Katherine
The next day, they were talking about her.
I stood by the glass wall of my office, coffee in hand, watching the boardroom through the blinds. Arthur leaned in, voice low. Two others nodded. A third shook his head. Tension rippled through their postures like a coming storm.
Perfect.
The seed had taken root.
I turned back to my desk, lips curling into a slow smile.
They were finally beginning to believe the story. That Eva Sinclair wasn't some sweet, ambitious intern—but a corporate mole. A spy. A danger.
And I had made sure they had just enough "evidence" to convince themselves of it.
I opened my laptop, fingers moving with practiced ease. On the screen, a new document glowed: a forged email chain between Eva and a dummy account named V-Labs Research. I'd created it last night with the help of Nico. Nothing traceable. Nothing sloppy.
Eva Sinclair:
"You'll have access to the backup servers by Monday. I'll make sure the export files are attached."
V-Labs:
"Good. We'll compensate you once the files are confirmed."
I read it twice, then adjusted the timestamp to a week ago and placed it in the hidden folder I'd already embedded on her drive.
Then I smiled.
Let them dig. Let them find it.
Let her burn herself without ever knowing where the fire started.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
Miranda stepped in without waiting for permission, as always.
"Arthur's trying to convince Damien to suspend her again," she said, voice low. "But he's not budging."
I sighed and walked toward the window again.
"Of course he's not. He's too proud to admit when someone close to him is dirty. He needs more pressure."
Miranda tilted her head. "So you're still planting the emails?"
"I already did."
She raised her brows. "Won't that be too obvious if someone looks too close?"
"It's not about what's obvious," I said calmly. "It's about what people want to believe. Once doubt takes root, logic dies. That's human nature."
She crossed her arms, watching me. "And what if she tells him everything? The truth?"
"She won't," I said too quickly.
Miranda caught it.
"You're sure?"
I turned back to the desk, setting my coffee down a little harder than necessary. "She's too scared. She's being watched, judged, whispered about. Right now, she's cornered—and people in corners make mistakes."
Miranda stayed quiet.
"Besides," I added, voice softer, "if she was going to tell Damien the truth… she would've done it by now."
Later, I walked down the executive corridor, my heels sharp against the tile. Every nod I received from staff, every glance that avoided my eyes—it all told me the story was spreading.
"Did you hear?"
"They say it's the intern."
"Eva, right? I thought she was so sweet."
"Sweet girls get caught too."
Rumors moved faster than facts. And I knew how to feed them.
I entered the records room and placed a printed version of the forged email on the back side of a stack of logistics reports. Not out in the open—but not hidden too well either.
It would be found.
And when it was, they'd stop asking why and start asking how soon she'd be removed.
Back in my office, I opened the locked drawer and pulled out the envelope I hadn't touched in years.
It was a letter.
Claire's final letter to Damien.
It still had that thin, pale blue paper—her handwriting soft but urgent. A legal document, naming her daughter. Naming Eva.
I should've given it to him when I forced her to leave. Should've honored Claire's last request.
But I didn't.
Instead, I sealed it in this drawer and told myself it was for the good of the company.
Because if Damien knew the truth—that the girl he was falling for was his daughter—his entire world would tilt. He'd lose control. And worse, the board would lose faith in him.
Wolfe Enterprises couldn't survive another scandal.
Not after Claire.
Not now.
Still… I stared at the envelope for a long time, fingers brushing the edge.
There was a flicker of something—I don't know what. Guilt? Pity?
No. It was too late for that.
Claire made her choices. Eva's just a result of them.
I placed the envelope back in the drawer, shut it, and turned the key.
Damien was protecting Eva.
But I was protecting everything else.
That evening, I met Arthur in the executive lounge. He was seated at the far end, nursing a glass of scotch.
"She's not breaking," he said quietly. "Still denies everything."
I sat across from him, crossing my legs.
"She's either incredibly naive or incredibly clever," I replied.
He frowned. "Damien's still blocking any real disciplinary action."
"Then maybe he needs to see more."
Arthur looked up at me. "Are you sure she's guilty?"
That was the wrong question.
I leaned in, voice steady. "I'm sure she's dangerous."
And that, to me, was enough.