Arabella hadn't felt this steady in a long time. Not since the night her world collapsed in a storm of betrayal, flashing lights, and screams.
Now, standing beside Nathaniel in the sleek boardroom of King Enterprises, facing the very people who had once questioned her existence, she didn't flinch.
The large glass windows framed the city skyline like a battleground waiting beyond the horizon. Her fingers clenched the small USB drive in her hand—the one containing evidence damning enough to shatter Cyrus Langford's empire.
"Ms. Vance, are you sure you want to do this?" Nathaniel murmured beside her. He wore a tailored black suit that matched his fierce composure, but his voice was low, protective.
Arabella's gaze didn't waver. "I'm not just sure—I need to do this."
The board members shuffled in, most of them unaware of what was about to strike. Cyrus wasn't present yet, which made Arabella's skin prickle with unease. He was never late.
The tension mounted as the final director took his seat. Nathaniel nodded to the head of legal, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara Ridgewell. She inserted the flash drive into the console at the head of the room and synced it with the large screen.
Silence descended.
And then… chaos.
Screens lit up with transactions, offshore accounts, fabricated contracts, and most damning of all—video footage of Cyrus admitting, in a private call to a shadow investor, that he orchestrated the Vance family collapse for personal gain.
"What is the meaning of this?" barked one of the older board members.
"Fraud," Clara said coldly. "Decades of it."
"This can't be real—"
"It's real," Nathaniel interrupted, voice calm but edged with steel. "You're looking at the man who's been embezzling from this company, orchestrating hostile takeovers, and laundering money through shell corps for years."
"And who are you to bring this forward, Ms…?" another director began, eyeing Arabella suspiciously.
"Arabella Vance," she said clearly. "Daughter of Gregory Vance. The man your colleague Cyrus Langford ruined."
Gasps.
Shock rippled across the room. One board member dropped his pen.
"She's dead," someone whispered.
Arabella raised her chin. "No. I was forced into hiding. And now I'm back—with proof."
Just as Clara prepared to proceed with legal documentation, the doors slammed open.
Cyrus Langford.
He looked disheveled, his face tight with fury, eyes darting around the room before locking onto Arabella like a wolf spotting the one sheep who dared bite back.
"You think you've won?" he sneered, voice thick with venom. "This little drama you've orchestrated means nothing."
Nathaniel took a step forward. "This isn't drama. It's justice."
"And you," Cyrus snapped, turning to him, "you were always weak. Falling into bed with the daughter of your enemy—how poetic."
Arabella didn't react to the insult. She kept her gaze on him, cool and unflinching.
"You made one mistake," she said, her voice razor-sharp. "You thought you'd buried the past. But you didn't. You only planted it."
"And now it's growing back to destroy you," Nathaniel added.
But Cyrus wasn't done.
He laughed—a low, dangerous sound. "You have no idea what you've done. You think that evidence is everything? Do you even know who you're dealing with?"
His eyes gleamed with something deeper. Something Arabella hadn't seen before.
Fear? No.
Confidence.
He was hiding something.
She felt it in her bones.
Before anyone could respond, Cyrus pulled a sleek black phone from his pocket and dropped it onto the table.
"Play it," he said.
The assistant nearest to him hesitated before tapping the screen. An audio recording played.
"—We strike when Nathaniel King is vulnerable. Arabella won't suspect it. Once she's softened him, we hit both."
The room fell into stunned silence.
It was Arabella's voice.
Her heart stopped.
"No," she whispered, stepping forward. "That's not—"
But Cyrus cut in smoothly. "That was from three weeks ago. During a meeting with an old friend of hers. A known informant. Convenient timing, wouldn't you say?"
Nathaniel's expression darkened. His jaw tightened.
Arabella turned to him, eyes wide. "Nathaniel, that recording was altered. I never said those things—not like that. You know me."
He didn't respond.
The room buzzed with whispers again, directors exchanging glances, chaos reforming in the air.
Cyrus leaned forward. "She's playing you, Nathaniel. Just like her father played mine."
Arabella's mind raced. How had he gotten that audio? The meeting with Mark—was that recorded? No, it had been private. Unless…
Unless she'd been followed.
Set up.
Nathaniel finally spoke, but his voice was cold now. Distant.
"We'll analyze the audio. Until then… I suggest everyone remain neutral."
Arabella felt the cold settle deep in her chest.
He didn't believe her.
Not fully.
Not anymore.
And Cyrus knew it.
The enemy had struck back—and this time, the blow had landed where it hurt most.
In the trust they were just beginning to build.
Arabella's chest constricted as the silence thickened in the boardroom. Her heartbeat drummed wildly against her ribs, not from guilt, but from desperation—the feeling of watching everything she had rebuilt teeter on the edge of collapse.
Nathaniel's expression was unreadable. That terrified her more than Cyrus's smug grin or the board members' murmurs.
"I would never betray you," she said softly, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it firm. "That recording is fake, spliced from things I said out of context. You know what Cyrus is capable of."
Cyrus gave a mocking bow. "Thank you for the compliment, my dear. But if I were fabricating evidence, don't you think I'd do a better job of hiding it?"
Nathaniel didn't take his eyes off her. "Who were you meeting with that day, Arabella?"
Her breath caught. "A former family associate—Mark Daniels. He said he had information about my father's fall. I went there alone because I didn't want to involve you until I had something concrete."
"Was it recorded?"
"I don't know. It wasn't supposed to be, but—Nathaniel, please—you have to believe me."
He turned away for a beat, jaw clenched. "We'll have the audio analyzed. Until then, we suspend judgment."
Cyrus chuckled. "How noble."
Arabella's gaze darted across the boardroom. The board members' initial shock had shifted into skepticism. A few whispered to each other, some clearly leaning toward Cyrus's narrative. The seeds of doubt had been planted.
Nathaniel turned to Clara. "Secure the drive and initiate a full forensic sweep. I want to know where that audio originated, who handled it, and if there's even a trace of manipulation."
"Yes, sir," Clara nodded, snapping out of her own shock.
Cyrus moved toward the door, but not before delivering one last dagger with a smile. "Careful who you trust, Nathaniel. Especially when she carries the same blood as the man who nearly destroyed you."
Arabella flinched.
The door slammed behind him.
She was left standing alone, in a room of suits and silence, Nathaniel still staring out the window like the sky might offer answers.
"I didn't know," she whispered, stepping toward him. "I didn't know he'd twist it like that. I only ever wanted to help you uncover the truth."
He glanced at her. "I want to believe that, Arabella. But you walked into this world with secrets. And secrets have teeth."
Her stomach sank.
Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He picked it up, eyes flicking over the screen.
"It's from our security team," he said, brows drawing together. "Something happened downstairs."
"What is it?"
Nathaniel turned to her, voice suddenly sharp. "It's Elina. She was attacked on her way up."
Arabella's blood ran cold.
"What?! Where is she—"
"I'm going now." Nathaniel was already striding toward the door, voice clipped. "You stay here."
"The hell I will!" she snapped, chasing after him.
They stormed through the corridors of King Enterprises, Arabella's heels echoing with every step. When they reached the executive lobby, two guards stood blocking the entrance to the private clinic wing.
"She's stable," one of them reported. "Minor head wound. It was fast—someone intercepted her in the elevator lobby. We have footage, but they wore a mask. In and out within thirty seconds."
Arabella pushed past them into the private suite. Elina lay on the clinic bed, her forehead bandaged, her eyes fluttering open as Arabella rushed to her side.
"Elina!" Arabella gasped, taking her hand.
"I'm fine," Elina mumbled. "I think they just wanted to send a message…"
Nathaniel's voice was low and furious. "What message?"
Elina blinked groggily. "They said… 'Tell Arabella to back off. Or next time, she won't be so lucky.'"
Arabella froze.
Nathaniel cursed under his breath.
She turned to him slowly. "He's targeting the people I love."
Nathaniel nodded grimly. "He's cornered. And when snakes are cornered, they strike."
"I'm done waiting," Arabella said quietly, something fierce igniting behind her eyes. "He wants war? I'll give him one."
Nathaniel met her gaze. "Not alone."
Their alliance, though shaken, solidified again—this time forged in fire.
**
Later that night, Arabella sat in her apartment, replaying the audio Cyrus had exposed over and over, looking for flaws. Every breath, every syllable. Something didn't sit right.
She opened her encrypted laptop, scanning through the original meeting recording with Mark. Her voice was calm there, questioning but never conspiratorial. The version Cyrus had played twisted that tone, added words that didn't belong.
Then she spotted it.
A millisecond audio spike—barely perceptible to most.
But to someone who knew what to look for, it was a sign of tampering.
She gasped, heart leaping.
She grabbed her phone and called Nathaniel.
He answered on the second ring. "Arabella—"
"It's doctored. I found the splice. I can prove it."
Silence for a beat.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Then we make our move tomorrow."
Arabella sat back, her fingers trembling but her spirit unbroken.
Cyrus had struck the past like a weapon—but she wasn't the same girl who had once run from the flames.
This time, she would face the fire—and drag him into it with her.