She’ll never be clean again.
Neither will I.
At two a.m., I check her socials. Another photo, smiling beside a friend at some rooftop bar, curls wild, carefree. Pretending she doesn’t feel the tightening noose. Pretending she doesn’t sense me behind every unexpected audit, every whispered question from donors suddenly worried about their reputations.
Her obliviousness makes me furious.
Her defiance makes me hard.
Bruja. My witch. My beautiful, reckless mistake. The one thing in this carefully controlled game I haven’t mastered yet.
Yet.
I won’t rest until she’s as fully mine as Sinclair Media soon will be. And I won’t be gentle when that comes.
Not even close.
***
Day Ten.
Charles calls.
“I’ve reviewed your terms,” he says tersely, clipped words bitten off with barely contained fury. “I’ll grant you oversight, limited access to the board, limited insight into Foundation finances.”
“No.”
Silence.
“What?” he finally bites out.
“No,” I repeat, casual. Merciless. “There’s nothing limited about this arrangement. It’s my terms, Charles. You don’t dictate them. You surrender to them.”
“You’re overplaying your hand, Rivera,” he warns quietly.
“I don’t bluff,” I reply, my tone bored. “You either accept my demands…full oversight, board-level involvement, my analyst inside Camille’s division or I walk away and let it collapse. Your call.”
He inhales sharply, voice dropping to something guttural. “Camille will never accept this.”
“Camille’s acceptance isn’t required,” I snap. “She’ll do as she’s told, like the good little heiress you raised her to be.”
A harsh silence crackles on the line. Finally, Charles’s voice scrapes through, resigned and furious.
“You’ll have your access.”
“I know.”
I hang up.
Checkmate.
Chapter Five
Camille
Fourteen days.
That’s how long I’ve perfected the lie.
