THE EMPIRE OF LIES

THE MORNING AFTER

I woke to sunlight streaming through my bedroom windows and the lingering exhaustion from

last night's gala.

My head felt heavy, like I'd had one too many glasses of champagne. Which, to be fair, I

probably had. Success deserved celebrating, and those Singapore investors had been very

generous with the Dom Pérignon.

I groaned and reached for my phone. 9:47 AM.

Late for me, but it was Saturday. I was allowed to sleep in after a successful networking

marathon.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, turning the shower to scalding. The hot water

helped clear the fog from my brain, washing away the remnants of champagne and late-night

conversations.

By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, I felt almost human again.

I threw on running clothes. A jog through Central Park would finish the job of waking me up,

and then I could enjoy a lazy Saturday morning with Dad over breakfast. He'd promised me

anywhere I wanted, I was thinking that little French place in the West Village he loved.

The October air was crisp and perfect as I hit my stride around Bethesda Fountain.

Other runners nodded as they passed. Dog walkers managed their charges. A street musician

played saxophone near the Bow Bridge, the music drifting across the water.

Perfect Saturday morning.

I ran harder than usual, pushing myself, feeling the burn in my legs. This was what I needed,

physical exertion to balance out all the mental energy I'd expended last night.

Seoul Tech. Singapore investors. The Berlin CEO. Marcus Chen's introduction to Yuki Tanaka.

Each connection was a stepping stone. Each conversation brought the Asian expansion closer to

reality.

And that dance with Damien...

No. Not thinking about that.

I pushed harder, running until my lungs burned and my legs trembled, until the only thing in my

head was the rhythm of my footsteps and my breathing.

By the time I made it home, I was properly exhausted and properly awake.

I showered again, taking my time now, using the expensive products i bought from Paris. Then I

dressed in casual weekend clothes, soft cashmere sweater, designer jeans that cost more than

they should, my favorite boots.

Downstairs, I could smell coffee and something baking. Maria, our housekeeper, always made

Saturday mornings feel special.

"Good morning, Miss Elena," she greeted me as I entered the kitchen. "You were out late last

night."

"Foundation gala. Lots of networking." I poured myself coffee. "Is Dad up yet?"

She turned from the oven, surprise crossing her face. "Your father? He's not home, Miss Elena."

I paused, coffee cup halfway to my lips. "What do you mean he's not home?"

"He didn't come home last night. I assumed you knew?" She pulled fresh croissants from the

oven. "Perhaps he stayed at the office?"

A flutter of concern moved through me, but I pushed it aside. Dad sometimes crashed at the

office when he was working on something important. Though usually he texted...

I checked my phone. Two messages, both from late last night.

The first, sent at 1:23 AM: Stay safe, sweetheart.

The second, sent at 2:47 AM: Meeting running longer than expected. Won't make it home

tonight. See you tomorrow. Love you.

Relief washed over me. See? Perfectly reasonable explanation.

"He stayed at the office," I told Maria. "Must have been an important call."

"That man works too hard," she tsked, setting a plate of croissants on the counter. "Eat. You need

proper food after all that champagne."

I wasn't sure how she always knew when I'd had too much to drink, but she did.

I ate breakfast, croissants, fresh fruit, more coffee, while scrolling through my phone. Three

emails from investors wanting follow-up meetings. A text from Marcus Chen thanking me for a

productive evening. Even a message from Yuki Tanaka's assistant requesting a video call next

week.

Last night had been even more successful than I'd thought.

"Maria," I said, finishing my coffee. "Get dressed. We're going shopping."

"Shopping?" She looked surprised. "For what?"

"For celebrating. I closed three major deals last night. That deserves a new dress, don't you

think?"

She smiled. "Let me get my purse."

We hit Fifth Avenue around noon, when the stores were busy but not packed.

First stop was Bergdorf's. I tried on six dresses, but none of them felt right. Too conservative.

Too flashy. Too boring.

"What about this one?" Maria held up a stunning emerald silk gown.

"Perfect. I'll take it in red."

The sales associate's smile faltered. "I'm sorry, Miss Morrison, but we don't have this style in red.

Only emerald, navy, and black."

"Can you order it in red?"

"It would take six to eight weeks, and I'm not sure if that color is available in this cut..."

I waved her off. "Never mind. Show me something else."

Two hours and three stores later, we finally found it at a small boutique in SoHo.

A dress that was perfect, deep burgundy silk that caught the light, fitted bodice with a flowing

skirt, elegant without being stuffy. Sexy without being inappropriate.

"That's the one," Maria said approvingly.

"That's definitely the one." I checked the price tag and didn't even flinch. Success had its

rewards.

We also found shoes, strappy silver heels that cost a fortune but made my legs look amazing.

And a clutch that matched perfectly.

"Your father will have a heart attack when he sees the bill," Maria commented as we loaded

shopping bags into the car.

"Dad told me to celebrate success. I'm just following orders."

She laughed. "If you say so, Miss Elena."

We made one more stop at a different mall uptown, I wanted to find something for the Singapore

meeting next week. Something that said "professional but creative" without trying too hard.

Maria waited patiently while I tried on business suits and separates.

"Too corporate," I muttered, rejecting a navy pantsuit.

"Too casual," I said about a silk blouse and skirt combination.

"Too..."

"Too much shopping," Maria interrupted. "Miss Elena, you've been trying on clothes for four

hours. Pick something so we can go home."

She had a point. Shopping fatigue was setting in.

I settled on a tailored cream suit with a soft pink blouse, professional but with personality.

Perfect for video calls with Tokyo investors.

By the time we got home, it was almost 6 PM. The sun was starting to set, painting Manhattan in

shades of gold and orange.

"I'll start dinner," Maria said as we carried bags inside.

"Thank you, Maria. You're a saint for putting up with my shopping marathons."

"Someone has to make sure you eat real food between all this deal-making."

I carried my shopping bags upstairs, feeling satisfied with the day. Successful gala. Productive

shopping. And soon, dinner with Dad to celebrate everything.

I tried calling him to see when he'd be home.

The call wouldn't go through. Just a strange silence, then nothing.

I tried again. Same thing.

Weird. Maybe his phone died?

I was about to text when a message came through.

Elena, my daughter. I'm fine, you don't have to worry. I've been busy with work and some deals I

have to sort out. I'll be back home tonight. Love, Dad

The wording was slightly formal, Dad usually texted more casually, but he sometimes got like

that when he was in full business mode.

I texted back: I hope you're okay. Don't rush home if you're in the middle of something important.

And don't forget you owe me breakfast! Anywhere I want, remember?

His response came a few minutes later: I remember. See you soon, sweetheart.

I smiled and headed for the shower.

The hot water felt amazing after a full day of shopping.

I took my time, using the expensive body scrub, letting the steam and heat relax muscles I didn't

realize were tense.

When I finally emerged, wrapped in my favorite silk robe, I felt completely refreshed.

Downstairs, Maria had outdone herself, pan-seared salmon with asparagus and roasted potatoes,

everything perfectly seasoned.

"This looks amazing," I said, sitting down at the kitchen island.

"Eat. You barely touched breakfast."

She wasn't wrong. Between the champagne hangover and the shopping excitement, I'd forgotten

to eat lunch.

The salmon was perfect, crispy skin, tender inside. I savored every bite while scrolling through

work emails on my iPad.

The Seoul Tech CEO wanted to schedule a call for Monday morning. The Singapore venture

capitalist had sent over preliminary terms for the expansion. Even the Berlin CEO had followed

up with specific questions about our European strategy.

Last night really had been a success.

After dinner, I took my coffee to my father's study and spread out the Singapore proposal on his

massive mahogany desk.

If we were going to have breakfast tomorrow to discuss it, I wanted to be prepared. Wanted to

show him I'd thought through every angle, anticipated every question, had answers ready.

I worked for hours, refining projections, double-checking numbers, crafting responses to

potential investor concerns.

This was what I loved, the strategy. The planning. The careful construction of deals that would

benefit everyone involved.

Around midnight, I finally closed my laptop, satisfied with the work I'd done.

Dad still wasn't home, but that wasn't unusual when he was working on something big. He'd

probably crash in his office upstairs when he got in, not wanting to wake anyone.

I'd see him in the morning, and we'd have that celebratory breakfast he'd promised.

I climbed the stairs to my room, checking my phone one last time.

No new messages.

Tomorrow, Dad and I would talk about the expansion over croissants and coffee. He'd be proud

of how much progress I'd made. We'd discuss next steps, strategy, timeline.

Everything was perfect.

This was 12:40 AM. Dad was not back yet.

That is unlike him.

I called him again but was not going through.