The storm over the Hayes estate had only thickened by morning, casting the mansion in a pale, flickering gray as lightning veined the sky. The hallways hummed with tension; aides whispered in corners, darting glances toward the heavy oak doors of Evelyn's study. Behind them, the air crackled with more than just the weather—it was thick with something electric, something ready to snap.
Inside, Evelyn's fingers trembled as she stabbed at her tablet, nails clicking frantically against the glass. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts as she scrolled through messages—each one colder, more hesitant, until the most recent sat like a slap across her skin: "Reconsidering support. Will circle back post-meeting."
She gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white, breath hissing through clenched teeth. "No. Not now," she rasped, the words barely audible, as if she feared speaking them aloud would make them real. A sharp noise burst from her throat as she swept a hand across the desk, sending papers fluttering to the floor in a ragged storm of contracts, memos, and half-scribbled notes. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the thunder that cracked beyond the windows.
Outside the door, her assistant flinched at the muffled thud. His fingers hovered above his phone, the typed message trembling: "Do you want Mason looped—" But he hesitated, jaw clenched, then deleted it just as quickly. Evelyn's wrath was not for interruption today. He took a shaky breath, shoulders tense as a bowstring, and backed away from the door, his footsteps muffled against the thick carpet.
Down in the war room they had commandeered as headquarters, Lottie sat cross-legged on the edge of a sleek conference table, her fingers drumming a slow, measured beat against the polished wood. Leo's laptop glowed beside her, the faint hiss of intercepted signals filling the space. Mason leaned in a chair across from her, arms folded, a half-smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.
"She's stripping her defenses bare," Leo murmured, eyes flicking across lines of code. "She's pulled the security teams from the west wing. She thinks Adrian flipped."
Lottie's lips curved slightly, her gaze sharp as cut glass. "Perfect," Mason said softly, exchanging a glance with her. "We move now."
Lottie nodded once, exhaling through her nose, her fingers briefly curling into fists before smoothing flat again. Her pulse thrummed steady, a drumbeat under her skin. "Line up the board," she said, voice a low, velvet command. "I want them hearing one voice—ours."
Upstairs, Evelyn's foresight flared and fizzled, the once-razor-sharp visions now warped, refracted through panic. For a flicker of a moment, clarity pierced the fog—Adrian in the hallway, Mason's steady presence near the boardroom, Amy's soft voice on a call. But the moment snapped, replaced by a roaring uncertainty, and Evelyn staggered back, her hand braced on the chair as her knees buckled briefly.
"I need Price," she snapped to no one, spinning toward the phone. "Get me Price—now!" Her voice cracked on the last syllable, throat raw, eyes burning with the sting of exhaustion and rage. She slammed her palm against the desk, the sharp clap echoing through the room. Papers on the floor quivered from the impact, a tremor in a house already shaking at its foundations.
Across town, Amy pressed her phone to her ear, pacing the edge of the newsroom. Her heart drummed wildly against her ribs as she spoke in a hush. "Yes, I'm sure," she said, voice low but fierce, fingers tangling in the hem of her sweater. "Tip the press. Tell them the family's unraveling." Her chest tightened as she ended the call, her reflection in the window catching a glimpse of her own pale, determined face. She drew in a sharp breath, steeling herself.
Back at the mansion, Mason moved through the halls with the ease of a shadow, his fingers grazing the cool marble banister as he swept past stunned aides. "Tell Dahlman his concerns are noted," he murmured into his headset, voice smooth, calm, edged with the faintest thread of steel. "Tell him they're also irrelevant."
Adrian, meanwhile, sat in the glass-walled boardroom, the looming portraits of Hayes patriarchs casting long shadows over the polished floor. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, jaw set as he spoke into his phone. "She's calling in favors," he murmured. "But the ground's already slipping. Hold steady." His eyes flicked up as a low rumble of thunder shook the windows, the storm outside rolling closer, a mirror to the gathering storm within.
Outside, media vans bristled along the circular drive, cameras pointed at the towering mansion. Reporters huddled under umbrellas, murmuring into phones, their voices sharp against the thunderous sky. The air smelled of rain and electric tension, sharp as the edge of a knife.
Evelyn's fingers tightened around her phone as another message flashed across the screen. "Declining. Will abstain from vote." Her breath hitched, and she spun on her heel, the room tilting as if the walls themselves recoiled. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a frantic staccato that drowned out the quiet knock at the door.
A clock on the mantel chimed, a hollow, echoing note that set her teeth on edge. In the mirror across the room, Evelyn caught a glimpse of herself: flawless makeup cracked at the edges, eyes sharp and wild, the measured control that once defined her now frayed to near ruin. She bared her teeth in a soundless snarl, then slammed the flat of her hand against the mirror's frame, the jolt rattling through her arm.
In the lounge below, Lottie adjusted the cuffs of her tailored jacket, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth as she rehearsed the opening lines of her speech under her breath. Mason watched her carefully, reading the shift in her shoulders, the cool weight in her gaze. "Almost there," he murmured, his voice low, steady.
"Almost," Lottie echoed softly, the words tasting like steel and triumph on her tongue.
Meanwhile, Leo's fingers flew across his keyboard, intercepting Evelyn's panicked flurry of calls. "She's trying to reroute funds," he murmured, brow furrowed. "And… blocked." His lips quirked in the faintest grin, eyes gleaming as lines of code scrolled faster and faster across the screen.
Amy, half a world away in the churning media swarm, pressed a trembling hand to her chest, breath shallow as she watched the rising tide of speculation. "It's happening," she whispered to herself, pulse racing as she darted through the newsroom, feeding updates to waiting anchors. The words she spoke were clipped, practiced, but her fingers trembled as she clutched the phone tighter.
Back in Evelyn's private suite, the walls seemed to close in, the air thick with the scent of perfume and panic. She clenched her fists at her sides, her reflection blurring as her eyes prickled with the threat of tears. "No," she hissed, voice cracking, her breath hitching. "Not yet. Not like this." Her hands shook as she reached for the edge of the desk, fingers curling against the wood as if she could anchor herself there, hold the moment still, keep it from slipping through her grasp.
Then the final blow: a text flashing across her screen.
"Meeting in 10 minutes."
Evelyn bolted upright, her breath choking in her throat. She whirled toward the window, rain streaking down the glass like the crumbling facade of her empire. Her lips parted on a ragged exhale, fingers trembling as she pressed them to the cold pane, the chill biting into her skin. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat, her mind a chaos of shattered strategies and slipping control.
Downstairs, Lottie rose from her seat, brushing invisible dust from her lapels. Her eyes gleamed sharp as glass as Mason handed her the last folder. "This is it," he murmured, voice a low hum beneath the storm. "Time to walk in."
Lottie tilted her head slightly, a slow, deliberate smile curving her lips. "Let's go." She turned on her heel, her heels clicking a sharp, echoing rhythm across the marble, each step measured, inevitable, unflinching. Mason fell in beside her, his gaze steady, his breath slow and controlled. Leo's voice murmured in her earpiece, a quiet reminder of the threads they had pulled tight.
As she passed through the foyer, the heavy doors swung open to the waiting storm, the gust of wind scattering papers across the polished floor. Outside, the press surged forward, the cameras' shutter-clicks rising like a chorus of vultures, the flashes stuttering against the storm-dark sky.
And in the quiet just beyond it all, Evelyn's phone buzzed again—sharp, shrill, undeniable.
"Meeting in 10 minutes."
Her fingers curled tight around the device, her throat tightening around a sound that never left her mouth. For the first time in years, Evelyn Hayes stood still, breath caught, heart hammering against the cage of her ribs, as the walls of her kingdom trembled around her.