Chapter 18: Blackmail Blast
Rain streaked the floor–to–ceiling windows of Blackthorn Group’s boardroom, the sky a bruised
gray.
Projected numbers flickered like knives flaying the century–old empire alive.
“Another trading halt,” the CFO rasped. “Banks terminated credit lines. They demand immediate
repayment.”
The Board’s stares–once obsequious–now pinned Zane with naked contempt.
“Mr. Blackthorn!” Director Mitchel slammed the table. “Ivy Callahan’s leaks! Explain this
disaster!”
Zane’s knuckles pressed white against the mahogany.
Three days. He’d let Ivy walk, shackled by her threats. She’d vanished–then detonated every piece of damning evidence online.
“Location?” His voice scraped raw.
The assistant kept his eyes lowered. “Security cameras tracked her to the airport, sir–but her boarding records were scrubbed. Swiss Bank confirmed she liquidated the last $30 million.”
Silence, thick as a shroud.
Zane snatched his jacket. Stood.
“Sir! The meeting isn’t-”
“Adjourned.”
The elevator plunged to the garage.
Zane slid behind the wheel. His phone glowed to life–Scarlett Design Studio’s address pulsed across the shadowed leather.
Nova pushed through the studio’s glass door–and froze.
Zane stood in the reception area
His suit was rumpled defeat. Stubble shadowed his jawline. Seeing her, desperate hope flared in his bloodshot eyes.
“Nova.”
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The name made her brow arch. She handed her umbrella to an assistant. “Mr. Blackthors.
Business?”
His throat worked. “Privately?”
“Here is fine.” Nova nodded the assistant away but didn’t invite hifn further. “I have a meeting in
five.”
Rain dripped from his hair, darkening the rug.
The woman who once left lights burning for him now withheld even a glass of water.
“The Blackthorn Group is finished.” His voice rasped like rusted iron. “You were right about the poison Saint.” For the first time, his head bowed over the coat of arms on the wheel. “I need the Sterling assets..”
Nova gave a soft, derisive huff. She looked up from her sketches. “A loan, then?”
“Not just capital.” Zane stepped closer. “Sterling’s political leverage. Your connections. Only you Would-”
“I would help you?” Nova closed her portfolio. Her gaze turned arctic. “Have you forgotten? We.
Are. Divorced.”
The words were a physical blow.
He seized her wrist. “I treated you well! Name your price! Anything!”
Nova’s eyes dropped to his grip. A cold smile touched her lips. “Bargaining now, Mr. Blackthorn? How quaint. Saving your empire holds zero appeal.”
“Nova!” His voice shattered. “Please…”
The man who never begged stood before her, eyes red–rimmed.
For a heartbeat, Nova remembered her own countless nights waiting in that same desperate
posture.
“Please‘?” Her laugh was brittle. “I pleaded too. Many times. But some prayers,” she met his agonized stare, “simply go unanswered. Mine did. Yours will too.”
Each syllable was a scalpel, carving truth he couldn’t deny.
“Zane.” Nova picked up her briefcase. “Your downfall? Tragic. Not my responsibility.”
She moved toward the exit, spine steel–straight. “As you so often reminded–melt was just
Chapter 18: Blackmail Blast
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business. Never confuse it with real.”
The glass door hissed shut behind her.
Zane stood frozen in the vacuum she left.
The studio assistant hurried in, oblivious. “Ms. Sterling? Your ticket for Lume Ateliers Design Week. Flight departs tomorrow, 10 AM.”
“Thank you.” Nova’s voice faded down the hall. “And no further unscheduled visitors.”
Outside, the downpour intensified.
Zane’s phone vibrated. A financial alert:
[BLACKTHORN GROUP SHARES PLUMMET 60%. FOUNDER ZANE BLACKTHORN’S FORTUNE EVAPORATES. BANKRUPTCY IMMINENT.]
He stared at the empty corridor where Nova vanished.
Two bitter words carved themselves into his mind–Bled dry. Fortune lost.
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