Page 80 of Monsters Wear Crowns
The morning after our fight, the mansion felt colder. Or maybe it was just me. Rafe hadn’t come to bed. I hadn’t gone looking for him. And when I left for the office, there was no sign of him. Just his men, stationed like shadows around the perimeter, always watching.
I didn’t care.
Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.
But the tension coiled tight in my chest as the car pulled up to Sinclair Solutions. I needed the distraction of work–I needed to remind myself who I was without Rafe’s presence looming over me, consuming me.
I wasn’t some kept woman. I wasn’t someone’s possession.
I was Adela Sinclair, and no one was going to forget it.
The sleek glass doors slid open as I stepped inside, my heels striking the marble floor with sharp, determined clicks. The rush of activity inside was a welcome distraction, the low murmur of voices, the distant ring of phones. Familiar. Steady.
But as I headed toward my office, I noticed something else. A tension in the air. People kept their heads down. Conversations stopped when I passed. And when I pushed through the door into my office, Laura was already waiting, her face set in a grim line.
“We have a problem,” she said without preamble.
My stomach dipped. “What kind of problem?”
She held up her phone. “Turn on the news.”
I crossed to my desk, my fingers already flying over the keyboard. The moment the screen flickered to life, I saw it–the bold headline splashed across the business news feed like a slap to the face.
HIGH-PROFILE CLIENT DROPS SINCLAIR SOLUTIONS AMID SECURITY CONCERNS
The blood drained from my face. I clicked the article, scanning the words with growing fury.
“‘Unnamed sources within the company have raised questions about Sinclair Solutions’ ability to protect sensitive data,’” Laura read aloud, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “‘The sudden termination of the contract suggests a lack of confidence in their security measures.’”
I slammed my laptop shut. “This is bullshit.”
Laura’s eyes were dark and furious. “Of course it is. But it’s already out there.” She tossed her phone onto my desk. Every tech blog and business journal is picking it up. If we don’t get ahead of this, it will spread likewildfire.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. I forced myself to take a breath, to keep my voice level even when my hands curled into fists. “Who’s the client?”
Laura’s mouth twisted. “Grayson International.”
My breath hissed through my teeth. Grayson was one of our biggest and most visible contracts. Losing them wasn’t just a blow, it was a message.
And I had no doubt who sent it.
“Moreau,” I said quietly.
Laura nodded. “You think it washimwho convinced Grayson?” The room felt too small, too hot. I pushed away from the desk, pacing to the windows. The city was bright and glittering below, oblivious to the war being waged beneath the surface.
“Get a call scheduled with Grayson’s CEO,” I said. “I want to hear exactly why they pulled out. From them.”
“And if they won’t talk?”
“Then we’ll make them.” My voice was cold. “One way or another.”
Laura’s eyes gleamed with approval. “That’s my girl.”
“Ensure the office knows what this really is–a pissed off non-client trying to get us to stand down,” I commanded.
Laura nodded before leaving my office. Even as I stood there, seething, I felt the prickle at the back of my neck. The sense of being watched.
I turned toward the glass wall of my office. And there he was.
