The silence that had settled over the Valerius estate after the collapse of the board meeting was not the quiet of peace; it was the suffocating tension of a graveyard before the corpses began to rise. Julian Valerius, currently rotting in a holding cell, was no longer the primary threat. He was a pawn who had been sacrificed, a distraction that had served its purpose. Ares Thorne knew this. He sat in the dimly lit sanctuary of his penthouse study, the blue light of the terminal casting long, jagged shadows across his face.
The true antagonist had finally revealed its hand, not through a loud announcement, but through a silent, digital whisper. Clara had been hit hard. Someone had launched a sophisticated smear campaign, circulating deepfake images of her in compromising positions with a
