The morning light felt different. It didn't gently coax me awake but served as a stark spotlight on the new reality taking shape in my mind. The lingering fear from last night had crystallized into something hard and purposeful. Kaelen's jacket remained draped over the chair where I'd left it—a dark silhouette against the pale velvet. I decided against sending it for cleaning, unsure of its specific care requirements. I would have to call him about it later, a prospect that sent an unexpected, unwelcome thrill through me.
My phone glowed with a new message from Liam, sent an hour ago. "Hope you're feeling better, sweetheart. Let me know when you're free to talk. Miss you." The words were bland, reassuring. My performance at the club and my breezy texts afterwards had worked perfectly. He was placated, convinced I remained securely in my role—the forgiving, slightly oblivious girlfriend. Good. Let him bask in that false comfort.
I replied his text, "I'm going to the office for work today. I'll text you when I get back :)"
The personal drama now felt like a distant, petty skirmish. A larger war for the future of the Sterling name was beginning, and I intended to win it.
I found my father in his office, the Financial Daily spread before him like a coroner's report. The ashen tone of his face told me everything.
"Daddy?" I infused my voice with gentle concern as I glided into the room. "What's wrong?"
He gestured weakly at the paper. The headline seemed innocuous enough: Legacy in Red Ink But my eyes went straight to the poison I knew buried halfway down the page. I can't believe they printed it out. Didn't Diana get someone to sort it out already?
"...Crestwood Printers' sudden downfall came after a failed, highly leveraged partnership with Lumière Events, then headed by Diana Meyer, possibly the next Mrs. Sterling. Creditors were left with significant losses, while Meyer dissolved her company shortly after."
My father read out the paragraph in one breath.
"It's all ancient history, of course," he blustered, but the worry in his eyes was real. "But the timing... right before the Island Residence joint venture discussions with Liam's family... the phrasing is a deliberate slight."
"This must be dreadful for Ms. Diana," I said, my voice the picture of sisterly sympathy. I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "To be painted with such a colour... She must be devastated. And for the company... the vultures will circle."
I let the silence thicken, allowing his anxiety to peak. Then, I offered my solution, wrapped meticulously in the guise of self-sacrifice.
"Daddy... I know I haven't been most attentive to the business, or any matter concerning the company," I said, letting my gaze drop as if in shame. "But this is the family name. My name, too. Let me help. Let me sit in as the interim head of PR. Just until this blows over."
He looked up, surprised. "You, Elara? But it's a very delicate situation now... They might come at you..."
"I have a Sterling's instincts," I said, my voice firming with a resolve he hadn't heard in years. "And more importantly, I have the Sterling name. I'm a fresh face. It will look like we're taking it seriously. I can be the calm, loyal daughter defending her family. It's a better story than 'CEO's Wife-To-Be who was recently appointed Head of PR Implicated in Business Collapse,' don't you think?" I leaned in, my voice softening to a whisper. "Let me protect us. Let me protect her."
It was the perfect pitch. He grasped my hand, his eyes moist with gratitude. "My girl. Of course. Yes. Let's do it this way. We will also engage external PR experts to deal with the situation."
He pressed on the intercom on his table, "Lisa, get Diana here." "Yes, Mr Charles."
Not long after, the study door swung open. Diana stood frozen on the threshold, her face pale, the same newspaper clutched in her hand like a death warrant. "Charles, have you seen this? I... I don't know why they would-" Her question died as her eyes landed on me, sitting across my father. "Oh hi Elara! Sorry, I didn't notice you here."
My father rose, beaming with misguided paternal pride. "Diana, darling! Elara was worried about you. She has just volunteered to step in as interim head of PR to manage this... unfortunate piece, until it blows over. Isn't that wonderful of her?"
The look that contorted Diana's features was priceless, one of suppressed rage and sheer, undiluted panic, an expression I have not seen on her face before. Her eyes locked with mine, trying to figure out if it was a planned takeover, or if I was genuine in my concern towards her. I looked back, putting on her daughter's signature wide eye innocent look.
"Interim... head of PR?" she repeated, her voice dangerously, thinly calm.
"Just to help, Diana," I said, my smile serene and utterly vicious. "We're family, after all. We protect our own."
I nodded and step forth, holding her cold hands in mine, "Ms Diana, I'll need you to help me, to guide me. I'll be the face for the time being, to weather through this incoming storm."
That sentence seemed to be the final confirmation Diana needed. She composed herself and gave me a hug, the smell of her peach perfume suffocating. "Thank you, Elara dear. For accepting me as one of you."
"It is only right, Ms Diana. After all you've done for me." Yes, after all you've done.
An hour later, I stood in the sleek, modern office of the PR department, feeling the weight of the team's curious stares. This was not a desk; it was a command center.
"The 'Legacy in Red Ink' article," I began, my voice cool and cutting through the tension. "We will not comment on it directly. We release a one-line statement: 'Sterling Group maintains the highest ethical standards and is focused on future growth. We do not comment on speculative retrospectives.' That is all. Let them choke on our silence."
Nods of understanding moved through the team.
"Second," I continued, "I want a comprehensive, glowing press release about our 'Future Leaders' scholarship program. Highlight our commitment to nurturing the next generation. Have it on my desk in two hours. We are not going to play defense on their field. We are going to change the game entirely."
It was a classic, powerful misdirection. While Diana sat in the mansion waiting for the axe to fall, I was building a formidable, gilded wall of positive press around the Sterling name—a wall she was now trapped behind, dependent on my grace.
That night, at dinner, we were all sat around the dining table, the smell of roasted duck and potatoes floating around. Diana picked at her food, her posture a rigid line of fury and fear. Chloe watched me with narrow, suspicious eyes, sensing a shift in the wind but unable to pinpoint its direction.
"The article is... unfortunate," my father began, valiantly trying to sound reassuring.
"It's a targeted attack," Diana corrected, her voice tight.
I chose that precise moment to make my next move. I took a delicate sip of water, then smiled, a beacon of warmth at the troubled table.
"You know," I said, my tone light and conversational, "perhaps this is the perfect moment to give everyone something else to talk about. Something beautiful." I turned my radiant smile directly to Diana and Chloe. "We should host your welcoming party. Soon. A grand, white-tie event to formally introduce you to society. It will be a statement of unity and strength. It will show the world that we are not just unbothered by cheap gossip, but that we are celebrating the future of our family."
The effect was instantaneous and deeply satisfying. My father's face lit up, seeing it as a brilliant, decisive power move. Diana was momentarily disarmed, the promise of a grand party and the social validation she craved acting as a potent balm to her terror. Even Chloe looked intrigued, seduced by the prospect of the spotlight.
"Yes, that's what we need! A party!" my father boomed, his good humor completely restored. "A magnificent idea, Elara! We'll show them all what the Sterlings are made of!"
I smiled, the picture of the perfect, devoted daughter and sister, as I raised my glass. "To the Sterlings."
I had taken my first square as a queen. The board, at last, was mine to command.