CHAPTER8
1391 Words
But when she opened her closet, reality mocked her. Thrift store blouses. Jeans with worn knees. One semi-nice dress that had already done overtime at the gala.
A knock on her door made her jump.
She wrapped her robe tighter, heart hammering, and peered through the peephole.
A woman stood there, elegant, older, holding garment bags and a professional makeup case. Behind her, two more assistants with shoe boxes and accessories.
Maeve opened the door slowly. "Um. Wrong apartment?"
The woman's smile was practiced, warm but not quite reaching her eyes. "Maeve Wells? Mr. Langston sent us. We're here to prepare you for the final round." Her gaze swept over Maeve's cramped living room without judgment, too professional for that. "May we come in?"
This was a test, Maeve realized. Carter, flexing his power. Showing her that he could reach into her private space, transform her, control even this.
She should slam the door. Tell him to go to hell.
Instead, she stepped aside.
Because that fifty million could save lives. Because her mother's next chemo appointment was in five days and insurance had denied the claim. Because Tommy had called last night, voice tight with forced cheerfulness, saying he might need to take a semester off.
The women moved through her apartment like a surgical team, efficient and swift. Within thirty minutes, Maeve sat in her own kitchen chair while they worked on her face, her hair, transforming her from street vendor to something else entirely.
The dress they'd brought was midnight blue, simple but clearly expensive, the kind of cut that made her look taller, more elegant. The shoes actually fit. The makeup was subtle but effective, she looked like herself, just polished to a shine she'd never achieved alone.
When they finished, one of the assistants held up a mirror.
Maeve barely recognized herself.
"Mr. Langston has excellent taste," the lead woman said, packing up her kit. "You look perfect."
But perfect for what? Maeve wondered. Perfect for a wife? Or perfect for a sacrifice?
The car that picked her up was black, sleek, and silent. The driver didn't make small talk, which Maeve appreciated. She sat in the back, watching Los Angeles slide past the tinted windows, and tried to calm her racing heart.
Her phone buzzed. Leo.
Her thumb hovered over the message.
I'm sorry about last night. I was scared. I still am. But I love you. Whatever you decide, I'll support you. Just please be safe.
Tears pricked her eyes. She typed back quickly: I love you too. I'm sorry for everything. I'll explain soon, I promise.
It felt like a lie even as she sent it.
Because the truth was, she didn't know what she'd decide. Didn't know who she'd be when this day ended.
Another text, this one from Cameron: You've got this. Remember, you're smarter than all of them. Don't let anyone make you forget that.
And finally, a text from a blocked number: The Takahashi executive's name is Hiroshi Tanaka. He's staying at the Peninsula. Room 804. If you want out, he's your exit strategy. But decide fast.
Jade. From her hospital bed, still playing the game.
Maeve's hands trembled. She had three lifelines, three very different paths:
Leo, representing her old life, safety, normalcy.
Cameron, offering alliance and something dangerously close to romance.
Jade, promising revenge and a different kind of freedom.
And towering over all of them, Carter. The eye of the storm.
The car pulled up to Langston Tower, and Maeve's breath caught.
She'd been here before, but today it looked different. More imposing. Like a glass prison reaching toward the sky.
Security escorted her to a private elevator, different from the public ones. It shot upward so fast her stomach dropped, and when the doors opened, she stepped into a space that didn't look like an office at all.
It looked like a stage.
The room was massive, all glass walls overlooking the city, modern furniture in stark blacks and whites. And standing in the center, positioned perfectly against the Los Angeles skyline, was Carter Langston.
He wore a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her car, his grey eyes unreadable as they tracked her entrance. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then his lips curved into something that might have been a smile. "You clean up well."
"Your team did the work." Maeve's voice came out steadier than she felt.
"They enhanced what was already there." He moved toward her, predatory and graceful. "The other finalists will arrive soon. But I wanted a moment alone with you first."
Warning bells screamed in Maeve's head. "Why?"
Carter stopped a few feet away, close enough that she could see the faint lines around his eyes, evidence of stress he hid well. "Because you're going to win."
The words hung in the air, impossible.
"What?" Maeve breathed.
"The final round is a formality. I've already decided." His gaze held hers, intense and inescapable. "You're exactly what I need. Authentic. Smart. Impossible to manipulate completely, which ironically makes you trustworthy."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough." He pulled out a tablet, tapped it, and showed her the screen. It was a file, her file. Every detail of her life laid bare. Her mother's medical records. Tommy's school transcripts. Rita's diner finances. Even Leo's background check.
Maeve's stomach turned. "You investigated me."
"I investigate everyone." Carter set the tablet down. "The question is, what do we do now? You could walk away. Go to Hiroshi Tanaka with whatever Jade told you, blow up the merger, watch my empire crumble. You'd probably get a book deal out of it. Maybe a talk show circuit."
"But?" Maeve's voice was ice.
"But your family would still be drowning. And the thousands of people employed by Langston Appliances, the factory workers, the engineers, the single parents working our assembly lines, they'd all lose their jobs when the company tanks." He stepped closer, and she hated that her body responded to his proximity, hated the pull of him. "Or you could marry me. Two years. You'd have resources to save everyone you love. And I'd have the stability I need to complete the merger and fix my father's mistakes."
"How noble of you," Maeve bit out. "Saving the world while you're at it."
His smile turned sharp. "I'm not a hero, Maeve. Don't mistake me for one. I'm offering a transaction. A fair one."
"Nothing about this is fair."
"No," he agreed. "But it's the best offer you're going to get."
Maeve's mind raced. "And if I say no?"
Something flickered in Carter's expression, disappointment? Anger? It was gone too quickly to read. "Then the contest continues. One of the other women wins. Most of them would kill for this opportunity, you know. Literally, in some cases." His voice dropped. "But none of them challenge me the way you do. None of them make me—" He stopped, jaw tightening.
"Make you what?" Maeve pushed, sensing a c***k in his armor.
He looked away, toward the windows, the city sprawling below them like a kingdom. "Uncertain. I'm never uncertain."
The admission was so quiet, so human, that it disarmed her completely.
Before she could respond, the elevator chimed. The other finalists had arrived.
Carter's mask snapped back into place, the vulnerability vanishing like it had never existed. "Think about my offer. You have until the end of today."
Then he strode toward the newcomers, three women, all beautiful, all polished, all looking at him like he was a prize they'd already won in their minds.
Maeve recognized two of them from previous rounds: Victoria, a tech CEO with a perfect smile and shark eyes. And Celeste, a socialite whose family owned half of Malibu.
The third woman was new. Tall, striking, with dark skin and a presence that commanded attention. She moved like a dancer, confident and controlled.
"Ladies," Carter addressed them all, including Maeve. "Welcome to the final round. Today's challenge is simple. I need a partner who can handle crisis management. So I'm going to create a crisis."
A screen lowered from the ceiling, displaying what looked like a PR nightmare in real-time: news alerts, social media feeds, all exploding with
the same story.
LANGSTON APPLIANCES LINKED TO APARTMENT FIRE. FAULTY PRODUCTS BLAMED FOR INJURIES.
Jade's evidence. It had leaked.
- Writer
