SCA Group
Outside the executive elevator to the CEO's office, a row of secretaries stood in pristine professional attire, smiles fixed in place as they lined up on either side.
In front of them, two executive assistants stood with solemn expressions, their eyes glued to the elevator's digital display.
Ding--
The tense silence shattered.
Everyone instinctively held their breath.
"Sir, the financial reports for the past two years have been compiled and are on your desk," Scott reported swiftly.
"All the profiles of our partner companies have been updated and sent to your inbox," Teman added.
"The PR department has drafted the press conference plan. Would you like to review it?" the chief secretary, Lee, inquired.
Ten steps from the elevator to his office.
Liam halted, gaze fixed ahead, silent.
Sensing something was off, the dozen or so employees froze, heads bowed, waiting anxiously for instructions.
"What's the date today?" Liam suddenly asked.
"The fifth," Scott replied quickly.
"And the press conference--when did they schedule my official takeover?" Liam asked again.
Silence. No one dared respond. Eyes dropped to the floor as if by instinct.
"The sixteenth." Liam answered his own question, pushing open the office door.
No one dared decipher Liam's soliloquy--let alone breathe a guess at its meaning.
They stood frozen for a full minute, statues in Italian leather, until certain they were dismissed. Only then did they retreat, steps silent as shadows fleeing dawn.
***
Inside, Nick lounged on the sofa, one leg crossed lazily over the other, idly flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine.
"What are you doing here?" Liam asked, heading for the bar. He popped the cork and poured a deep red stream of wine into a glass.
Nick closed the magazine and gave Liam a mischievous smile. "Just admiring the view. Christ, you look like a kicked puppy.."
Liam didn't reply. He merely set down the glass with controlled calm.
"You're overdue in London." he said flatly.
Nick chuckled, covering his mouth. Alright, alright. No more teasing. I have found all the information you requested.".
He handed over a folder from the seat beside him.
Liam opened it.
A simple photo stared back at him--Cecilia in a smart, tailored suit, clean makeup, no unnecessary frills.
She exuded a kind of soft elegance that was...refreshing.
Against his will, last night flashed through his mind--her curled against him, cheeks flushed, warm breath ghosting his collarbone.
Sweet. Intoxicating.
Nick's teasing expression faded.
His eyes narrowed with interest. "Wait. You're actually serious?"
Liam's face returned to its usual unreadable calm. "I said she's my wife now. Legally."
Nick raised a brow. "Then you'd better be prepared. You're a Sinclair--yours isn't a typical family. If this leaks? Your general father and royal mother will erase her family tree down to the roots."
"No one will know before the wedding."
Nick exhaled sharply. "Then God bless you."
***
The next day, a bombshell of a headline shook the city.
MT Group's PR department found itself surrounded by a frenzy of reporters.
Edward sat on the couch, face ashen, fingers digging into the armrest as he stared at the screen.
Picture after picture flashed before his eyes--Cecilia locked in a heated embrace--kissing none other than her ex-fiancé, Ronald.
For years, Cecilia had been the subject of endless gossip in the whole world.
Socialites and nobles alike gossiped about her wild nightlife. The engagement to Ronald was supposed to sanitize that narrative--until she torched it all for some nobody.
And now?
Just as the world bought into her poor-little-rich-girl-finds-true-love fairytale? She gets caught tongue-deep with her ex in a parking garage?
The media cyclone was instant,
[ MT Group Heiress Cecilia Martin's Parking Lot Tryst with Ex-Fiancé! ]
Sources confirm the newlywed was seen--
--let's say revisiting old investments hours ago.
Public outrage, shareholder panic, and vicious speculation threatened to drown MT Group whole.
Smash!
Edward hurled the remote at the TV and sprang to his feet.
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
Margaret stepped forward calmly, setting down a cup of tea.
"Edward, don't overreact. She's young. Just talk to her calmly--"
"Spare me the naivety," he snarled. "Track her down. Every address, every hideout--I want it all."
Margaret sighed, then slid her phone across the desk. A text glowed on the screen, an Upper East Side penthouse address.
"She's here, I believe."
Edward snatched the phone and stormed out of the villa.