The morning sunlight gleamed against the glass façade of Creighton & Vale Corporation, catching the sharp edges of steel and glass that mirrored the city skyline. Axton stepped out of his car, the polished shoes meeting the marble floor of the lobby with quiet precision.
The receptionist straightened quickly when she saw him. Her smile wavered. "Good morning, Mr. Creighton."
He nodded politely, not missing the tremor in her tone. Something about the air felt wrong. The usual calm rhythm of the office—the polite chatter, the hum of printers, the muted click of keyboards—was absent. Instead, a hush lingered, heavy and uneasy.
As he entered the elevator, his assistant, Jason, hurried up, clutching a tablet to his chest. His face was pale. "Sir—there's something you need to see. The board's been calling since seven. PR is in crisis mode."
He stepped aside to let him in. "Start explaining."
Her words came out too quickly. "Confidential data from your private system was leaked last night. Financial projections, client lists, even some charity correspondence. It's spreading on multiple platforms, and a few partners have already frozen their accounts with us."
Axton's expression didn't change, but his knuckles whitened slightly as he adjusted his cufflinks. "What about the source?"
"We're still tracing it. But whoever did it had high-level access."
The elevator dinged, and they stepped out onto the executive floor. It was chaos.
Two department heads were arguing near the conference room. PR officers were on their phones, voices sharp, faces pale. Someone had printed the leaked posts—bold headlines and screenshots now scattered across the long table.
"Axton, the situation is escalating," one of the directors said quickly. "Rumours are spreading that your philanthropic projects are money-laundering fronts. They're painting you as manipulative, even calculating. It's bad."
Jason placed a file before him, his hands trembling. "The leak came from your personal laptop."
Axton stopped mid-step. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
He turned his head slowly, his voice measured. "My laptop?"
"Yes, sir," he said softly.
"That's impossible," he said evenly. "My personal device isn't connected to the company network."
"I thought so too," the director said. "But whoever accessed it used internal credentials. Someone who knew your system."
His mind moved quickly, sorting possibilities. His laptop was stored in his private office, never shared, never left unlocked. Only Jason occasionally brought in documents—but he didn't have admin-level access. No one did.
Axton's mind sharpened instantly. "Who had access to it?"
The man hesitated. "We're... not sure. We checked the cleaning logs, but there's no record of anyone entering your office."
He strode past them into his office. The door shut behind him with a soft, final click, sealing away the noise of panic outside.
Everything looked exactly the same. His desk was pristine, papers neatly aligned. His leather chair sat at its usual angle. Even the faint scent of cedar polish and roasted coffee lingered. Nothing was out of place.
He dropped into his chair and woke his laptop. The familiar screen glowed softly in the dim light, calm and ordinary. But that calmness made his gut twist. He navigated to the system logs, scrolling through access timestamps, file movements, remote commands. His eyes caught on one particular entry, marked at 1:43 a.m.—two nights ago.
He wasn't here that night. He was at Elin's.
His jaw clenched.
There was no sign of forced entry. No physical tampering. Whoever did this had authorization. His mind flicked through possibilities: Jason? No. He was loyal, almost painfully so. IT? Doubtful—they knew better than to risk their jobs.
Then who?
He leaned back, fingers drumming lightly against the desk. A cold suspicion began to stir.
If the data had been taken from his laptop, there was only one way to confirm it.
He opened his hidden folder—the one even his head of security didn't know existed. His office camera had a secondary encrypted feed, recording everything without broadcasting to the main system. It had been a habit born from instinct, a precaution he never expected to use.
Now, as the footage loaded, static flickered briefly before the video steadied.
And there she was.
Vivian.
Her silhouette entered the frame with the kind of poise only she had—elegant, deliberate, sure of her every movement. She paused near his desk, glancing around the empty office. Her lips curved faintly, a small, knowing smile.
Axton felt his pulse still.
She reached into her purse and pulled out a silver thumb drive. Without hesitation, she slipped it into the side port of his laptop. The blue indicator light blinked, alive for thirty seconds before she removed it, smoothed her skirt, and left as calmly as she came.
The footage ended there, silent.
Axton's reflection on the dark laptop screen was unreadable.
For a moment, he said nothing. Just sat there, breathing slowly, as his mind caught up with the reality in front of him. Vivian. His most trusted executive. The one he'd defended countless times in board meetings, the one he'd trusted to manage sensitive negotiations.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white.
He replayed the footage, this time watching her expression—the faint arch of her brow, the calm in her eyes. Not guilt. Confidence. Calculation.
The realization sank in like poison spreading through his veins.
He remembered how she'd insisted on staying late last week, claiming she needed to finalize PR drafts. How she had subtly hinted that Elin was a "distraction" to him.
Piece by piece, the puzzle assembled into a single, devastating truth.
Vivian hadn't just leaked company secrets. She had engineered chaos, using his relationship with Elin as her weapon.
He didn't want to believe it. She had been with him from the beginning, sharp and confident, handling projects with precision that earned his trust again and again. He had given her responsibilities few others had ever held—signed off deals in his absence, handled confidential data, even watched over the company while he was abroad.
He had trusted her.
And this was how she repaid his trust.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back against the floor. His reflection in the office glass was composed, but his eyes—his eyes were molten fury restrained by sheer discipline.
He reached for his phone, pressing a direct line.
"Dad," he said when the deep, familiar voice answered on the other end. His tone was calm, almost casual, but there was an undercurrent of steel. "I need your help."
There was a pause, a quiet recognition in his father's voice. "Axton... everything alright?"
He allowed a small breath to escape, not relief, but acknowledgment. "Not exactly. There's been a breach. Some leaks, some rumours. Clients are nervous. People are spinning stories that threaten not just me, but Creighton & Vale's reputation."
His father's voice grew measured, the weight of decades of influence behind every word. "I see. How bad?"
"Bad enough that I want to involve you," Axton admitted. He leaned back in his chair, eyes on the skyline beyond the office window. "I have the power to stabilize things, but a little backing from you—your word, your legacy—will assure our clients that this isn't the end of Creighton & Vale. That the foundation is still unshakable."
There was silence on the line for a moment, then a chuckle, low and steady. "You've grown, Axton. You've always had the fire to handle things yourself. But I understand. If it will calm the storm, I'll speak to the board, reassure the partners. We'll put this behind us."
Axton allowed himself a very brief nod, a fraction of a smile. "Thank you. That's... more than I can ask for right now."
"You don't need to ask. You've earned this. Just make sure you take the right steps before anyone else makes them for you."
"I will," he said firmly, hanging up the call.
He sat back in his chair, the first real weight off his chest since he'd discovered the leak. The city outside still buzzed with uncertainty, but for the first time in hours, he felt like he had a line of defence, a way to turn panic into control.
He reached for his phone, pressing a direct line.
"This is Axton Creighton," he said, voice quiet but cold. "Activate full trace protocol. I want every packet of data that left my laptop identified, every recipient traced, every timestamp recorded. If it's hidden behind firewalls, burn through them. And send me copies of the recovered files."
"Yes, sir," came the brisk reply.
Vivian was clever. Ruthless, even. But she had one fatal flaw. She never cleaned up her loose ends.
***
Vivian paused just outside Bluebell Bakes, her heels clicking against the sidewalk like a metronome keeping time with her simmering anger. Through the glass, she saw Elin moving behind the counter with ease, smiling at a customer's joke. The sight made something inside Vivian tighten, her insides burnt in rage.
Elin's laughter was light, unguarded, full of warmth. She tilted her head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her brown eyes sparkling under the soft glow of the bakery's morning light. Every small movement seemed effortless, natural, as if she belonged not just behind the counter but in every corner of Axton's world.
Vivian's lips pressed into a thin line, and she felt the first sting of frustration creep in. How could a simple baker, someone so ordinary, command his attention so completely? How could Elin, with her flour-dusted apron and shy smiles, have made a place in his life that Vivian had once believed was hers alone?
The memory struck sharply. Denmark. The first time she had met Axton at a gallery opening in Copenhagen, the way he had laughed at her witticisms, leaned against the balcony railing with that effortless grace that made the world feel smaller.
She had been younger, ambitious, fearless, and intoxicatingly charming. He had been drawn to her, intrigued by her intensity.
She remembered the whirlwind that had followed—the dinners, the late-night walks along cobblestone streets, the art exhibits, the quiet mornings where the city felt like it belonged only to them. She had loved him fiercely, which led to her affection curdling into obsession and her need to control him outweighs their relationship that eventually drove a wedge between them.
Axton didn't contact her after the night of their breakup.
And that broke her. That rejection had fuelled Vivian's meticulous, calculating nature. She had devoted herself to precision, to strategy, to ensuring that nothing could slip past her notice again.
The painful memory of her begging his father to let her stay by Axton's side as a colleague will forever haunt her.
She would never allow herself to be vulnerable in the same way. Never again.
Vivian watched Elin, feeling the old pangs of envy and inadequacy twist and coil inside her. She clenched her bag strap tightly, forcing herself to breathe slowly. Every instinct screamed at her to storm in, to assert herself, to remind Axton that she had been the one who had once held his attention, his trust, his affection. But she knew better now. Direct confrontation could backfire. Subtlety, patience, quiet influence—those were her tools, her weapons.
She noted how the baker's hands moved with practiced confidence, how she interacted with the customers, how even the smallest gestures seemed to captivate those around her. Vivian's jaw tightened. She wouldn't let Elin distract him, not while she still believed the world and Axton was hers to influence.
She turned on her heel, the sharp click of her heels echoing down the street as she stalked back toward her car.
Inside, her reflection stared back at her through the tinted glass — flawless, composed, unreadable. But her eyes told the truth. They blazed with the same quiet fury that had once made men fear crossing her. She pressed her lips together and took a long breath.
If Elin wanted to play innocent, Vivian would show her just how ruthless the world could be.
That evening, the city shimmered under the golden hue of sunset. The rooftop bar of The Regent was quiet at this hour, reserved for a certain kind of crowd — the ones who never needed to ask for reservations. Vivian sat near the edge, her wine untouched, her posture poised as she waits for someone.
He arrived a few minutes later. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an effortlessly expensive suit that probably cost more than most cars. His name was Sebastian Kairen, heir to Kairen Global Holdings , one of Axton's rivals, though he liked to pretend they were friends.
"Vivian." His voice was smooth, carrying that lazy arrogance of a man who was used to being obeyed. He leaned down, brushing a kiss across her cheek before sliding into the seat across from her. "You look stunning, as always. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
Vivian smiled faintly, swirling her glass before setting it down. "I need your help," she said, her tone light, conversational but her eyes gleamed with intent. "And I think you'll find it... entertaining."
Sebastian arched a brow, the corner of his mouth curving. "Entertaining? You know how to get my attention." He leaned back, watching her with quiet intrigue. "Go on."
"There's a woman," Vivian began, her gaze cool and unflinching. "Elin. She owns a little bakery called Bluebell Bakes. She's... close to Axton."
"Ah." His smirk deepened. "So this is about Axton."
Vivian's smile didn't falter, but her nails tapped lightly against her glass. "Think of it as a game," she said smoothly. "I need her... distracted. Preferably by someone who can make her forget about him."
Sebastian chuckled, low and amused. "And that someone is me?"
"You're charming," she said. "You know how to play the part. And Axton would never suspect a thing. Besides, if you can pull her away, you'll be doing us both a favour. He loses focus, his little perfect image cracks, and you get to see him off balance for once."
Sebastian studied her quietly for a long moment.
"You've always been dangerous when you want something, Vivian," he said. "But tell me, what makes this woman so special?"
Vivian's jaw tightened slightly. "She isn't special. That's the problem." Her voice turned soft, almost thoughtful. "She's ordinary. Simple. The kind of woman who thinks love is enough to survive the real world. But somehow, she's managed to pull him in. I just need her reminded of where she belongs."
Sebastian's smirk faded, replaced with something more curious. "And what's in it for me?"
Vivian leaned forward, her perfume faint but intoxicating. "The thrill," she said. "And perhaps a little information that might interest you — something about a deal Axton's company has been working on in Hong Kong. Let's just say it could give Kairen Global a nice little head start."
Sebastian tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You always did know how to make things irresistible."
"So you'll do it?"
He took a slow sip of his wine, studying her over the rim of the glass before nodding once. "I'll find her. I'll play the part. But Vivian..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a smooth drawl. "You should remember, once I step into the game, I don't always play by your rules."
Vivian's smile sharpened, but her gaze didn't waver. "That's fine," she said softly. "As long as she loses."