Chapter 391
Chapter 391:
“Get me out of here,” she whispered.
“The jet is fueled,” Julian confirmed, handing her a bottle of water. “But Liam is demanding to leave too. He’s trying to charter a flight to follow you p>
“Let him try,” Skye said, her voice cold. “He’s always a step behind p>
Within the hour, she was airborne. She didn’t go back to her apartment. That address had likely been leaked by Beatrice’s PR team by now. Going back there would be a death sentence, and Skye Sterling did not have a death wish.
Instead, she retreated to the one fortress she controlled completely: Oracle Holdings.
The executive suite on the top floor was silent, save for the hum of the climate control systems. It was 2:00 a.m., but Skye sat behind her glass desk, the city lights reflecting in her tired eyes. This was her sanctuary: steel, reinforced glass, and a private security detail in the lobby. Here, she could think. Here, she was the CEO, not the scandal-plagued ex-wife.
She had spent the last twenty-four hours reviewing code and strategy for Oracle’s next acquisition, burying her anxiety in work.
The peace shattered not with a notification, but with a commotion at the elevator bank outside her glass walls.
“You can’t go in there!” Kevin, the night receptionist, shouted, his voice cracking with panic.
“Get out of my way, you minimum-wage peasant,” a shrill voice cut through the air.
Skye stiffened. She recognized that voice. It belonged to Mrs. Chandler—Beatrice Kensington’s attack dog and socialite best friend.
Skye stood just as the double glass doors to her office were forced open. The magnetic lock gave way with a sickening crunch of metal—a brute-force override using a security key that shouldn’t have worked.
Mrs. Chandler strode in, wrapped in a fur coat that cost more than the annual budget of the cleaning staff. Flanking her were four men in dark suits—not police, but private security. Thugs in expensive tailoring.
“How did you get up here?” Skye asked, her voice low and dangerous. She didn’t reach for the panic button yet. She needed to assess the threat level.
“Money opens doors, darling,” Mrs. Chandler sneered, looking around the minimalist office with disdain. “And the Kensington name still holds weight in this town, even if you’re trying to drag it through the mud. Your lobby security was… easily persuaded p>
Skye’s jaw tightened. A bribe. Beatrice’s reach was still long enough to corrupt her own building’s night shift. She made a mental note to fire the entire security firm by morning.
ѕ𝗍or𝘪𝗲ѕ 𝘁𝗵𝖺𝘵 𝗐𝗂𝗅l h𝗈𝘰𝘬 𝘆o𝘶 𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝖾.𝗰оm
“You are trespassing on private corporate property,” Skye said, stepping around her desk to stand her ground. “This isn’t a tea party, Mrs. Chandler. This is a felony p>
“I’m here to deliver a message from Beatrice,” Mrs. Chandler said, pulling a silver cigarette case from her clutch. She lit a slim cigarette and exhaled a cloud of gray smoke directly at Skye’s face. “You apologize. Publicly. You admit you lied about the Kensingtons. Or we’ll make sure Oracle Holdings becomes a smoking crater p>
She signaled to the largest of her bodyguards. “Teach this place a lesson. Make it look like the trash she is p>
The bodyguards stepped forward and swept a row of awards off the credenza. Crystal shattered against the hardwood floor. Another man grabbed a laptop from a side table and smashed it against the wall.
Skye didn’t flinch, but inside, cold rage boiled. This wasn’t just furniture. This was her work. Her independence.
“You think breaking things makes you powerful?” Skye asked quietly, tapping the side of her smartwatch. Recording started. Cloud upload active. Security Alert: Level Red sent to Felix.
“It makes me heard,” Mrs. Chandler smiled, tapping her shoe on the pristine white carpet.
Suddenly, the elevator chimed again.
Ding.
The sound was sharp in the tense room. Skye’s breath hitched.
Police? Or more thugs sent by Beatrice?