"Sir," Caiden said cautiously beside him, "I reviewed the footage twice. Beatrice entered Mrs. Ravenstrong's office at eleven sharp. She stayed for less than ten minutes."
Adam's jaw tightened. "And Sofia didn't say a word."
"No, sir. Not even to her assistant."
Of course she didn't.
She'd smiled at lunch like everything was fine—composed, radiant, stunning in her quiet confidence. But something had been off. He'd seen it in her eyes. The way she smiled, but never quite met his gaze.
He should've known. He should've asked.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out like a storm barely contained, his strides cutting down the corridor with ruthless precision. Two floors below his own office. That's where Beatrice had nestled herself all this time—just beneath him. Close enough to reach up and twist the knife whenever she pleased.
And now—there she was.
Waiting for him outside his office like it was her throne, her smile as cold as polished glass.
