CHAPTER 29
Damien’s POV
The data was wrong. Again.
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I slammed the folder down on the boardroom table. “You had one job,” I snapped, my voice cold and cutting. “And this is what you bring me? Faulty projections, incomplete charts, and a model that looks like it was thrown together by an intern?”
No one dared speak. The room was thick with tension, and even the senior executives looked like they wanted to shrink into their
seats.
I didn’t care.
Because the truth was, I wasn’t just angry about the data.
I was angry about everything.
The divorce. The headlines. The way she looked at me during that final meeting, like I was nothing. The way she didn’t even blink when she signed her name next to mine. Like it meant nothing.
Like I meant nothing
A surge of pressure built behind my temples, my teeth grinding together while silence dragged on. Finally, I straightened and adjusted my cufflinks, dismissing them with a cold flick of my fingers.
“Fix it. Now.”
They filed out without a word, avoiding eye contact. Good.
I stayed behind, the quiet in the room pressing in.
Moments later, my assistant, Mark, stepped in with a cup of coffee, his posture careful.
“The updated report is underway, sir,” he said, setting the cup on the table.
I nodded once but said nothing.
Then, as I stared into the swirling steam of the cup, it hit me.
Celeste used to make me coffee. She never asked how I liked it–she just remembered. Always just right. Not too bitter. A touch of cinnamon when she knew I hadn’t slept. And always silent, always with that soft expression like she didn’t need anything back from me. Just… presence.
Mark cleared his throat. “Sir, there’s one more thing.”
I looked up, still silent.
“We’ve taken down a large portion of the defamatory videos targeting Mrs. Vaughn–Miss Monroe,” he corrected himself
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quickly. “The PR team also paid off several tabloids to halt circulation of the more aggressive headlines.”
“And the paparazzi?”
“We’ve blocked most of the persistent ones from getting near her.”
“Most?”
Mark hesitated. “She’s… been busy lately.”
I looked up sharply. “Busy? Doing what?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “We’re not entirely sure, sir. Her movements have been limited, discreet. But we’ve noted an uptick in her public appearances.”
My fingers flexed against the porcelain.
Celeste… Just what the hell are you planning?
I glanced at the latest photo of her, taken by my men while ensuring her safety. She looked effortlessly radiant–poised, unbothered, as if our divorce had never left a scar. Not a single crack in her calm.
Anger flared within me.
How was she able to move on so easily, while I was drowning in the aftermath? I had walked into that divorce thinking it was a necessary sacrifice–one that might somehow protect her. But now? It just felt like I had handed her freedom on a silver platter, while I remained caged by my own decisions.
She should’ve at least looked back. Flinched. Hesitated.
Instead, she was flourishing. And I hated how much that unsettled me.
My phone buzzed. A message from Genevieve lit up the screen:
Does this dress look good for the banquet tonight?
I didn’t even finish the sentence before I tossed the phone onto the table. I didn’t bother looking at the attached photo.
My patience for the evening had already run dry. If it weren’t for the incessant pressure from my parents and business associates reminding me how “essential” this event was, I wouldn’t step foot near that damned banquet.
Everything felt like noise–pointless, grating noise I couldn’t silence. It was all so annoying.
Before I could lose myself further in my thoughts, Mark spoke again, this time more hesitantly. “Sir, while taking down the blackmail articles, we discovered something strange.”
I looked up, eyes narrowing. “Go on.”
“The speed at which the rumors spread was unusual. Someone was deliberately amplifying them from behind the scenes.”
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I exhaled sharply. Of course, I had expected some capital–driven media forces to take advantage of the scandal. That was nothing
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But the fact that Mark specifically brought it up meant there was something more. Sure enough, the next sentence made my
expression freeze.
“It was Miss Genevieve,” Mark said carefully. “She leveraged the influence of the Lancaster family to manipulate the spread of
the rumors.”
“What?”
An uncomfortable jolt worked its way down my spine–a sensation that didn’t quite settle.
First came disbelief. Then, confusion. And somewhere beneath it all, a slow–burning unease that coiled in my gut.
Genevieve had always presented herself as kind, thoughtful–the embodiment of support and grace. She knew how to soothe
with a word, how to stand at my side without ever casting a shadow,
I’d been convinced she was incapable of anything calculated, let alone cruel. But clearly, I’d been wrong.
Mark stepped forward and handed me a document. “I checked her private account records. There are traces of financial
transactions and email exchanges tied to the media involved.”
I stared at the evidence in silence, each line tugging at the edges of my certainty.
Why would Genevieve do this? What reason could she possibly have to involve herself?
A part of me resisted the idea completely–It didn’t fit the woman I thought I knew. But another part, deeper and far less comfortable, began to wonder.
Was she hiding something else from me?
And if she was… what else didn’t I know?
