Sunlight streamed into the corner office on the twentieth floor, a space that now bore my nameplate on the door: Elara Sterling, Head of Public Relations. It was no longer a temporary desk; it was my command post.
My first order of business was to solidify the narrative I had set in motion. "The 'Future Leaders' scholarship press release is live and gaining positive traction," my new assistant, a sharp-eyed young woman named Pauline, reported. "We've successfully pushed the 'Legacy in Red Ink' piece to the second page of most search results for Sterling Group."
"Good," I said, my voice calm. I handed her a new file. "Now, we release this."
It was a brief, elegant announcement of my own appointment, highlighting my deep commitment to the family legacy and my role in steering the company's communications during this time of growth, above all, the idea that the Sterling Group is still controlled by a Sterling. It was a preemptive strike, framing my new power as a natural, benevolent development before Diana could spin it as a hostile takeover.
Pauline had just left when the door opened without a knock. Diana stood there, her smile as polished and sharp as the diamonds in her ears.
"Elara, dear," she purred, closing the door softly behind her. "I heard you are releasing a press release on your appointment. Does it have to be so… official? At the end of the day it's only interim."
"I thought it was best to be transparent," I said, leaning back in my chair, steepling my fingers. "To show a united, stable front."
"Of course." She drifted closer, her peach perfume invading the space like a toxin. "It's just… such a heavy burden for you. The media, the investors… they can be wolves. I wouldn't want you to get hurt because of… my past troubles." Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Also, I'm worried it might look bad on you if I were reinstated as Head of PR after this blows over."
The reminder was as clear as glass. You are only here for the time being. Once this is over, I'll want my seat at the table back.
I met her gaze, my expression one of serene innocence. "Don't worry, Ms Diana. I have no intention of taking what is not mine. My focus is entirely on getting us through this episode." I let a cool smile touch my lips. "You should be preparing for your party. A good party will outshine this little black dot. Let me handle the wolves."
She knew I wasn't going to back off from the press release. With a final, brittle smile, she turned and left, the scent of peaches lingering like a warning.
I have no intention of taking what is not mine, Diana. But don't you dare touch what is mine.
My line of thought was broken when by my phone ringtone. Liam.
I put it on speaker, my voice deliberately light. "Liam? Hi!"
"Elara, what's this about you being appointed Interim Head of PR?" His tone was a blend of confusion. "I just heard from my father. Why didn't you tell me this yesterday? Is this because of that stupid article? You shouldn't have to deal with that stress. This is a job for professionals, not for you to—"
"To what, Liam?" I interrupted, my tone still sweet but with an edge of steel. "To step up for my family? I'm getting a press release out today about my appointment. The narrative is shifting." I softened my voice, layering on the performance. "It's so much easier to plan our future when our family's name is secure, don't you think? This is for us, too."
There was a long pause on the other end. I could almost hear his mental gears grinding, trying to reconcile the ambitious woman in the press release with the pliable girlfriend he thought he controlled.
"I… I suppose," he finally conceded, his voice uncertain. "I just worry about you."
"I know you do," I cooed. "And I appreciate it. But I have to go. I'm needed in a meeting about the Island Residence joint venture."
"The Island— You're in that meeting?" The panic was back.
"Of course. It's the biggest project of the quarter. It's only right that I'm across it. Talk later, darling."
I ended the call, a cold smile on my face. It won't be this easy to shake the foundation of the Sterling Group this time. Not while I'm here.
The boardroom for the Island Residence discussion was a temple of power, all dark wood and cold glass. My father and his team were on one side. On the other sat David Vancourt, Liam's father, a man with a predatory smile. And beside him…
My breath caught.
Kaelen.
He sat with an unnerving stillness, dressed in a suit that cost more than most cars, his presence sucking the air from the room. His eyes met mine across the polished table, and in their granite depths, I saw no surprise, only a flicker of cool acknowledgment. He'd known I would be here.
My father began the introductions. "David, Kaelen, you know my daughter, Elara. She's just stepped in to oversee our communications."
David Vancourt gave me a patronizing nod. "Charming. Good to have fresh blood." "
"Thank you, Uncle David," I said, my smile a perfectly calibrated weapon of politeness. A cold knot tightened in my stomach. Was he part of it too? Was this whole family a nest of vipers waiting to strike in my past life?
Then, Kaelen spoke. His voice was a low thrum, a vibration felt in the bones more than heard by the ears. "Miss Sterling." His gaze was a physical weight. "A rapid promotion. It seems you're full of surprises." The words were neutral, but the intensity behind them was a challenge in itself.
"The situation demanded decisive action," I replied, my voice steady, refusing to be cowed. "I'm sure you can appreciate that, Mr. Vancourt."
A ghost of a smile—a fleeting, dangerous thing—touched his lips. "Indeed."
The meeting began, a complex dance of figures, projections, and territorial posturing. They discussed cement quotas, zoning laws, and pre-sales targets. But my focus was split. I tracked the financials, but I was also mapping the battlefield of personalities. David was the blustering general, but Kaelen was the silent strategist, his few, clipped comments shifting the entire direction of the discussion.
During a debate on the marketing budget, David waved a dismissive hand. "—a matter for the ad agencies. The fundamentals are what matter."
"It's all connected, Uncle David," I interjected, my voice cutting cleanly through his. Every head turned. "The fundamentals build the house, but the narrative sells it. In a venture of this prestige, perception isa fundamental. A single negative story about structural integrity or financial instability, even if baseless, can cost millions. We cannot afford to be reactive."
The room went quiet. My father looked startled, then proud. David's eyes narrowed, reassessing me.
It was Kaelen who broke the silence, his gaze locked on me. "A valid point." He leaned forward, his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. "And one that brings us to the core of this partnership: trust. Can we trust the Sterling narrative to remain… stable?" His eyes didn't waver. "Recent media… fluctuations… suggest otherwise."
The challenge was direct, a blade aimed straight at the heart of my new authority. He wasn't just talking about the company. He was testing me.
I held his stare, the air between us crackling. "Some fluctuations are just noise," I said, my voice dropping, becoming as cool and sharp as the glass table. "The signal is the Sterling name. And I can assure you, the signal has never been clearer, or stronger. The narrative is now under my direct control. There will be no more… fluctuations."
A beat of heavy silence hung in the room. I had just publicly thrown down the gauntlet, not just to David, but to Kaelen himself.
He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He simply gave a slow, single nod, his dark eyes gleaming with something that looked unnervingly like respect. "Then we look forward to seeing that control in action."