Confrontation at Dawn
The morning sun slanted through the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of Holden’s office, painting the sleek surfaces in gold.
I pushed the door open, my shoes clicking against the polished marble as I marched toward his desk.
“Explain the photos,” I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt.
Holden looked up from his laptop, a practiced smile flickering before his eyes hardened.
“You’ve misunderstood,” he said, his tone cool, “a business meeting, nothing more.”
I slammed the envelope of divorce papers onto his desk, the papers rustling like a warning.
“You think you can erase us with a signature? Show me the truth behind that briefcase.”
Silence stretched, then Sienna stepped from the shadows, her expression ice‑cold.
“You’re blackmailing us, Maya,” she spat, voice sharp, “and you’ll ruin everything we’ve built.”
Before I could reply, a heavy footfall echoed— the security guard from the lobby, his badge glinting.
He seized my wrists, his grip iron‑tight, and hauled me toward the door.
The lights overhead flickered, casting the room in strobe‑lit fragments as the guard’s hand clanged against the metal cuffs.
