Lucian
It started with a whisper.
I was in my office. The morning sun glinted off the skyline. Everything seemed normal.
Or so I thought.
The whisper came in the form of a memo. A low-level assistant, trembling, handed me a printed blog post. “Sir, I—I thought you should see this before the press office responds.”
I took it with practiced calm, scanning the words.
Underdog Designer’s Work Stolen Again? Insider Sources Hint at High-Level Sabotage.
Eloise’s name threaded through the piece, wrapped in speculation, accusation, sympathy. And worse, whispers that my brand was involved.
My jaw clenched. I folded the paper carefully, placed it on my desk, and dismissed the assistant with a flick of my fingers.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
…
Later that afternoon, Jennifer walked into my
