The night hung heavy over the Hayes mansion, the air thick with rain and the sound of wind rattling the tall windows. Inside, the marble halls echoed with hurried footsteps, muted voices, and the sharp click of Evelyn's heels as she stormed through the corridor, her breath quick and shallow, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her jaw was tight, the muscles ticking beneath pale skin as she turned sharply at the end of the hallway, the silk of her blouse whispering like a restless ghost.
Her foresight had been spiraling all evening, offering fractured glimpses of futures she couldn't fully grasp—blurred faces, raised voices, the cold slam of a door, the sudden crackle of applause she knew wasn't meant for her. Evelyn pressed a hand to her temple, eyes squeezed shut as if willing the visions into focus. Instead, they slipped away, like water through clenched fists, leaving only a hollow ache at the back of her skull.
"No, no, no," she muttered, stumbling into her room. The door clicked shut behind her, muffling the storm's howling outside. The glass in the window shivered with each gust of wind, tiny tremors pulsing across its surface. Evelyn's hands trembled as she reached for her tablet, yanking it off the charger with a sharp tug. The cold glow of the screen lit her face in ghostly tones, casting stark shadows beneath her eyes. Names flickered across the display—Dahlman, Perez, Cho—each one a lifeline she couldn't afford to lose. Her heart thudded wildly as she scrolled, lips moving in a silent litany of calculations, promises, threats.
She snatched up her phone, dialing with stiff fingers. "Get me Dahlman. Now," she barked, pacing the length of the room. Her bare feet whispered over the thick carpet, the storm outside matching the storm curling tight in her chest.
Downstairs, Lottie watched from the shadows of the study, one hand resting lightly on the window frame as she traced Evelyn's frantic energy like a scent on the wind. Her reflection in the glass was faint, a shimmer of sharp eyes and the curve of a knowing mouth. Her phone buzzed softly in her pocket.
Leo's message flashed on the screen: "She's calling board members. Last-ditch pitch."
Lottie exhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth curling in a faint, knowing smile. Her fingers tapped a light rhythm on the windowpane, the chill of the glass seeping into her skin. She turned slightly as Mason entered the room, his brow knit in quiet focus, a faint line between his brows betraying the tension he usually buried deep.
"She's panicking," Mason said softly, his voice a low rumble under the patter of rain. "I've already blocked two of her financial moves. She's bleeding influence." His eyes flicked toward the window, jaw tight.
"Good," Lottie murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her fingers tightened just slightly on the windowframe, the cold bite grounding her. "But stay close. She's unpredictable when cornered."
Across the house, Amy darted down the hallway, breathless, heart hammering as she gripped a bundle of papers to her chest. The pages crinkled under her fingers, the edges cutting faint impressions into her skin. She skidded to a halt outside the archive room, shoulders rising and falling with each sharp inhale. Inside, the faint whir of a shredder sliced through the hush. Amy's throat went dry, the taste of copper sharp on her tongue. Flattening herself against the wall, she inched closer, peeking inside.
Evelyn's aide, normally a ghost in the background, was frantically feeding documents into the machine, sweat beading at his hairline. His hands shook as he shoved paper after paper into the jaws of the shredder, jaw tight, breath sharp. Amy's stomach twisted. Her fingers tightened around the folder until the edges bit deeper into her palm. You can do this, she told herself, sucking in a thin breath through her teeth. She squeezed her eyes shut for one brief, steeling moment.
Then she slipped inside, voice sharper than she thought possible. "Stop."
The aide jolted, papers slipping from his hands in a flurry, eyes wide. Amy's breath shook as she stepped forward, knees trembling, but her chin lifted, eyes hard. "Put it down," she said again, pulse roaring in her ears.
The man hesitated—then dropped the papers with a muttered curse, brushing past her in a rush of cologne and panic. The scent clung to the air, sharp and chemical, as Amy sagged against the doorframe for a moment, throat tight, legs trembling. Her fingers fumbled to gather the scattered pages, her breath ragged in the quiet, the shredder's dying whirr a fading ghost in the room.
Back in the lounge, Adrian leaned against the mantelpiece, watching Lottie with calm, measuring eyes. His fingers played absently with his watch strap, the soft snick of leather a quiet metronome. "You've done what you can," he said softly, his voice edged with reassurance. "Tomorrow is hers to lose."
Lottie met his gaze, something steady and unflinching in her eyes. "She won't give up without a fight."
"She's out of moves," Adrian murmured, stepping closer. His hand brushed her shoulder in a brief, grounding touch. Lottie's breath hitched just slightly, a flicker of something raw crossing her face before she smoothed it away. "And you're not alone."
In Evelyn's wing, the tension reached a fever pitch. Her PR team scrambled, their voices rising in a tangle of updates, defensive statements, last-minute spin. Evelyn's phone buzzed relentlessly on the desk, a steady stream of calls she could no longer control. She swept an arm across the table, sending a crystal wine glass crashing to the floor. Shards glittered across the carpet, a jagged constellation of her unraveling composure.
Breath heaving, Evelyn pressed both hands flat against the desk, eyes wide, nostrils flared. "No one," she whispered, voice raw and shaking, "no one takes this from me." Her reflection in the dark window twisted back at her, pale and wild-eyed, as the clock on the mantel ticked inexorably toward midnight. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting deep crescents into her palms as she squeezed her eyes shut. For a heartbeat, she saw Lottie's face—not gloating, not smug, but calm, controlled, unshaken. Her stomach turned.
In the halls, Mason moved quietly, a shadow slipping through the mansion's veins. His phone buzzed against his hip. A single glance: "Ready for the board ally." He ducked into a side room, fingers flying across the keypad. His voice was a murmur, urgent but measured. "Ask the question when I signal. She'll crack."
In Evelyn's private sanctuary, the air had turned heavy, each breath a labor. She sank into a chair by the fire, phone clutched in a white-knuckled grip, thumb flicking compulsively through messages, replies, numbers. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven gasps. The flicker of her foresight sparked—brief, blinding flashes of possibility, none of them clear. A sea of faces, a door slamming shut, applause in the distance. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her mind twisting on itself.
Upstairs, Grace sat alone in the dimly lit sitting room, her fingers twisting the edge of a shawl in her lap. The muffled crash from Evelyn's wing reached her, and she flinched, eyes closing briefly. Outside the window, rain traced trembling lines down the glass, blurring the garden beyond. She lifted a trembling hand, brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. Her breath hitched softly, the sound barely breaking the quiet as she whispered to the empty room, "What are we becoming…"
Amy emerged into the corridor, clutching the recovered documents to her chest. Her breath came in short bursts, her heart skittering like a trapped bird in her chest. As she rounded the corner, Mason caught her by the elbow, his voice low, urgent. "You did well," he murmured, eyes flicking to the folder. "Get it to Lottie. Now."
Amy gave a shaky nod, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. Her throat tightened around the surge of adrenaline, her feet moving before her brain caught up.
Evelyn stood, pacing like a caged animal. The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the carpet with a soft thud. She pressed her hands to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could squeeze the chaos from her mind. Her lips moved soundlessly. "Not yet. Not yet."
In the media world outside, the first whispers began to stir. Reporters traded sharp glances over glowing screens, headlines drafted in hurried strokes: "Hayes Board in Crisis: Rumors of a Power Shift." A distant ripple on the horizon, a warning of the coming storm.
Back in the study, Lottie sat with one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled under her chin as she read over Amy's recovered documents. Leo hovered nearby, eyes flicking between screens, adrenaline humming beneath his skin. Mason slipped in, his expression tight, his voice a whisper. "We're in position."
Lottie's eyes lifted slowly, a glint of light catching in their depths. "Let's finish this."
In Evelyn's room, the clock struck midnight. The sound cracked through the silence like a shot. Evelyn flinched, her eyes flying open. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, the words slipping out before she could stop them, a whisper thick with defiance and dread.
"No one takes this from me."