The bathroom tile felt freezing against Eleanor’s knees as she stared at the pregnancy test in her shaking hand. The result was negative. She blinked hard, certain her vision was failing her, and reached for the second test she had taken that morning. It was also negative."No," she whispered. "No, no, no."Her phone sat on the marble counter, the reminder notification still glowing with a dull persistence: OBGYN appointment at 2:00 PM today. She had scheduled it two weeks ago, riding the wave of news that had secured Blake’s merger proposal and cemented her position as the future Mrs. Morrison.The news was apparently a complete fabrication of biology.Eleanor’s fingers trembled as she opened her browser and typed with a frantic rhythm. She searched for false positive pregnancy tests, stress-induced hormonal imbalances, and chemical pregnancies. The medical terms blurred into a messy soup of Latin and anxiety as panic tightened around her throat.She had shared the announcement with

Sophia Castellano's office phone rang at nine-fifteen on Tuesday morning. The caller ID showed "Unknown Number," which usually meant either a telemarketer or a potential source who didn't want to be traced. "Castellano," she answered, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear while typing notes on her latest article about Adam Industries' Westbridge lawsuit. "Ms. Castellano, my name is Vanessa Morrison," the woman's voice was calm. "I have information about Blake Morrison that you'll want to hear. Information that pertains to your recent coverage of Eleanor Adam." Sophia stopped typing. She'd been following the Eleanor-Blake relationship closely as part of her ongoing investigation into Julian Blackwood's situation. The sudden engagement, the merger announcement, Blake's very public presence in Eleanor's life—it all seemed too perfectly timed. "I'm listening," Sophia said. "Not over the phone," Vanessa replied. "Meet me at the Greystone Cafe on Fifth Avenue in one hour. Come

Victoria stood outside the heavy oak doors of Raymond’s office on Thursday afternoon. The smartphone in her pocket felt like a physical weight against her thigh. She had played Eleanor’s panicked confession seventeen times since capturing it.Eleanor had always been the center of their parents' attention. She was the golden child, the one whose mistakes were seen as learning experiences while Victoria was relegated to the role of the decorative social media manager.She knocked twice on the solid wood."Come in," Raymond called out.Victoria stepped into the room. Raymond was buried behind a fortress of legal briefs and financial audits. Dark shadows pooled beneath his eyes, and his usually immaculate suit was wrinkled at the elbows. The pressure of the company’s slow collapse was written in the sharp lines around his mouth."Victoria," he said, not looking up from a spreadsheet. "I am currently buried in—""You need to hear this," Victoria said, closing the door with a firm click. "I

The heavy iron gates of Riverside Cemetery groaned open at dawn. Julian was the first person to pass through them. Dried maple leaves crunched under his leather soles like parchment. Julian held two bouquets of white roses. They were the variety his mother used to keep on the dining table. He had not stood before these headstones since the weeks leading up to his wedding with Eleanor.His parents were buried deep down, resting under a massive maple tree that predated the surrounding skyscrapers. The markers were simple granite blocks, devoid of the sprawling marble angels or weeping statues. They bore only names and dates. Marcus Blackwood, Beloved Husband and Father. Sarah Blackwood, Beloved Wife and Mother.Julian stood motionless for several minutes before kneeling. He placed the flowers carefully at the base of the stone, his fingers lingering on the cold, rough surface of the granite.A sudden gust of wind rattled the branches above, sending a shower of yellow leaves spinning to

Sophia Castellano’s article hit the National Business Report digital front page at precisely six o'clock on Wednesday morning. The digital ripples turned into a tidal wave within minutes. By the time the first hour passed, the article had become the primary subject of every financial news desk in the country. By nine, the ticker for Morrison Tech showed a staggering eighteen percent loss, a downward trajectory that showed no signs of stabilizing.The headline was a direct strike: The Morrison Method: How Blake Morrison Destroys Companies From Within.Eleanor discovered the article on her phone while she remained paralyzed in bed. Sleep had been an impossible luxury following Blake’s cold departure the previous evening. As she scanned the opening paragraph, a heavy weight settled in her stomach.“Blake Morrison, the Chief Executive Officer of Morrison Tech and the fiance of Adam Industries heiress Eleanor Adam, has utilized a specific strategic blueprint across at least four separate c