I spent the first hour back in my birthright not in tears or quiet reflection, but in a furious storm of information. Seated at the massive mahogany desk in the study, I devoured the preliminary report Arthur had compiled. It was brutally efficient, just as I'd expected. He had already sliced through Richard's firewalls and privacy shields as if they were tissue paper.
The report laid out the skeletal framework of the conspiracy. Encrypted transfers between Richard's corporate accounts and an offshore entity controlled by Serena. A timeline of their communications that stretched back over six years, to the very month I had met Richard. It had been a setup from the very beginning. The most damning discovery was a draft of the proposal to sell Sterling Innovations, not to just any acquisition group, but specifically to a Thorne Industries subsidiary that I, myself, had helped establish before I left. They were using my own past work as the instrument of my betrayal. The sheer, calculated cruelty of it left me breathless.
I was so absorbed that I didn't hear the study door open.
"I was hoping I'd find you here, plotting world domination."
The voice was warm, laced with a familiar, gentle teasing that was the complete opposite of Julian's icy demeanor. I looked up. Leaning against the doorframe was Marcus Thorne.
He wasn't related by blood, but he might as well have been. Our families had been allies for generations. Marcus had been my childhood best friend, my confidant, my partner in crime. When I'd left, I'd broken his heart, too, though he'd never said it. He looked different now—sharper, more mature, his easy-going smile now framed by the subtle confidence of a man who had built a tech empire from the ground up. But his eyes, a warm, intelligent brown, were the same. They held a deep, unwavering kindness.
"Marcus," I breathed, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
He crossed the room in a few long strides and, without a word, pulled me up from the chair and into a hug. It wasn't a polite, formal embrace; it was a real hug, strong and enveloping. I felt a tremor go through me, a shudder of all the pain and rage I'd been holding back, and for a moment, I just leaned against him, a fortress finding a safe harbor.
"I'm so sorry, Eliza," he whispered into my hair. "Julian told me. I'm so sorry he did this to you."
We pulled apart, and he looked at me, his expression serious. "But I know you. You're not here to cry. You're here to burn his world to the ground. So, tell your humble servant what you need. My resources are your resources. My lawyers are your lawyers."
This was the "group pampering" the world would see—powerful people flocking to my side. But this wasn't about them spoiling me. This was about family. It was about loyalty.
An hour later, the three of us were seated around the large study table: Julian, the ruthless corporate titan; Marcus, the brilliant tech mogul; and me, the vengeful queen they had both come to support. The room had transformed from a study into a war room.
Our family's top two lawyers, a notoriously aggressive duo known on Wall Street as "the Surgeons," were patched in on a secure video call, their faces grim and focused on the screen.
"The grounds for divorce are irrefutable," one of them, a sharp woman named Evelyn, stated. "Adultery, fraud, conspiracy. We can strip him of everything."
"Stripping him isn't enough," Julian said, his voice flat. "I want him destitute. I want him unemployable. I want every bridge he's ever built to be a pile of smoldering ash."
"His company is his pride," I said, my voice quiet but firm, drawing all eyes to me. "That's where we hit him. The sale he's planning—he thinks it's his masterpiece. It will be his undoing. Marcus, I need you to build me a ghost. A shell corporation so airtight, so anonymous, that no one can trace it back to us."
Marcus's eyes lit up with a familiar, creative fire. "Consider it done. What's the ghost's purpose?"
"The ghost," I said, a cold smile forming, "is going to make Richard Sterling a counter-offer."
The lawyers looked intrigued. Julian leaned forward, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
"He's expecting an offer from Thorne Industries," I explained. "We're going to intercept. My ghost corporation will approach him first with an offer that seems too good to be true. An offer so inflated, so irresistible, that he'll be blinded by greed. He'll sign without reading the fine print. And in that fine print… we will bury him."
Evelyn, the lawyer, let out a slow, appreciative whistle. "A Trojan horse. I like it."
The plan began to take shape, each of us adding a layer of strategic cruelty. Julian would use his influence to subtly poison Richard's reputation with investors. Marcus would handle the technological warfare, the digital traps. The lawyers would forge the legal chains. And I would be the puppet master, the one who knew Richard's psychology better than anyone, the one who would personally guide him into the beautiful, elaborate trap we were building just for him.
The war council was in session. The first shot was about to be fired.