Nyla's heels clicked across the villa's marble floor as she returned from the mall, shopping bags carefully tucked out of sight, phone stashed in her coat pocket. To anyone watching—or any hidden cameras—they saw only a girl returning from an afternoon of casual indulgence, the picture of effortless charm. But in her mind, the boardroom still hummed, voices looping, strategies unfurling, every whisper from Aunt Cherry and Uncle Jay cataloged.
The villa reeked of fury long before Cherry opened her mouth. She slammed her bag onto the polished marble counter, silk scarf slipping from her shoulders as though even fabric refused to touch her.
"Can you believe him?" she spat, pacing the room, heels clicking against marble. "Your brother—dismissed me, in front of the board! As if I were some errand girl with half-baked ideas. As if I don't know the market better than he does!"
Uncle Jay leaned back in his chair, heavy frame sinking into leather. He had not risen when she stormed in; he rarely did. Thick fingers traced the edge of his glass, eyes narrowed with the patience of a man who measured time in battles, not hours.
"You pushed too hard," he said simply. "He is stubborn. You know this."
Cherry spun on him, eyes flashing. "Stubborn? He's suicidal! Refusing a merger that would have secured everything? His empire is brittle. And if he insists on clinging to sentiment, then when he dies…" The word dies hung sharp in the air. "…it will crumble."
Jay did not flinch. He lifted his glass, sipped slowly, letting the silence stretch until Cherry's breathing steadied.
The front doors banged open before either could speak again. Venna swept in, bags dangling from both arms—sleek designer logos shimmering beneath the chandelier light. She dropped them at the foot of the staircase, lips curved in a satisfied, practiced smile.
"Really, Venna?" Cherry's voice cracked with fury. "Do you have any idea how hard I fight for us at those meetings? How close we are to losing control—and you come home with handbags?"
Venna shrugged, smoothing her coat over her shoulders. "I saw something prettier than the board's arguments. Forgive me for indulging."
"Indulging?" Cherry stalked closer, hands curling into fists. "While the future slips away?"
Venna's smile sharpened. "Relax, Mother. It wasn't wasted time. I ran into Nyla at the mall."
Cherry froze mid-step. "Nyla?"
Venna tilted her head, teasing, deliberate. "Mm-hmm. Same old. Phone glued to her hand, scrolling comments, smiling at strangers. She nearly spilled coffee on herself because she wasn't looking where she was going." She smirked, enjoying the memory. "Exactly what you always said: shallow. Distracted. Addicted to her followers."
Cherry's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure?"
"Of course," Venna replied breezily. "If she has a hidden sleeve, it's designer." She laughed softly, dismissing the thought as absurd. "She's harmless. Her father may dismiss you now, but when he dies—"
Cherry raised a hand, cutting her off sharply. "Don't be naive, Venna. He dismisses me too quickly. Too decisively. Almost as if…" Her voice trailed, suspicion threading through it. "…as if he believes his little princess can protect what he leaves behind. But how? She has no interest in business. No training. She spends her days parading for cameras."
Venna waved it off, uninterested. "And that's all she'll ever be."
Cherry wanted to believe her, but doubt coiled tight in her chest. She turned to Jay, whose expression remained unchanged, silence as calculating as ever. He sipped his drink again, eyes dark with thought, unshaken by their storm.
Upstairs, Venna vanished into her room, humming under her breath. Bags still scattered across the floor like trophies. Cherry stayed rooted, mind whirring. What is that old man hiding? she wondered. What gives him such confidence to dismiss me when his only heir is a fool?
Nyla set her shopping bags aside and removed her coat, letting the cool stillness of her hidden sanctuary wash over her. She slipped the earpiece from her ear, laying it beside her mother's journals.
The boardroom feed still echoed in her mind—her father's firm dismissal, Cherry's contempt, the whispers about his death. One phrase clung to her above the rest:
He will not stand forever. We will make sure of that.
She sat at the desk, hands resting on her mother's journal, eyes fixed on the looping charts across her monitor. Her relatives were greedy, predictable even. But muttering about her father's death so openly? Bold. Reckless. Dangerous.
Her fingers tapped the journal. Her mother's voice whispered from memory: Always watch the ones who talk too soon. They are the ones who think they have already won.
Nyla's lips curved into the faintest, sharp smile. Aunt Cherry thought her father's quick dismissals were arrogance. Venna thought Nyla was harmless.
They all thought wrong.
And Nyla would make sure the truth came crashing down on them—when it was already too late to run.