Chapter 6 - The Gilded Cage
The morning after the gala, the financial world was in a frenzy. AURAINE’s stock skyrocketed. The narrative of the "Lost Heir" was a PR miracle. Veronica had spun a potential catastrophe into the most lucrative marketing campaign in the company’s history.
But inside the seventy-fifth floor of the Zenith building, the atmosphere was a warzone.
Maya sat in the plush leather chair opposite Veronica’s desk, her arms crossed, furious. "You trapped me. You used my mother’s memory to boost your quarterly earnings."
"I saved your life," Veronica replied, pouring a glass of sparkling water. "Damian Sterling didn't want justice. He wanted a fire to burn me down, and he didn't care if you burned with me. Now, you are officially recognized as the Vice President of Research and Development. You have a corner office, a seven-figure salary, and access to the greatest cosmetic laboratories on Earth."
"I don't want your money!" Maya shouted.
"Then take the power!" Veronica slammed her glass down, the water sloshing over the rim. "You think destroying me fixes the past? It doesn't. If you want to honor Serena, then use her labs. Fix the toxic stabilizers in the legacy lines. Do what she never had the funding to do. Change the world, Maya. Or run back to your tiny apartment and cry over a journal."
Maya stared at the ice queen, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Veronica was a monster, but she was right. Inside AURAINE, Maya could fix the formulas that were secretly poisoning thousands of women.
"Fine," Maya said coldly. "I'll play your game. But I want full, unredacted access to the legacy archives. Including the files from the year of the fire."
Veronica hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Granted."
For a month, an uneasy truce settled over the empire. Maya buried herself in the subterranean laboratories, working feverishly to synthesize the botanical stabilizers her mother had dreamed of. Veronica fought off Damian’s relentless boardroom attacks, using Maya’s presence as a shield.
But the truce was an illusion.
Late one Tuesday night, Maya was decrypting a heavily encrypted server in the legacy archives. She bypassed the security protocols, expecting to find old chemical breakdowns.
Instead, she found a series of offshore bank transfers.
They were monthly payments, routed through three shell companies in the Caymans, ending in a private account in Zurich. The payments started exactly one week after the Soho fire. And they were still active.
The name on the Zurich account was S. F. Holdings.
May you like
Serena Frost.
Maya’s blood ran cold. Her mother wasn't dead. Veronica hadn't just stolen the formula; she had been paying Serena hush money for twelve years to stay dead.
