Cane's POV
Armstrong bursting in killed the quiet moment. I would have gotten angry but The look on his face said this was important. He shoved the phone at me
I took it, wiping my hands on my pants. It was a pay from a popular gossip siye called the insider. The headline was in big, bold letters:
"FROM JAILBIRD TO GOLD DIGGER: the true nature of the Dario heir"
My jaw tightas I read through the post.
"What a shocking turn of event. Stephanie, who was just recently discovered as the heir to the Dario conglomerate is not the angel she acts like. Reliable sources have revealed that she was once married to Myron, the very man she had now disgraced. And that's not all. She was arrested for trying to murder her own sister. She was only released because Tiffany, her sister had forgiven her.
Instead of showing gratitude, Stephanie has sunk to new depths. Using the intimate knowledge gained from her failed marriage, she has now ensnared her ex-father-in-law, the powerful and reclusive Cane, in her web. Insiders report she manipulated the elderly man into marriage and is now using his influence to systematically destroy her ex-husband's life and claim the family fortune for herself. Is this the face of modern corporate leadership?
I scrolled further what the comments I saw made my stomach churn. What in the world!
KarensKorner: I knew she was trouble the second I saw her! That face doesn't lie. She's a classic black widow.
BusinessBro99: This is a new low. Marrying your son's ex? The old man must be losing his marbles. She's probably got him on some kind of medication.
TruthTeller84: That poor stepsister! She showed Stephanie mercy and this is the thanks she gets? And Myron… my heart breaks for him. He must be devastated.
RealDealDavid: Someone check her browser history. I bet it's just full of "how to marry a rich old man" searches. Disgusting.
LindaLovesJustice: She's a home-wrecking slut. Karma's coming for her, just wait. #TeamMyron
And in sync, Stephanie's phone lit up on the coffee table. A buzz. Then another. And another. A flood of notifications. From emails, social media alerts, news updates. She reached for it, her face just tired and confused.
I moved without thinking. My hand closed over hers, gently taking the phone before she could see the screen.
"Let me," I heard myself say. The words came out softer than I intended.
She looked up at me, those big eyes full of a weariness I'd put there. This wasn't the plan. The plan was to break her, to use her as a tool for my revenge. So why did the thought of her reading those cruel words make my chest feel tight? She'd already been through hell because of Myron. I didn't want to be the one to show her there was a deeper level.
I looked at her, really looked. She was sitting there with her feet clean but raw, her shoulders slumped. She seemed so… small.
"Stephanie," I said, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Can you let me handle this? For you?"
She was silent for a long moment, just searching my face. Finally, she gave a slow, hesitant nod.
"Okay," I said.
I pocketed her phone. Then I bent down, one arm sliding under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her. She was light as a feather. She didn't fight me, just let her head rest against my shoulder with a quiet sigh. I carried her upstairs, her warmth seeping through my clothes, and laid her on the bed.
"Try to get some rest," I told her, pulling the duvet over her. "I'll be back soon."
I closed the door and walked away. With each step down the stairs, the strange protectiveness I'd felt hardened into something else. Something cold and sharp and familiar. By the time I reached the bottom, I was all ice and rage.
"Armstrong," I barked, "The car. We're paying Myron a visit."
The drive was a silent, angry hum. I stared out the window, my fist clenching and unclenching. Armstrong knew better than to speak.
We didn't bother with the bell at Myron's place. I just opened the door and walked in. He was in his living room, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, a smug, satisfied smirk plastered on his face. It vanished the second he saw me.
I didn't waste a breath. I crossed the room in three strides and my fist connected with his mouth. A sharp, satisfying crack. He staggered back, tripping over the rug, blood already welling on his lip. The glass flew from his hand and exploded against the wall.
"What is wrong with you!" he shrieked, clutching his face. "She's poisoned your mind! How can you choose that… that woman over your own son!"
"You have one hour," I said, my voice low and deadly calm. "One hour to erase every single lie you put online."
"They're not lies!" he yelled, scrambling to his feet. "It's all true! The arrest record, the marriage! I have proof!"
I got right in his space, so close I could smell the whiskey on his breath and see the panic starting to drown the anger in his eyes. "We both know who the real liar is here. And it's not her."
"Or what?" he sneered, trying to sound brave, but a tremor in his voice gave him away.
"Or I start telling my version of the truth," I said, the words dropping like stones. "And you really, really don't want that, Myron."
His bravado shattered. The sneer melted into confusion, then into a dawning, gut-wrenching fear. "Dad… what… what are you talking about?"
I looked him straight in the eye, all the hatred and secrets I'd carried for decades finally laid bare between us.
"Let's start with the big one," I said, my voice utterly flat. "We both know I'm not your father."
The color drained from his face so fast I thought he might pass out. His jaw went slack. No sound came out. He just stood there, staring at me, his whole world collapsing right in front of him. The shock on his face was the most honest thing I'd seen from him in years.
"One hour." I said then turned on my heel and walked out, leaving him standing alone in the middle of his expensive rug.