Wrong Man, Right Sin

The Last Straw

Chapter Four – The Last Straw

Naomi POV

The email had come without warning. Emergency Board Meeting – Mandatory Attendance.

I had stared at it for a long moment, my gut churning. I hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t missed any deadlines, hadn’t skipped any performance reports. If anything, I had poured myself into the company, working nights others never saw.

Still, I went. Dressed sharp in a navy pantsuit, hair slicked into a bun, I walked into the Cole Foods headquarters boardroom with my shoulders squared. I told myself that I was ready for anything.

The moment the door shut behind me, I knew I was wrong.

The air was heavy. The board members — men and women I had worked beside for years — sat with stony faces, papers untouched in front of them. Their eyes were hard, measuring, like judges in a trial. I paused, confused.

“Good morning,” I said carefully, setting my leather file on the table. “What’s”

The door banged open.

Frederick Cole strode in, Dorothy on his arm, their longtime lawyer Mr. Ashworth trailing them with a black folder. Dorothy’s belly was barely showing, but her hand caressed it as though she were already eight months along. She cast me a watery look, trembling lips pressed together as though she were the victim here.

My brows drew tight. Something was wrong.

Frederick didn’t bother sitting. He slammed a palm on the polished mahogany table. “This meeting concerns the stability of this company and the shameful behavior of someone sitting in this room.”

I stiffened.

Dorothy sniffled softly, leaning against Frederick as if she were the fragile, innocent one who needed shielding.

Mr. Ashworth cleared his throat. “The motion brought forward is the immediate transfer of Miss Naomi Cole’s shares in Cole Foods to Miss Dorothy Cole.”

The words were a bomb.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Murmurs erupted around the table. One older director, Mr. Hanley, spoke sharply. “That’s absurd! Naomi has been instrumental in this company’s growth. She’s been with us from the start, handling acquisitions and expansions that Dorothy knows nothing about.”

Another board member chimed in, “Exactly. Naomi practically lives in this office. Dorothy, with all due respect, doesn’t even know half the department heads’ names.”

My chest swelled with a brief flicker of hope — loyalty. Maybe I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

Frederick’s lips twisted into something cruel. “This isn’t a debate. This is about morality, reputation, and blood.”

My smile was thin, hiding the tremor inside. “Blood?”

Mr. Ashworth opened his folder, sliding photographs down the long table. Each glossy image landed in front of the directors with a soft slap.

My breath caught.

They were pictures of me at Riverton Club. Drunk. Stumbling. And then—my chest squeezed painfully—me in Damian’s arms. His mouth on mine, my blouse gaping open, the heat of that reckless night immortalized in a dozen damning angles.

The board members gasped, some shaking their heads, others whispering in disgust.

“She’s brought disgrace to this company.”

“Public indecency—look at her state.”

“This is unacceptable.”

My cheeks burned with shame. My heart pounded so hard I thought I might faint. I wanted to speak, to defend myself, but the words clung to my throat like glass shards.

Frederick straightened to his full height, voice booming. “Naomi Cole is not my daughter. She never was. She is an unwanted orphan I took in out of pity. And this—” he jabbed a finger at the photos “—is how she repays me. By tainting the Cole family name, by becoming a whore.”

My knees buckled, but I didn’t let them see. I forced myself to stand tall, nails digging crescents into my palm.

“And let’s not forget,” Frederick continued, eyes glittering with malice, “the violent spectacle at the mall. Dorothy’s fiancé attacked in broad daylight because of Naomi’s bitterness. She sends men to fight for her—thugs! She is uncultured, unfit, and undeserving of a single share in this company.”

Another photo hit the table. Marcus at the mall, his nose bloodied. The story twisted until I was the villain again.

My vision blurred. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart, the snickers of betrayal around me.

Mr. Hanley tried again. “Mr. Cole, surely this isn’t—”

“Enough!” Frederick roared. “Sign the transfer. Now.”

I stared at the pen sliding across the table. My world felt as though it had already ended. My accounts, frozen. My dignity stripped. My name, dragged into the mud. And now, even the sweat and blood I had poured into this company was being stolen.

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

With a bitter smile, I picked up the pen and signed. I didn’t read the papers. I didn’t look at Dorothy’s smug tears or Frederick’s victorious smirk. I just signed, slid the papers back, and stood.

“I hope you’re proud,” I whispered, voice breaking.

And then I walked out.

The moment I reached the storage room, my composure cracked. I sank against the wall, sliding to the floor as sobs tore through my chest. Years. Years of trying to earn his love, his approval, his recognition. All of it was reduced to nothing.

I hugged my knees, trembling, the weight of betrayal pressing down on me until I could barely breathe.

That was when the shadow fell across me.

Unseen, just beyond the doorway, Damian Scott stood in silence. His sharp eyes softened for a fraction of a second at the sight of my broken figure. His jaw clenched, fury boiling inside him, cold and lethal.

His hand tightened around his phone. He didn’t come. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he pressed one number. His voice was low, controlled and dangerous.

“Derek. Deplete their stocks. All of it.”

Damian's war had already began.

And as I wept, oblivious to his presence, one truth became clear.

This wasn't another betrayal.

This was the last straw.