Neither of them moved.
The phone stopped ringing. The silence that followed was deafening, so complete that even the faint buzz of the overhead lights felt too loud.
On the sleek tablet in Leo's hand, the anonymous message blinked once more before vanishing.
If you want war, I'll give you ruin.
Crystabella didn't move. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.
The message was unsigned, but the venom in its simplicity left no doubt. Romano.
She could hear the storm building in Leo's breath, controlled fury pressing against the walls of his chest, but she couldn't respond. Not yet. Her heart had dropped into a strange, hollow pit. There was something about the phrasing that wasn't just cruel.
It was calculated.
Crystabella's phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen... and her stomach dropped.
She held it out silently. Leo took one look and his expression darkened.
"He sent it to you directly," Leo muttered. "He wanted you to feel cornered and alone."
She swallowed. "It's not just a threat. It's a setup. He wants it to look like we're scrambling. So when the leak drops, it looks like we're hiding something."
Leo turned toward the built-in control panel on his wall. With a rapid string of commands, the lights dimmed slightly. A discreet alert slid across the glass conference screen:
Comm isolation: Active. No incoming or outgoing traffic.
"Leo," she said quietly.
"We're going into containment mode," he replied sharply. "No leaks. Not even internally."
The office transformed in seconds into a digital fortress. Crystabella scanned the space, glass walls, titanium trim, glowing displays. The skyline shimmered behind them, but she knew the windows could tint black in an instant. Every surface in this office could listen, record, or erase.
Leo activated a signal blocker, locking the floor from the rest of the building. He returned to her side.
"We have five hours. Maybe less."
"Until what?"
He turned the tablet toward her. A countdown.
4 hours, 53 minutes.
"Until the file goes live. It's a time-triggered drop. No way to stop the upload now. It's decentralized."
She didn't speak.
He crouched in front of her, voice low. "We can't stop the release. But we can control what hits the public first if we know what's in it."
Crystabella hesitated. "What if it's the video?"
Leo didn't flinch. "Then we burn the script and write a better one before he can control the narrative."
Something stirred inside her. Not fear.
Resolve.
She would not be shattered by this.
Then a new alert flashed across Leo's desk. A legal package.
Encrypted. Digitally signed.
Sender: Graysons LLP.
Crystabella's eyes narrowed. "Romano's lawyers."
Leo opened it. Inside was a single folder, password-protected, labeled simply:
PROOF.
He stared at it. "He's baiting us. Testing our reaction."
She leaned forward. "Open it."
He hesitated, then typed in a guess. Her birthday.
It worked.
Inside were three files:
An audio clip
A video compilation
A forged document
They played the audio first.
Her voice, or something like it. Sliced from interviews and private calls, digitally stitched into damning sentences.
"I never cared about him. I only wanted the headlines."
Leo's jaw tightened. "He got access to your private archives."
Crystabella nodded slowly. "Someone close gave it to him."
Next came the video. Paparazzi footage, security cam clips, moments taken from the charity gala, all edited with dramatic overlays, manipulated to portray her as calculated and cold.
Crystabella Brooklyn: Heiress or Heartless?
But it was the final file that chilled her.
A document, professionally formatted, bearing her falsified signature.
A private contract claiming she accepted a payout to stage her engagement to Romano for press attention, only to abandon it for Leo.
"This isn't just character assassination," Leo said coldly. "He's trying to erase who you are. To ruin your credibility publicly and privately."
Crystabella's voice was steady. "This isn't about jealousy. This is vengeance."
Suddenly, the intercom buzzed.
Leo looked at the screen. "It's Mara."
He answered. "Yes?"
Mara's voice came through, calm but slightly uncertain. "Sir, Mariella's at the front desk. She's asking to come up. She said it's urgent, something Crystabella left at the press dinner."
Leo's eyes met Crystabella's.
"She doesn't have clearance to be on this floor," he said quietly.
Crystabella stood. "Let her up."
He nodded once. "Send her in, Mara."
Less than a minute later, the elevator chimed. The glass doors slid open.
Mariella walked in like she belonged there, heels sharp against the marble, hair perfectly set, a small designer bag in her hand. She smiled smoothly.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, placing the bag gently on the coffee table. "Crystabella, you left this at the press dinner. I thought you might want it back before everything gets messy."
Crystabella's spine stiffened. "How did you know I was here?"
Mariella just smiled wider. "Lucky guess."
Before Crystabella could respond, her phone buzzed violently.
No Caller ID.
She answered automatically.
And the screen lit up with a stream.
Not a file.
A broadcast.
Live.
Romano's masterpiece.
The distorted audio.
The doctored clips.
The forged signature.
All playing on repeat.
Within seconds, headlines began flooding every platform.
News alerts.
Commentary threads.
Speculation from influencers.
Outrage. Sympathy. Confusion.
Leo's control panel lit up with red alerts.
The PR team was in chaos.
The servers were buckling.
The internet had already chosen its narrative.
Crystabella stood frozen, phone in hand, the video reflecting in her wide, dry eyes.
And behind her, Mariella's voice came, almost musical. Barely a whisper.
"Oops."
Crystabella's head snapped around.
Mariella's expression was the picture of innocence, but her eyes glittered with satisfaction, the kind that only came from watching something beautiful crack.
"Oops?" Crystabella echoed, the word sticking in her throat.
Leo was already moving. "Mara, lockdown. Now," he barked into the intercom. "Security to my floor. No one enters or exits without my approval."
"Understood," Mara replied instantly.
Crystabella stared at Mariella, searching her face for something shame, fear, regret.
But she found nothing. Just that maddening, polished calm.
"You leaked it," Crystabella said, voice low. "You gave him access to the files."
Mariella didn't deny it. She walked slowly toward the wide window, gazing out at the glowing city like it was her personal stage. "Romano said you'd assume that. I just delivered a bag."
"Cut the act," Leo growled. "He couldn't have forged those files without internal access. And you're the only one who had clearance to Crystabella's private archives."
Mariella turned slightly, one brow arched. "You think I did this alone?"
Silence.
Then Crystabella felt it. A quiet, crawling cold in her chest. She took a step forward. "Who else was involved?"
Mariella tilted her head. "Does it matter now? The world already believes it. You're the spoiled heiress who faked her engagement to climb higher. You used Romano, then discarded him. Now you're the villain."
She smiled with perfect teeth. "And you made it so easy."
Crystabella's fingers curled into fists at her sides.
"You were at my side during every meeting. Every speech. You handed me drinks, smoothed my hair, whispered encouragement before every appearance. You smiled in every photo. And all along, you were collecting data for him?"
Mariella's smile didn't waver. "He offered me something you never could."
Leo stepped between them, protective, dangerous. "Security's here. You're done."
Mariella turned to them both, gaze lingering on Crystabella with something that might have been pity, or warning.
"You still don't get it, do you?"
Crystabella narrowed her eyes.
Mariella leaned forward, her voice low. "Romano's not finished."
Then she walked past the guards, her heels echoing like gunshots as she disappeared into the elevator.
Crystabella stood in the middle of the room, stunned.
And outside the floor to ceiling windows, the city glittered like a million eyes watching her fall.