “By crucifying the only person who didn’t abandon it?”
Bianca scoffed behind me. “Oh please. She was never one of us.”
“Exactly,” Vivian said. “She was an interloper. A threat. And threats are neutralized.”
My fists clenched. “You will sabotage her. You will make it look like she leaked confidential projections during a launch. That’s not a business strategy, that’s character assassination.”
Vivian’s eyes turned cold. “She doesn’t belong in the seat your father built. She doesn’t understand the legacy.”
“She understands work. Something you and Bianca know nothing about.”
Bianca’s wine glass slammed against the table. “You’re seriously defending her? After everything she did to us?”
“She didn’t destroy this family,” I said. “We did.”
Vivian’s voice dropped. Sharp. Controlled. Lethal. “Careful, Rhys. You’re dangerously close to choosing the wrong side.” I stared at her. Then at Bianca. Then down at my own shaking hands. God. What side was I even on anymore? The silence stretched. Until finally, I said nothing. I turned and walked out, the front door slamming behind me like a verdict I couldn’t reverse. But I didn’t go home. I drove for blocks. Parked somewhere I didn’t recognize.
I sat in my car and looked at the email again. At her name. At what they’d done. And I felt it, shame curling in my chest like rot. I almost believed it. I almost let them destroy her. And the worst part? A part of me still wanted to let them.
Because if she rises… then what the hell does that make me?
