Gregory leaned back in a leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, swirling a glass of amber liquor with the kind of leisure only those in control allowed themselves.
The TV screen in front of him still flashed with headlines:
"Billionaire Arnold Connor and Unknown Woman Caught in Scandal – Company Shares Drop Amid Rumors"
Flora sat across from him, her lips curled in a sly smile.
"It's chaos," she said, admiring her manicured nails. "Social media's ripping him to shreds. Investors are shaking."
Greg chuckled a pleased sound and placed the glass on the table. "It's moving faster than I expected."
He was a man who calculated more than he felt. But tonight, he allowed himself something rare: satisfaction.
Flora gave a knowing smile. She crossed her leg slowly and tilted her head.
"Reporters are everywhere. She hadn't been to work. I had to act like I was crying over the photos just to keep up the intern act. Everyone at work thinks I'm a fresh out-of-college newbie."
"You did well." Greg said. "Arnold is unraveling. That little press stunt of his? Pathetic. Saying they're strangers won't hold. The public's already invested in the scandal. Investors are nervous."
He picked up a remote, flicked on the wall-sized screen, and turned up the volume. Another anchor appeared, a young woman in red. And financial news filled the air:
"Connor International faces public scrutiny and a 4.2% dip in stock value after viral media exposure. Sources say the board is questioning Arnold Connor's stability and discretion."
"Perfect."
Flora watched him and asked curiously. "Why Freya? Why not just go after Arnold directly?"
Greg didn't answer right away. He rose, walked to the glass window, and looked out over the city.
"Because men like Arnold don't fall from the top. They fall from within."
She frowned slightly. "And she's the crack in his armor?"
He turned to her, eyes colder now.
"She's more than that. She's the first person who's made him act irrational. Look at him—running across traffic, shielding her, pulling strings to protect her name. That's not the billionaire who wipes threats off the map. That's a man distracted. A man vulnerable."
"And you're going to use that." She smirked.
"I am using that."
Flora stood and moved to the other side of the window. "How long do we let it play out?"
"Long enough for him to drown. Then we offer a lifeboat—with my name on it."
She tapped her nails thoughtfully. "And if Freya becomes more than a distraction? What if she starts asking questions?"
"Then we bury her in answers she's too scared to face."
A beat passed. Then Flora grinned.
"You really hate him."
Greg smiled. But this one didn't reach his eyes. It was venomous.
"He took what belonged to me. That's all you need to know."
"Then I'll keep doing my part. She trusts me. A little wide-eyed, but smart. The type that thinks she's above being played."
"Just make sure she keeps thinking that."
More headlines swam: "CEO in Crisis: Who Is Freya Davis and Why Is She Costing Arnold everything?"
But Greg walked over slowly to Flora and placed a hand on her hip.
"She is a rabbit," he said coolly. "But what she doesn't know is that she wandered into a lion's den." He brushed her hair behind her shoulders, fingers lingering.
Their eyes locked. And for a moment, it wasn't just strategy and shadows — it was raw chemistry laced with danger.
"Celebrate with me," he said. Not a question. An invitation wrapped in command.
Flora leaned in, lips just short of brushing his. "I already am."
The silence that followed was thick.
She grabbed his collar and yanked him into a searing kiss.
The air between them buzzed with unspoken power, victory, and something darker.
They didn't need words. Not now.