CHAPTER 10:
Across the room, Julian voice sliced through the air.
"I told them to hold the press release. They're pushing it anyway? Why is nobody listening?"
He paced in a half-buttoned shirt, phone jammed between shoulder and jaw, stress rising like steam. His mug rattled slightly in his hand as he brought it to his lips—only to find it empty. Again.
Nicole noticed everything.
The tremble in his grip. The way his eyes kept darting toward his inbox. The faint bruising beneath his eyes from nights he hadn't slept.
A storm was brewing inside the empire he thought he controlled. And he had no idea his wife was the one writing the weather.
She stood with grace and padded barefoot across the cool marble, placing a hand lightly on his back.
"You're doing so well," she said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know how hard you're working."
Julian turned, startled. But her smile disarmed him, as it always had. "You've been incredible lately, Nic," he muttered. "Really. Thank you."
She didn't reply. Just nodded, gently took the empty mug from his hand, and walked out of the room like it was just another Thursday.
---
Downstairs, Camille was already waiting.
She leaned back in the black SUV, sunglasses perched on her nose, latte in hand. Her brows raised as Nicole slid into the passenger seat with practiced elegance.
"Sleeping Beauty still thinks you're the perfect wife?"
"He brought me tea last night and asked if I wanted to plan a weekend retreat."
Camille let out a sharp, disbelieving breath. "You're scaring me sis".
Nicole smiled faintly. "Good."
The driver pulled away from the curb.
"You sent it?" Camille asked after a beat, her voice low.
Nicole nodded. "The board should receive the tip about Julian's insider trading by this afternoon. Anonymous. Encrypted. Straight to the senior counsel and two press liaisons."
Camille whistled softly. "Clean hands, sharpened nails. You're a ghost." Nicole turned to look out the window. "Not for long."
---
The building didn't belong in a modern skyline.
Old brick. Brass handles. The smell of paper and age. The twenty-third floor hadn't changed since her father's era, and Nicole felt it like a pulse under her heels.
Arthur Lancaster stood by the window, back to her. He turned slowly, eyes lighting up—not with joy, but with recognition. Respect. Maybe a little fear.
"Nikki," he said. "Still look like your father when you're about to do something that changes everything."
Nicole smiled, polite but distant. "Thank you for seeing me."
He gestured to the leather chair opposite his. "Always."
She sat. Took her time placing the folder on the table and opened it.
Photographs. Financial logs. A printed copy of the whistleblower's anonymous email. Julian's personal wire transfers. The clause her father had built into his legacy—signed, sealed, archived, and now weaponized.
Arthur's eyes darkened with each page.
"Is this all real?"
Nicole didn't flinch. "Every word. I've spent the last year collecting it. Watching. Waiting."
She didn't have to explain who betrayed whom. The evidence screamed it.
Arthur closed the folder slowly, hands tight. "You're bringing down a sitting CEO from within the walls."
Nicole tilted her head. "He built those walls with my name. My legacy. My trust. I'm just walking through the cracks."
"What do you need from me?"
"Your voice. When the time comes—and it will—I need someone they trust to remind them who I am. Who my father believed in."
Arthur nodded after a long moment. "You've got it."
Nicole stood. Shook his hand. "Good."
At the door, Arthur called softly after her. "And what happens to Julian?" Nicole turned, a cold fire in her eyes.
"Whatever happens," she said, "he earns it."
---
Meanwhile, Kendra's grip tightened on the stem of her mimosa. The upscale brunch restaurant buzzed with chatter, but her voice was clipped and sharp.
"She knows," she hissed across the table at Julian. "She knows something." Julian shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're being paranoid."
"She invited me to brunch, Julian. And then she quoted a text message I only sent you. You told her, didn't you?"
"I didn't say anything."
"She knew about Milan. She brought it up like it was a joke. But it wasn't."
Julian's jaw flexed. Kendra leaned in. "She looked me in the eye and smiled like she already won."
"She's just... being civil. She's not focused on any of this." "No," Kendra snapped. "That's not who she is anymore."
---
By Friday morning, the first crack shattered the glass.
A financial blog—small but well-connected—published a piece. Speculative. Vague. But the implications were loud.
Insider manipulation. Stock irregularities. Rumors of quiet board investigations. No names, but all arrows pointed one way.
Julian's name started to appear in headlines again. This time, not for new properties or glossy interviews.
This time, it was unreturned comments and company silence.
By noon, Blake Real Estate's official social media pages had turned off their comments.
By 3 p.m., two more junior staffers quietly submitted resignations.
Inside the company, tension cut through every meeting like wire.
Outside?
Nicole stood at the edge of a glittering charity gala in emerald silk, one hand resting lightly over her stomach. The cameras flashed. Her smile remained soft. Serene.
She was photographed with ambassadors, judges' wives, and fashion editors. She said little, but her presence did the speaking for her.
---
Camille brought her a glass of champagne, eyes flicking over the sea of lights and velvet-clad strangers.
"You're trending again," she said quietly. "Apparently you're the new face of elegance under pressure''.
Nicole slipped. ''I thought pressure built diamonds''