The city skyline shimmered in the dark, as if mocking Elena's newfound clarity. Power had a strange taste—bitter, sweet, and slightly metallic. She had touched the core of the Moreau empire and found it beating with secrets instead of blood.
She hadn't slept all night. The email from Marcel still haunted her screen like a phantom. Her reply had been bold—but boldness didn't erase danger. She stood by the window, watching dawn seep into the sky, when the door behind her opened.
Lucas walked in with two cups of coffee.
"You look like hell," he said dryly.
She took the cup without a thank you. "You would too if you were threatened by a man who should be rotting in prison."
"Unfortunately," Lucas said, "Marcel doesn't rot. He evolves."
She sipped. "What exactly did Adrien do to make Marcel this obsessed?"
Lucas sat on the edge of her desk. "Adrien didn't just abandon the business. He exposed Marcel's offshore accounts, shut down their secret ventures, and stripped him of ten years of hidden profits. It was like throwing a grenade into Marcel's kingdom. And then Adrien vanished before he could retaliate."
"And now," Elena said, "he thinks I'm the weak link."
Lucas didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Elena opened the encrypted files again. There was a folder titled "Project Lyra"—a codename that had appeared twice in Adrien's letter but never explained. Inside were blueprints. Chemical stocks. Experimental reports. And a photograph of a warehouse with the Moreau logo—scratched over in red ink.
"What is Project Lyra?" she asked.
Lucas stiffened. "That should've stayed buried."
"Apparently, nothing stays buried in this family," she replied. "What is it?"
He sighed, standing. "It was a pharmaceutical wing Adrien and Marcel started together—before we became tech giants. The goal was clean: develop a treatment for a rare autoimmune disorder. But funding ran low, and Marcel started testing unethical compounds—unauthorized trials, human testing... Adrien shut it down when he found out."
Elena frowned. "And that warehouse?"
Lucas hesitated. "The last known location of all Lyra's physical data and prototypes. It was burned down five years ago. Officially an accident."
"But not really?"
Lucas met her gaze. "Adrien set the fire himself. To destroy the research permanently."
Elena's chest tightened. "Then what does Marcel want now?"
"To rebuild it," Lucas said grimly. "With or without us. You're not just holding a company anymore, Elena. You're sitting on a vault of ghosts—and Marcel wants every skeleton back."
That afternoon, Elena went to the company headquarters for the first time since the partial press leak. The atmosphere had changed. Whispers stopped as she walked by. Some looked at her with curiosity. Others with suspicion.
Her assistant, Camilla, followed her with a tablet in hand. "Ma'am, the board wants to meet—tomorrow. They're divided. Some are worried about retaliation from Marcel, others think going public was brave."
"What do you think?" Elena asked.
Camilla blinked. "Honestly? I think you're about to become the most dangerous woman in this city."
Elena didn't smile, but she appreciated the honesty.
"Tell the board I'll see them. And prepare a dossier on every former Lyra employee still in contact with Marcel. Start with pharmaceutical licenses and cross-check medical companies with Moreau shares."
Camilla's eyebrows rose. "Going full detective?"
"No," Elena said. "I'm going to cut off every finger before Marcel grows a new hand."
Later that night, Elena returned to the estate to find a small black envelope on her pillow.
There was no name. No seal.
Inside was a single polaroid photo: Lucas, talking to someone in a dark alley—the figure blurred, but the timestamp printed clearly on the bottom corner. Two days ago.
And underneath the photo was a note.
"The enemy is not Marcel. The enemy is beside you."
Elena felt ice creep through her veins.
She stormed into Lucas's private study.
"You met someone in Saint-Gervais two nights ago. Who?"
Lucas looked up from his laptop, calm as ever. "You've been spying on me?"
"Don't play games. Who was it?"
He leaned back. "A contact. One of Marcel's old lab workers. I bribed him for intel."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you're impulsive when you're angry. And emotional decisions get people killed."
"I'm emotional because someone in this house lied about death, forged a contract, and made me the face of an empire built on broken laws!"
Lucas stood abruptly. "You think I'm working with Marcel?"
She flung the photo toward him.
He studied it for a moment. Then slowly, he placed it on the desk. "You're starting to sound like Adrien."
"I'm starting to see through both of you," she snapped. "And if you lie to me again, Lucas—brother or not—I will burn this entire dynasty to the ground."
His face darkened, but there was a flicker of something else behind his eyes. Regret? Fear?
Or guilt?
"Elena," he said, quieter, "do you really think Marcel is the only one watching you?"
The next day, Elena walked into the board meeting alone.
Twelve men and women in sleek suits sat waiting. Their eyes turned as she entered, all calculating.
"We appreciate your courage," said Mr. Renault, the oldest board member. "But you've stirred a hornet's nest. The Moreau brand is at risk."
"So was the truth," Elena replied. "Marcel Dervieux is not a ghost. He's a threat. And burying the past won't stop him from knocking down our front door."
Murmurs echoed around the table.
Another member leaned forward. "Do you have proof?"
She placed a copy of the flash drive and a printed dossier in front of them. "Everything Adrien tried to protect. Now it's yours. But if we don't take a stand now, Marcel will be the one rewriting the future."
Silence fell.
Then Mr. Renault spoke again. "What do you propose?"
"A counter-strategy. We rebuild the Lyra facility—not for weapons or profit—but for redemption. Controlled. Transparent. And we use the narrative to prove we're not hiding. We're correcting. That puts Marcel on the defensive."
"And if Marcel retaliates?"
Elena's eyes gleamed. "Then we expose him. Entirely."
That night, a call came.
A voice Elena didn't recognize spoke through static.
"He's already here."
"What?"
"Marcel. He's in Paris. And you're on his list."
The line cut.
Elena stood frozen. Then slowly turned.
Across the estate's lawn, under the shadow of the main gate, stood a man in a grey coat.
Watching.
He lifted a phone to his ear.
Elena's phone buzzed.
A new message.
"Let's talk, Elena. Before your empire bleeds."