The war room had a heartbeat of its own now—tense, unrelenting, and fueled by vengeance. Walls that once showcased Damien’s sleek empire now bore printouts, red strings, and strategy grids. It didn’t feel like a boardroom anymore. It felt like a battlefield.
Celeste stood at the center of it, no longer the shaken actress picking up the pieces. She was steel now. Cold. Focused. Unyielding.
“Run the sequence again,” she said to Anya, arms crossed as her eyes flicked over the digital board displaying a week-long timeline of Veronica’s moves.
Anya tapped the screen, highlighting transactions linked to Veronica’s LLCs and cross-mapping them to social spikes in the smear campaign.
“Every time a hit piece was published, Bradley or one of his shell companies made a quiet buy,” Anya narrated. “
