Chapter 22

The office fell into dead silence when Vincent's computer screen went black.

His frantic keystrokes did nothing to stop the surveillance files from disappearing one by one.

"We're screwed..." Vincent's face turned ashen. "Someone planted a remote virus."

I rushed to my workstation only to find design blueprints being overwritten at alarming speed.

The red progress bar slithered across the screen like a venomous snake, devouring months of work.

"Pull the ethernet cables!" Alexander barked.

Too late.

My trembling fingers clicked open the last remaining folder.

Empty.

"At least..." I forced calm into my voice. "The cloud backup..."

As we scrambled to recover data, Isabella strode in on stiletto heels.

Her gaze swept across the chaos before settling on us with barely concealed satisfaction.

"Mr. Valdemar," she announced. "The Patriarch demands your immediate presence at the manor. You're to bring Ms. Laurent and Vincent."

Alexander's fingers drummed a grim rhythm on the desk.

We all knew this breach had reached the highest levels of Valdemar Holdings.

Vincent shot me a panicked look. "Sophia—"

I avoided his eyes.

No doubt Diana was already waiting at the manor to enjoy this spectacle.

The Valdemar estate blazed with light.

Tension crackled in the air the moment we stepped into the parlor.

The Patriarch occupied the head position, flanked by watchful Valdemar relatives.

Sebastian lounged on a sofa, eyes gleaming with schadenfreude.

"Sit." The Patriarch's voice carried exhaustion.

A tablet on the coffee table displayed Mountain Group's latest press conference—they'd already begun pitching our stolen project.

"Explain." The teacup hit the table with a sharp crack.

I studied the Persian rug's intricate patterns.

This trap had been perfectly laid. Even uncovering the truth wouldn't help now.

"Ms. Laurent's studio," the Patriarch declared suddenly, "will vacate Valdemar Tower by tomorrow."

The words struck like a slap.

He needed a scapegoat.

"Understood." My own voice sounded eerily calm.

Aunt Victoria snorted. "Guilty conscience."

Vincent shot to his feet. "Uncle! The surveillance was my responsibility! Sophia had nothing—"

Aunt Eleanor yanked his sleeve hard.

"Vincent." My quiet warning stopped him.

Alexander remained statue-still throughout.

I understood his silence—this wasn't about data theft, but the undercurrents of Valdemar succession.

The Patriarch didn't want truth.

He wanted control.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, night swallowed the city whole.

Someone had made their move in this silent war.

And we were all just pawns on their chessboard.