Henry nods. Processing. Building the case. "That's the angle. This isn't about Simone's choices. It's about Armand weaponizing illegally obtained material to force her out."
"Julien was barred from Dominion for obsessive behavior," I continue. "Multiple former partners filed restraining orders. Settled out of court with NDAs. Pattern of stalking. Armand knew exactly what kind of weapon he was funding."
"I'll need documentation," Henry says. "Everything you have on Julien's history. The restraining orders, the settlements, his expulsion from the club. We paint Armand as someone who deliberately chose a known stalker to try and destroy his niece."
She's listening. Some of the tension in her shoulders easing. Not fighting alone anymore.
We reach the elevator. Doors close and the controlled mask she's been holding shatters.
She sags against the wall. Eyes closed. Breathing too fast. Tremor in her hands. Spreading to her shoulders.
"He's going to drag everything into the open," she says. Voice cracking at the edges. "Every scene. Every partner. Every moment I thought was private."
I move closer. Don't touch her. Just present. Anchoring.
Her hands are shaking. She grips the elevator rail to hide it but I see everything. The way her knuckles go white. The pulse hammering in her throat. The careful control she's built her entire life fracturing.
"Yes," I say. No point lying. No point softening it. "That's what he wants. Public humiliation. Make you resign rather than fight."
She opens her eyes. Looks at me. Exhausted underneath the fear. She's been fighting alone too long. I see it in the way she grips that rail like it's the only solid thing left.
"I'm not resigning."
I want to touch her. Pull her against me. Let her break where no one else can see. But the elevator's already slowing. Garage level approaching.
I check my phone. Text from Remy with news alert.
The uncle's already talking to reporters outside. Spinning the shareholder action as protecting the company.
"Media's going to be ugly."
"Let them come." Her voice hardens. Steel underneath the exhaustion. "Armand wants a fight. He'll get one."
The elevator reaches the garage. Doors open. Our car is waiting.
As we drive away, I see the news vans following. Getting footage. Building the story. Tomorrow's evaluation will be a circus. Cameras. Reporters. Armand's team ready to weaponize every private moment against her.
She stares out the window. Silent. Planning. Strategizing. Not broken. Not even close. Armand underestimated her if he thought humiliation would be enough to make her fold.
Mistake... big mistake.
The car heads back toward home. Away from the cameras, the board, the corporate theater. Tomorrow Armand plays his cards. And after he does, he's mine.
13
SIMONE
The news vans are already camped outside the gates when I wake. From the guest house window, I can see telephoto lenses pointed toward the estate, reporters doing stand-ups with the Pascal mansion in the background. Someone leaked the board meeting details—not the postponement, not the tabling of the vote, just enough to feed speculation that LaCroix Petroleum's CEO is embroiled in scandal.
My phone has been buzzing since dawn. Texts from board members, some supportive, most carefully neutral. Voicemails from reporters I've never heard of asking for comment. Three messages from corporate communications wanting to coordinate a response.
I ignore all of it and head downstairs.
Luc's in the kitchen, coffee already brewed, his attention split between his laptop and the security feeds displayed on a tablet. He looks up when I enter, and before I can reach for the coffee pot, he catches my wrist. His grip is firm enough to stop me without hurting.
His thumb finds my pulse point. "How'd you sleep?" His voice is rough this early, darker than usual.
"Better than expected."
