flash
"She told his orphaned toddler to vanish. She didn't realize the mansion's walls were watching... and they brought her darkest secret to light." / Chapter 4 / 6

Chapter 4 - The Game of Mirrors

Darian quickly locked the computer screen, but it was too late. Camille’s eyes gleamed with triumphant greed.

"I must admit, I didn't think Sophia would be clever enough to hide it in a dusty old clay pot," Camille said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "My father's team has been scanning your digital networks for months, and all we needed was the physical drive to execute the key transfer. Thank you for finding it for us, darling."

"You killed her," Darian said, his voice shaking with a rage so violent it took every ounce of his willpower not to physical strike her. "Your father murdered my wife."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Camille scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "It was a business acquisition. Sophia was stubborn. She wouldn't sell, she wouldn't cooperate, and she was going to expose our clients. She had to be removed from the equation. And now, you are going to give me that drive."

"And if I don't?" Darian asked, his hand slowly sliding toward the desk drawer where he kept a licensed security firearm.

"If you don't, you will find out what happens to little girls who wander into the wrong parts of the house," Camille said softly.

Darian’s heart stopped. "If you touch Layla, I swear to God—"

"I don't have to touch her," Camille interrupted, pulling out her phone and showing him a live video feed.

Darian looked at the screen. The video feed showed Layla’s bedroom. Layla was fast asleep in her small bed. But standing right outside her window, on the second-story balcony, was a tall man in a dark tactical jacket.

"My father's security team is very efficient," Camille whispered. "One word from me, and Layla has a terrible 'fall' from the balcony, just like her mother had a terrible 'fall' off the mountain road. You have no cards left to play, Darian. Hand over the drive, sign the merger, and we can all live happily ever after. Or, you can be a hero, and you can bury your daughter next to your wife."

Darian looked at the drive in his hand. He looked at the live feed of his sleeping daughter.

He was trapped. He couldn't call the police; Camille’s sniper would act before they arrived. He couldn't fight her physical; she had armed men surrounding the estate.

"Alright," Darian said, his voice hollow, defeated. He slid the USB drive across the desk. "Take it. Just don't hurt her."

Camille snatched the drive, her face illuminating with pure, unrestrained greed. "Smart man. I knew you'd make the right choice. Now, call your board of directors. We are going to announce the merger tonight."

"It's three in the morning," Darian protested.

"Then wake them up," Camille commanded. "By sunrise, Aegis Tech belongs to the Laurent Group."

As Darian reached for his desk phone, his eyes caught a tiny reflection in the dark window of his office.

A tiny, blue reflection.

Layla wasn't in her bed.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

The video feed Camille was showing him was a pre-recorded loop.

Layla was standing in the shadows of the hallway just outside his office door. And in her small hand, she was clutching a bright, colorful object.

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