The elevator doors slid open into Cross Global's underground garage. Nathaniel's convoy was already waiting;sleek black SUVs, engines idling like beasts hungry for the road.
Lena's phone wouldn't stop vibrating: reporters, investors, board members, vultures circling in real time. Every second that passed was another nail hammered into her reputation.
"Take her to the penthouse," Nathaniel ordered. His tone was cold, commanding. But his eyes flicked toward Lena with something sharper calculation.
She shook her head. "No. If Isabella goes live tonight, my career is finished before I even get there. I need to stop it. Now."
Nathaniel stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You're not walking into that fire without a shield. She's not just giving an interview she's launching a missile. You think she doesn't have proof? Documents? Photos?"
Lena's pulse thudded. He was right. Isabella wouldn't go public unless she thought she could bury her.
Adrian's shadow loomed larger in her thoughts. He was pulling strings she couldn't even see yet.
"Then I'll pull mine," Lena snapped. Her eyes burned with a sudden clarity. "Ethan can get me the feed schedule. We intercept it. We cut the broadcast before it airs."
Nathaniel studied her for a long moment. Then, almost reluctantly, the corner of his mouth curved. "You're bolder than I thought."
"Bold is the only thing keeping me alive."
She climbed into the SUV before he could argue. Ethan was already waiting inside with a laptop open, screens flashing.
"I tracked the station," Ethan said quickly. "Rhodes is pre-recording at a private studio. Broadcast time is nine sharp. That gives us three hours."
"Three hours to do what?" Nathaniel asked.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Hack it. Buy it. Or burn it."
Lena's throat went dry. She wasn't a criminal. She wasn't a hacker. But the truth was simple: once Isabella's story aired, no one would care about facts. They'd only care about the headlines.
She forced her voice steady. "We don't have to stop her from talking. We just have to make sure she's not the only one they hear tonight."
Nathaniel arched a brow. "You're proposing a counterstrike."
"Exactly," Lena said. "I tell my story before she does. Not as a victim" her gaze hardened "but as someone who's not afraid to call her out."
The SUV swerved onto the expressway. Rain streaked the windows, city lights flickering like camera flashes.
Adrian's name lit up on her phone. A message, short and cruel:
"Tick-tock, Lena. The world loves a scandal."
Her grip tightened around the phone. She wasn't going to let him write her ending.
Nathaniel leaned back, eyes on her. "If you go through with this, you'll be gambling everything, your company, your name, your life."
Lena met his stare without blinking. "Then it's time I started playing to win."
The clock struck six, three hours left.
And somewhere in the city, Isabella Rhodes was rehearsing lines designed to end her.