Clarisse’s POV
The video call connected with a soft chime.
I leaned forward in the shadows of my father’s study, wine glass untouched for once. My laptop screen stayed dark on my end, but the other side flickered to life, a blank silhouette with no face, only the sound of a feminine, smooth voice.
"Did you receive the file?"
I smirked. "Yes. Just finished watching it."
The clip replayed in my head: Riley in Michael's office, her voice low, her hand brushing his as she stepped close. The scene, cut and trimmed, looked intimate, crafted to feel real, yet built on fabricated intimacy and carefully staged chaos.
"Who edited it?" I asked, more curious than concerned.
"Does it matter?" the voice replied coolly. "It's enough to spark doubt. Especially with the board."
I crossed my legs. "
