The Hayes mansion shuddered under the weight of the gathering storm. Outside, lightning forked across the sky, the thunder rolling through the hills like a drumbeat of war. Inside, the air was thick with tension, the corridors alive with hurried footsteps and clipped whispers. Crystal sconces flickered on the walls, the light trembling as if the house itself felt the tremor of what was coming. Every polished surface reflected the taut, brittle faces of those inside—a house of mirrors closing in.
In her private study, Evelyn paced in tight circles, her heels snapping sharply against the polished wood floor. The chandelier overhead swayed faintly, crystals clinking with each gust of wind that rattled the old windows. Her breath hitched as another flash of foresight surged through her mind—jagged, flickering images: Adrian's back turned, Amy's downcast eyes, Leo's shadow in the doorway. None of it clear. None of it stable. Each flicker was like a pinprick behind her eyes, a cruel reminder that even her gift, once her sharpest weapon, was now a blade turned against her.
"No," Evelyn hissed under her breath, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. Her nails dug crescent moons into her skin as her pulse hammered in her ears. She fumbled for her phone, fingers slick with sweat, nearly dropping it before she clutched it tight, the plastic casing biting into her palm. She dialed furiously, waiting for the line to connect, her breath catching in quick, shallow bursts. "We need to hold the board," she barked into the receiver, voice taut as a bowstring, teeth gritted. "Double the outreach. Triple it if you have to. I want their loyalty locked."
But even as she spoke, the creeping edge of panic gnawed at her composure. The Mislead Pulse Lottie had unleashed was working—Evelyn's foresight now crackled with distortions, flooding her mind with false betrayals, phantom defections. Faces blurred, alliances shifted, reality and illusion tangled in a cruel dance. Her judgment blurred, her instinct sharpened to the wrong targets, and the iron certainty she had built her reign upon trembled at its foundations.
Downstairs, Lottie sat in the shadows of the lounge, legs crossed elegantly, fingers steepled under her chin. The flicker of her phone's screen danced across her face as she read Leo's latest update. "She's panicking. She thinks Adrian flipped." A smile, slow and sharp, tugged at Lottie's mouth, her gaze glinting with cool triumph. She reached for her glass of water, the cool rim grounding her as the storm rattled against the mansion, the faint shudder of the windows echoing in the stillness around her.
"She's chasing ghosts," Mason murmured beside her, his voice low, nearly lost beneath the crackle of the fireplace. His fingers brushed hers as he handed over another folder of board data, the touch brief but grounding. "We have the votes. Let her waste her breath."
Across the hall, Amy slipped quietly from the archive room, heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. She clutched a thick sheaf of documents to her chest, knuckles white with tension. As she turned the corner, she nearly collided with Adrian.
"Careful," Adrian murmured, steadying her with a firm hand at her elbow. His palm was warm, fingers curling briefly before he let go. His eyes searched hers, sharp and assessing, the faint crease between his brows deepening. "You're sure about this?"
Amy swallowed hard, a tremor running down her spine. "She's tearing everything apart from the inside," she whispered, her voice raw with urgency, breathless. "I just didn't think… she'd fall this fast." Her eyes flicked to the documents clutched tight against her chest.
Adrian's jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as a flicker of something like regret crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared. "Neither did I," he murmured, his voice softer, a ghost of weariness threading through the steel. He released her gently, glancing over his shoulder, his posture tensing as footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor. "Go. Mason's waiting."
Upstairs, Evelyn's fingers trembled as she opened another incoming message—one of her closest board supporters, cold now, noncommittal. The room seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Her breath came short, shallow, as she whirled toward her assistant. "Get Cho on the phone. Now." The man flinched, nodding quickly, his pale face slick with sweat as he scrambled to obey. Evelyn stood frozen for a moment, her hands twitching at her sides, before she pressed her palms flat on the mahogany desk, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut.
From the doorway, Robert watched in silence. His arms were folded, his silhouette a dark line against the pale glow of the hallway. His eyes, usually cool and inscrutable, flickered with something unreadable as he studied his daughter—her poise fracturing, her certainty crumbling into jagged shards. The light caught the silver at his temples, the fine lines bracketing his mouth, the deep furrow between his brows. His mouth thinned, but he said nothing, the weight of his gaze settling over Evelyn like a second storm.
Lottie, from her corner of the mansion, felt the shift like a tremor through the walls. Her phone buzzed again. Leo's newest note appeared on the screen: "Adrian feeding misinformation. Evelyn chasing her tail."
She exhaled softly, closing her eyes for a moment. A breath, slow and deliberate, cooled the faint burn rising in her chest. "It's almost done," she murmured, more to herself than to Mason. But Mason heard it anyway. His lips quirked in a faint smile, one eyebrow lifting, the glint of anticipation sharpening his features.
"Almost," he agreed. "But don't blink yet."
Back in the east wing, Evelyn stormed through a cluster of aides, her voice sharp as broken glass. "Where is he?" she demanded, the words slicing through the hush, leaving the younger staff pale and wide-eyed. "I want Adrian here—I want his explanation now." Her throat tightened as she caught the flash of hesitation in her assistant's eyes, the too-long pause before he murmured, "I think he stepped out for a call."
Evelyn's hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her skin until the sharp sting cut through the haze of panic. "Find him." Her voice cracked like a whip, sending the man scattering. She drew in a shaky breath, fingers trembling as she reached for her glass of water—only to send it toppling with an impatient flick, the sharp crack of crystal on marble punctuating her unraveling control. The water spread like a bloom across the table, a cold stain against the polished surface.
In a dim alcove near the study, Adrian leaned against the wall, his phone to his ear. His voice was low, deliberate. "She's burning bridges faster than she can build them," he murmured. "Keep the pressure. We'll move when she overreaches."
Leo's voice crackled through the line. "Copy that. Cameras are rolling."
Adrian's gaze flicked toward the hallway, toward the sound of Evelyn's rising voice. For the briefest moment, his expression softened—then hardened again, the line of his shoulders straightening. "Almost there," he murmured before disconnecting, his breath slow and measured as he slid the phone into his pocket.
Upstairs, Grace lingered near the window, her fingers absently tracing the cold glass. Outside, the rain fell in silver sheets, blurring the garden into a smudged watercolor. Her breath misted faintly on the pane as she whispered to no one, "This house was built on lies." The photo in her lap trembled in her hands—a blurred image of a child she once believed was her own. Her chest ached under the weight of it, a tight, constricting band wrapping around her ribs, making each breath a conscious act.
In the media room, Leo leaned forward over his laptop, eyes darting between screens, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the desk. A faint grin tugged at his mouth as another intercepted message blinked across the feed: Evelyn reaching, grasping, clawing at control she no longer held. "Checkmate in three," Leo murmured under his breath, fingers flying across the keyboard. His pulse drummed a quick, eager rhythm, the glow of the screens painting sharp lines across his face.
Evelyn swept into the central hall, her heels loud against the marble, her voice raw with urgency. "Adrian!" she called, the name lashing from her lips, eyes flashing, shoulders tight with tension. But as she turned the corner, her breath caught in her throat.
Adrian stood at the far end of the corridor, speaking quietly with Mason. When his gaze lifted and met Evelyn's across the expanse of polished stone, something flickered in his eyes—cool, assessing, distant. The smile that touched Mason's lips was small, sharp, and utterly without apology.
Evelyn's chest constricted. Her fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging deep, the sharp bite a desperate tether to the present. For a heartbeat, she saw it all slipping through her fingers: the empire, the control, the image she had crafted so carefully. Her pulse roared in her ears as the chandelier overhead trembled, casting fractured light across the floor like broken glass.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. She lifted it with trembling fingers—only to see a single, curt message flash across the screen.
"Robert wants to speak. Now."
The last thread snapped.
With a strangled breath, Evelyn spun on her heel, shoving past the startled aides as she stormed down the corridor. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath sharp and uneven, the walls seeming to close in, the echo of her footsteps a relentless drumbeat at her heels. In the distance, behind her, Lottie watched from the shadows, her arms folded, her expression unreadable. The softest of smiles touched her lips as she turned away.
And in the dim quiet of the corridor, Robert's voice cut through the hush like a blade.
"We need to talk—now."