Victoria Norwood lounged in the plush armchair of her lawyer's office, a high-rise suite in midtown Manhattan with views of the Hudson River churning gray under a stormy sky. At forty-eight, she retained a sharp beauty—blonde hair perfectly coifed, makeup flawless—but her blue eyes held a predator's gleam. The divorce papers lay spread before her on the mahogany desk, a battlefield of demands: alimony, assets, and that elusive "child support" for Marcus, her trump card. Richard Langston, her attorney, paced nearby, his tie loosened, his face flushed from their heated strategy session. Victoria sipped her espresso, the bitter taste matching her mood. Byano was fighting back, his countersuits and forensic accountants digging into her spending. But she had a gambit—a leak to the media that would tip the scales.
"Richard, it's time," she said, her voice smooth but edged with steel. "Release the stories. Make sure they hit hard—abuse allegations, financial fraud. Paint him as the monster."
Langston hesitated, adjusting his glasses. "Victoria, this could backfire. If they trace it to us, it's defamation. And with Kessler exposed, Apex pulling back—"
She waved him off. "Kessler was a means to an end. The wire transfer was clean, untraceable. Lydia did her part with Marcus—planting doubts. Now, the media will do the rest. Byano's empire is cracking; one more push, and he settles."
Her mind flashed to her impoverished childhood, the cramped apartment, her mother's endless shifts. Poverty had forged her greed, a survival instinct that morphed into ambition when she met Byano. He'd been her ticket out, his startup dreams her ladder. But as his wealth grew, so did her resentment—his long hours, his control. The children were accessories, Marcus's depression a convenient weapon. She didn't hate them; she simply prioritized herself. This divorce was her get-rich-quick scheme, child support a loophole to siphon more.
Langston nodded, sending the encrypted email to his contacts at the tabloids. "It's done. Stories drop tomorrow."
Victoria smiled, a cold curve of her lips. "Good. He'll come crawling."
Across town, Byano sat in his penthouse, the city lights a glittering distraction from the chaos. Harlan's discovery of the wire transfer from Apex to Lydia Hale had linked Victoria to the corporate sabotage, but proving it in court was another battle. Marcus was sketching in the living room, his mood lifting slightly after a therapy session. Elena and Sophia were due for dinner, their united front a balm. But Byano's phone buzzed incessantly—Claire Montague again: Let's meet. We can turn this around. Isabella Reyes: Exclusive could save your rep. Temptations, each one a potential trap.
The next morning, the stories hit like a tsunami. Headlines screamed from every news app: Billionaire Byano Norwood Accused of Emotional Abuse in Divorce Bombshell. Norwood's Fraudulent Deals Exposed—Insiders Speak. Fabricated quotes from "anonymous family friends" detailed Byano's "neglect," "verbal abuse," even hinting at physical intimidation. One article claimed he'd hidden assets offshore, starving Victoria and the children. Byano's blood boiled as he read, his coffee growing cold.
Harlan called immediately. "It's Victoria. Language matches her lawyer's filings. We're tracing the sources."
Byano's voice was tight. "Sue for defamation. And get Evelyn on it—this violates any gag order."
At EcoThreads, Elena slammed her tablet down, the headlines glaring. Her supplier deals were crumbling, investors skittish. She called Sophia, who was in her studio, paintbrush frozen mid-stroke. "Soph, have you seen this crap? Mom's gone nuclear."
Sophia's voice cracked with anger. "She's destroying us. Marcus can't handle this."
They met at the penthouse, finding Marcus pale, scrolling the articles. "Is any of it true, Dad?" he asked, his voice small.
Byano knelt before him. "Lies, son. Twisted to hurt us. But we fight back."
The sisters rallied, Elena coordinating with Harlan on PR counterattacks, Sophia using her activist network to spread the truth about Byano's philanthropy. But Victoria's gambit had leverage—stock prices dipped, the Horizon merger teetered. Byano confronted her via a tense call. "This ends now, Victoria. Retract, or I expose the wire transfer."
Her laugh was icy. "Prove it. And remember, I know your real secrets, Byano. That old deal? It's next."
The day dragged with damage control—press releases, board calls, therapy for Marcus. Byano reflected on his humble beginnings, the drive that built his empire now a double-edged sword. Women like Claire and Isabella messaged again, their "support" reeking of opportunism. He ignored them, focusing on his family.
As night fell, Harlan uncovered a lead: a journalist's email trail linking to Langston's firm. But before they could act, a new headline dropped: Norwood Son's Suicide Attempt—Father's Neglect Blamed.
Cliffhanger: Marcus, reading the false story, relapses, locking himself in the bathroom with pills.