Chapter 2 - The Silent Retaliation
I lay motionless in the sterile white bed, my fingers wrapped tightly around the falsified medical folder Jared had given me. To him, my silence was the quiet submission of a broken, grieving woman. To Courtney, who sat across the room delicately peeling an apple with a victorious smirk, I was nothing more than an obstacle that had finally been eliminated.
"You look so tired, Shelby," Courtney said softly, her tone coated in fake sympathy. "Don't worry about Harlan Media while you recover. Jared and I have taken full control of the new campaign. You should just focus on... rest."
She laid a hand over her lower abdomen, ensuring I saw the diamond ring sparkling on her finger—a ring from the company’s anniversary collection that I had personally designed six months ago.
"Thank you, Courtney," I whispered, keeping my voice frail, my eyes vacant. "Jared is lucky to have such a loyal employee."
Jared squeezed my shoulder gently. "See, Shelby? Everyone just wants you to get better. I've already arranged for a private nurse to take care of you at home starting tomorrow."
A private nurse, I thought. A warden. He wanted me isolated in our estate, away from independent doctors and legal counsel, until the paper trail dried up.
That night, while Jared slept soundly on the sofa in my room, convinced his tranquilizer had put me under, I pulled my phone from beneath my pillow. My body screamed in pain as I sat up, the fresh surgical stitches pulling against my skin, but hatred proved to be an extraordinary anesthetic.
I took high-resolution photos of every single page in the medical folder. Then, using a encrypted cloud drive I had set up years ago for corporate compliance, I uploaded the images alongside a brief, cold note:
“Marcus, they took it. It wasn't cancer. Run the blood panel samples I left in your safe prior to the surgery, and prepare the assets.”
Marcus Vance was not just my attorney; he was my father’s former head of legal affairs and the only man in the city who knew the truth about Harlan Media’s origin. Jared believed he had built the empire from scratch. He forgot—or chose to ignore—that every foundation stone had been financed by my late father’s estate, held in a revocable trust that only I controlled.
At 3:00 AM, a quiet notification flashed on my screen: FILE RECEIVED. PROCEEDING WITH CAUTION.
I deleted the thread, tucked the phone back under my mattress, and stared at the dark ceiling. The physical loss inside me felt like a vast, cold void, but in that darkness, a terrifying clarity took root.
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Jared wanted an heir. Courtney wanted a throne.
I was going to burn down the entire kingdom.
