"I'll sleep. After I confirm security protocols for tomorrow and coordinate with Remy."
Of course he will. Because even in this quiet moment, he's still working. Still protecting me.
I let myself drift, trusting him to handle what I can't. The last thought before sleep takes me: this feels different than anything I've ever done at Dominion.
When I wake, early morning light filters through the curtains. Luc's already awake, standing by the window with his phone pressed to his ear. The rigid set of his shoulders tells me something's wrong.
"Understood," he says into the phone. "We'll be ready."
He ends the call, turns to face me. His expression is controlled but I can read the tension underneath.
"What's wrong?"
"That was Henry." He sits on the edge of the bed. "There's a leak. Armand knows we have the evidence. He called a press conference early this morning, before the board meeting."
My stomach drops. "He's going to try to get ahead of the story."
"Yes. He'll claim family dispute, paint you as unstable, make the board question you." Luc's voice is clinical. "It's a smart move. A desperate one."
I sit up. The reality hits—media coverage, public scrutiny, every relationship I have suddenly under a microscope.
"We need to counter it."
"We will. Henry's already coordinating a response. But Simone—" He catches my chin, makes me focus on him instead of spinning scenarios. "Whatever Armand says this morning, whatever accusations he makes, you hold your ground. You know the truth. The evidence backs you. Don't let him make you defensive."
"He's going to attack me publicly."
"Yes. And you're going to walk into that board meeting and prove him wrong." His tone doesn't waver. "We knew this would get ugly."
I breathe and push myself into CEO mode. Armand wants me rattled, defensive, apologizing for things I haven't done. That's not who I am.
"What time is the press conference?"
"Early. Before the board meeting." He stands and offers his hand. "We need to move."
I take it and rise to my feet. Whatever Armand's about to say, whatever lies he's prepared—let him. He's the one who should be afraid.
12
LUC
The LaCroix Petroleum building is steel and glass, catching morning sun like a knife edge. I assess the perimeter as we approach. News vans are clustered at the main entrance. Cameras. Reporters hunting for blood. Armand's press conference did exactly what it was designed to do—turn this into a public execution.
"Side entrance," I tell the driver.
Simone sits beside me, spine straight, hands folded. She's been silent since we left the guest house. Not the anxious quiet from before. This is battle focus. Fear locked down. Instinct taking over.
I've seen it in operatives before missions. The moment when survival instinct overrides everything else.
She'll need that today.
The car pulls into the executive garage. It's quieter here. No cameras. I step out first, check the space, and catalog threats. It's clear. Then I move to her door.
She takes my offered hand. A small acknowledgment that we're in this together even though I can't fight this particular battle for her. Some fights she has to win herself.
That doesn't mean I won't bury anyone who crosses the line.
"Henry's already inside," I say. "Conference room B. Board members arriving now."
