The First Strike
867 Words
Freya didn't wait for the dust to settle.
The second the boardroom doors closed behind her at the end of that disastrous Crane meeting, she was already calculating the retaliation. Her heels clicked against the marble floors of Blake Luxe like war drums. By the time she entered her office, she’d already texted Evander two words: "They moved."
He replied within seconds. "Be there in 10."
Exactly nine minutes later, Evander Deveraux strode through her door, his presence all sharp edges and quiet fury. He didn’t ask what happened. The headlines spoke loud enough: "Crane Ventures Alleges Data Breach," "Blake Luxe Accused of Espionage."
Baseless. Unfounded. Insulting.
Freya tossed a folder across the table. "They timed it. Right before the shareholders meeting. They're baiting us."
Evander glanced at the reports, jaw clenched. "They're not just baiting. They're drawing blood."
She crossed her arms, bracing herself. "What do you suggest?"
Evander looked at her with that dangerous glint in his eyes. "We bleed louder."
He moved toward the screen on the far wall, connecting his tablet. Instantly, a map of media assets, investor networks, and social sentiment appeared. He wasn’t just playing defense. He was planning a counterattack.
"We make a public stand," he said. "Control the narrative. Expose Crane’s past violations."
Freya raised a brow. "You want to air their dirty laundry?"
"Not want. Need. They’ve been buying silence for years. We just have to break the dam."
She watched him, conflicted. This was war strategy, not business strategy. Yet something about it thrilled her. Not because she was vengeful. Because she was tired of playing nice while the wolves circled.
"Then let’s start leaking."
---
Three hours later, Freya and Evander sat across from their joint crisis team. On the screens behind them were campaign headlines, timelines, and tracked media influence charts.
"We go live tomorrow morning," Evander said. "I want public records, whistleblower testimonials, and investor testimonies lined up."
Freya turned to their PR strategist. "We need visual proof. Images. Video. Nothing emotional just facts and timelines. We hit them with professionalism and precision."
The room buzzed with movement. Assistants, analysts, legal advisors all moved like chess pieces. Freya looked over at Evander, and for the first time in weeks, they weren’t on opposite sides.
They were in sync. Unstoppable.
---
That night, the city hummed under soft rain. Freya stood on the balcony of her penthouse, fingers curled around a wine glass she hadn’t sipped.
Evander stepped beside her, his presence as familiar now as the skyline. He didn’t speak right away. He never did unless it mattered.
"Do you trust me?" he asked finally.
Freya’s breath caught. Not because she didn’t expect the question.
But because she didn’t have a rehearsed answer.
She turned slowly. "Why are you asking me now?"
"Because the minute this goes public, everything changes. Our companies, our reputations... us."
She looked at him. Really looked.
Evander Deveraux, her rival. Her reluctant ally. The man she once dreamed of taking down, who now stood beside her preparing to burn an empire for her.
"I trust you," she said. Quiet. Clear.
He didn’t smile. But his eyes softened.
Then, without warning, a phone buzzed.
Freya’s.
She checked the screen. Her assistant.
She answered.
"We’ve got a problem," her assistant whispered. "One of Crane’s ex-partners just got doxxed. Online threats. It’s getting ugly."
Freya’s spine straightened. She met Evander’s eyes.
"We didn’t authorize that."
He shook his head. "No. Someone else moved."
"Crane?"
Evander narrowed his eyes. "Or someone trying to make us look like we did."
The pieces were shifting faster now.
Freya ended the call and turned back to the rain-streaked view. Her jaw tightened.
"We wanted a strike. Not chaos."
Evander stepped closer. "Then we clean it up. Publicly. Decisively."
"Together."
It wasn’t a question.
It was a vow.
He nodded.
And just like that, a new war began.
---
By morning, the storm had gone viral.
#CraneCollapse was trending.
But so was #FreyaFiresBack.
Their media team issued a statement: Condemning threats. Releasing verified documents. Evander held a press conference. Calm, poised, lethal.
Freya stayed silent on camera, but her presence dominated headlines. Every move she made was analyzed, and for once, they were winning that battle.
Investors paused but didn’t pull out.
That alone was a small miracle.
At noon, Freya received a package. No return label.
Inside: a USB.
Evander watched as she plugged it into a burner laptop.
A video loaded.
It was surveillance footage. Grainy. But the voice was unmistakable.
Harold Crane. Meeting someone in an unmarked location.
"The leak goes live next week," he said. "Let them choke on their pride."
Next to him? A familiar figure.
Freya’s heart turned to stone.
"Is that......"
"Your CFO," Evander finished, jaw hardening.
Betrayal tasted bitter.
She leaned back, exhaling through her nose.
"How long?"
Evander scanned the metadata. "At least three months. He’s been feeding Crane internal files."
Her blood ran cold. She trusted him.
She hired him.
Evander placed a hand over hers. Steady. Warm. "You’re not the only one who’s been played."
The anger was white-hot.
But so was her clarity.
"Then let’s make this the last time."
Evander nodded. "Let’s end them."
- Writer
