The seed I had planted with the journalist began to sprout with astonishing speed. The financial world, once so eager to champion Richard as its new golden boy, now looked at him with suspicion. An official inquiry was launched into Sterling Innovations' accounting practices. The multi-million-dollar deal with the logistics firm was put on indefinite hold. Richard was trapped in a whirlwind of damage control, his days a frantic blur of emergency board meetings and tense calls with lawyers.
He was losing. He knew he was losing. But he couldn't understand how. It felt as though his entire life had been built on solid ground, and overnight, that ground had turned to quicksand. Every move he made to save himself only seemed to pull him deeper into the mire. He was fighting an enemy he couldn't see, a ghost who knew his every weakness.
From the serene calm of the Thorne estate, I watched his frantic scrambling with a detached, clinical satisfaction. My war council and I worked with the precision of a surgical team. Julian used his vast network to amplify the whispers of financial impropriety, turning Richard into a pariah among the city's elite. Marcus's tech team, meanwhile, was performing a digital vivisection of Richard's life, peeling back layers of security to uncover every dirty little secret, every corner he had ever cut.
The preliminary report they compiled was even more damning than I had imagined. Richard hadn't just been ambitious; he'd been reckless. There were back-channel deals, minor tax evasions, and promises made to investors that bordered on fraud. He had been playing with fire for years. I was simply fanning the flames.
One evening, Marcus came into the study where I was reviewing the latest data, a grim look on his face.
"We found something," he said, sliding a tablet across the desk to me. "It's not just about business fraud, Eliza."
On the screen was a file containing records from a private fertility clinic. Richard's name was on them. And so was Serena's. They had been pursuing IVF treatments for the last eight months. The documents were dated even before Richard had started talking about the big sale, back when he was still coming home and kissing me, telling me he loved me.
A wave of nausea washed over me. It wasn't just a betrayal of my heart and my business acumen; it was a betrayal of a future I hadn't even known I'd wanted. We had never talked much about children. Richard had always said he wanted to be more financially stable first, a sentiment I had thought was responsible. Now I knew the truth. He hadn't been waiting to build a future with me. He had been actively building one with my sister.
Marcus saw the look on my face. "Eliza, I'm sorry. I know this is…"
"No," I said, my voice dangerously quiet as I pushed the tablet away. I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the calm, twilight-draped gardens. The pain was a sharp, physical thing, a knife twisting in my gut. But beneath the pain, the cold rage I had nurtured since that night in his office began to solidify, turning from a burning coal into a diamond, hard and sharp and unbreakable.
This changed nothing. No, that wasn't true. It changed everything. It removed the last, lingering shred of sentiment I might have felt. My plan had been to ruin his business, to take his company. Now, my goal was more profound. I wanted to dismantle his entire identity. I wanted to leave him with nothing but the truth of who he was: a hollow man, a thief who had stolen a life he was never worthy of.
"It's fine, Marcus," I said, turning back from the window, my expression composed, my eyes clear. "It's just more data. More ammunition."
He looked at me, a flicker of awe and concern in his eyes. "What's the next move?"
"Richard is a narcissist," I stated. "Right now, he's terrified. He feels like the world is collapsing. A narcissist in that position will do one of two things: lash out, or look for an anchor, a piece of the past when things were good."
"You think he'll try to contact you?" Marcus asked, skeptical.
"Not yet. He's still too proud. But we can give him a push," I said, a new, ruthless plan forming in my mind. "He needs to see what he lost. Not the company, not the money. He needs to see me."
It was time for Eliza Thorne to make her public debut. It was time to show my husband, and the world, the queen he had mistaken for a pawn.