Chapter 5: Retribution and Revelation
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"WINTERS HEIRESS FIGHTS BACK: SHOCKING EVIDENCE EXONERATES ELARA"
"STEPSISTER'S SMEAR CAMPAIGN EXPOSED: AUDIO MANIPULATION PROVEN"
"BLACKWOOD HEIR CAUGHT IN COMPROMISING POSITION WITH FIANCE'S STEPSISTER"
I sipped my coffee with measured satisfaction, scrolling through the articles that had appeared overnight. Thorne's team had worked with ruthless efficiency, releasing not only proof that Vivienne's recordings had been doctored but also evidence of her deliberate campaign to destroy my reputation.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call from Thorne.
"Good morning," I answered, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice.
"I take it you've seen the news," he replied, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Phase one is complete."
"Phase one?" I echoed, setting down my cup. "What's phase two?"
"The video," he stated simply. "It goes live at noon."
My breath caught. "What video?"
"Security footage from your estate," Thorne explained. "Showing Dominic and Vivienne in rather... compromising positions. Your father's security system is quite comprehensive."
A mixture of vindication and unease settled in my stomach. "You didn't mention this part of the plan."
"You asked me to handle it," he reminded me. "I'm handling it."
Before I could respond, a text message alert flashed across my screen—from my father. "We need to talk. My study. Now."
"I have to go," I told Thorne. "My father wants to see me."
"He's received an advance copy of the video," Thorne informed me casually. "Along with documentation of Vivienne's deception."
I nearly dropped the phone. "You sent it to my father?"
"He deserved to know the truth about his stepdaughter," Thorne replied, his tone unapologetic. "I'll see you this evening. My driver will collect you at seven."
The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me to face my father alone.
---
My father's study had always been his sanctuary—a place of leather-bound books, the lingering scent of pipe tobacco (though he'd quit years ago), and the quiet hum of classical music. Today, the room felt charged with tension, the silence oppressive as I entered.
He stood at the window, his back to me, shoulders rigid with what I recognized as controlled fury. On his desk lay a tablet, paused on an image I couldn't quite make out from the doorway.
"Dad?" I ventured cautiously.
He turned slowly, his face a mask of disappointment and anger—not directed at me, I realized with relief, but at the situation.
"Did you know?" he asked quietly. "About Vivienne and Dominic? Before you broke the engagement?"
I nodded, moving further into the room. "I caught them together several times. It wasn't a one-time mistake—it was an ongoing affair."
My father sighed heavily, gesturing to the tablet. "Thorne Blackwood sent me this footage early this morning. Along with evidence that Vivienne fabricated those recordings and photographs."
I approached the desk, glancing down at the frozen image—Dominic pressing Vivienne against the conservatory piano, her leg wrapped around his waist, both clearly engaged in far more than friendly conversation. The timestamp showed a date three weeks before my engagement to Thorne.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said softly.
"I'm sorry you had to experience it," he countered, his voice tight with emotion. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I sank into one of the leather chairs, suddenly exhausted. "Would you have believed me? Over Vivienne?"
The question hung between us, painful in its implication. My father had always had a blind spot where my stepsister was concerned—her practiced vulnerability bringing out his protective instincts in a way my self-sufficiency never had.
"I want to think I would have," he admitted after a long pause. "But I don't know. She's always been so..."
"Convincing," I supplied. "It's a talent."
He moved to sit behind his desk, running a hand over his face. "I've asked her to move out. Effective immediately."
Surprise rippled through me. In my previous life, my father had stood by Vivienne even after my disgrace and death. This deviation from the pattern I remembered sent hope fluttering in my chest.
"Where will she go?" I asked, not out of concern but curiosity.
"That's not my problem," he replied with uncharacteristic hardness. "She's twenty-four years old and has a trust fund from her mother. She'll manage."
I nodded, uncertain how to navigate this unexpected alliance. "And the video? Thorne mentioned it's being released publicly at noon."
My father's expression darkened. "Your fiancé is a ruthless man, Elara. The video, the evidence against Vivienne—it's calculated destruction. Effective, but brutal."
"They tried to destroy me first," I reminded him quietly.
"Yes," he acknowledged. "But there's a difference between defending yourself and salting the earth. Just... be careful with Thorne Blackwood. Men who wield power so casually rarely limit its application."
The warning sent a chill down my spine, reminiscent of my earlier unease about Thorne's methods. Before I could respond, my phone chimed with a news alert.
The video had gone live—an hour earlier than planned.
---
By evening, the social earthquake had reached seismic proportions. The security footage—edited to blur the most explicit content but leaving no doubt as to what was occurring—had gone viral within minutes of its release. Accompanying it was a comprehensive dossier detailing Vivienne's campaign against me, including the original, unedited recordings that proved her manipulation.
Public opinion, fickle as always, had swung dramatically in my favor. I was no longer the jealous, unstable stepsister but the wronged woman who had found love with another after discovering her fiancé's betrayal. The narrative was perfect—almost too perfect in its simplicity.
Dominic had attempted damage control, releasing a statement claiming the affair had been a "momentary lapse in judgment" that occurred after I had already shown interest in his uncle. The transparent lie only fueled public outrage against him.
Vivienne, meanwhile, had gone ominously silent after an initial flurry of denials. Her social media accounts had been deactivated, her phone disconnected. According to my father, she had left the estate with three suitcases and a cold fury that promised retaliation.
As Thorne's driver navigated the evening traffic toward the Blackwood estate, I found myself both exhilarated by our victory and unsettled by the ease with which we had achieved it. In my previous life, I had fought alone against their machinations and lost everything. This time, with Thorne's resources behind me, we had decimated their credibility within hours.
Power, I was learning, was its own kind of intoxication.
The Blackwood mansion loomed ahead, its Gothic architecture stark against the twilight sky. Unlike my previous visits, I felt no trepidation as the car pulled into the circular driveway—only a sense of rightful return, as if claiming territory that was now partly mine.
Hargrove greeted me at the entrance with his customary formality. "Miss Winters. Mr. Blackwood is in his study. He asked that you join him there."
I nodded, handing him my wrap. "Thank you, Hargrove."
The corridors of the mansion seemed less intimidating now, the portraits of stern-faced Blackwood patriarchs less judgmental. I moved through the space with growing confidence, my heels clicking against the marble floors in a rhythm that felt like ownership.
As I approached Thorne's study, however, the sound of raised voices gave me pause. I slowed my steps, listening.
"You've humiliated me!" Dominic's voice, tight with fury. "That video was private property—estate security footage. You had no right!"
"I had every right," Thorne replied, his tone glacial. "You conducted your affair on Winters property, in full view of security cameras. Your stupidity is not my concern."
"This isn't about Elara," Dominic snarled. "This is about control. You've always wanted to push me out of the company—"
"If I wanted you out," Thorne interrupted, "you would be gone. This is merely a consequence of your actions. Learn from it or don't—I'm indifferent either way."
I hesitated outside the door, uncertain whether to interrupt their confrontation. The decision was made for me when Dominic stormed out, nearly colliding with me in the hallway.
He froze, his handsome face contorted with rage that quickly shifted to calculation as he registered my presence. "Elara," he said, his voice softening. "I was just discussing our... situation with my uncle."
"I heard," I replied coolly. "Though I'm not sure what's left to discuss. The evidence speaks for itself."
Dominic stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You have to know I never meant to hurt you. Vivienne was... persistent. She pursued me relentlessly."
The attempt to shift blame was so transparent I almost laughed. "Spare me the revisionist history, Dominic. You made your choices."
"As did you," he countered, his eyes hardening. "Running to my uncle the moment things got difficult. Tell me, how long were you planning that move? Was I just a stepping stone to the real Blackwood power?"
Before I could respond, Thorne appeared in the doorway behind him. "That's enough, Dominic. Miss Winters is here to see me, not to endure your accusations."
Dominic's jaw tightened, but he stepped back. "This isn't over," he muttered, brushing past me toward the exit.
Thorne watched him go, his expression impassive. "Predictable," he observed once Dominic was out of earshot. "He always blames others for his failures."
He gestured for me to enter the study, closing the door behind us with a soft click that felt oddly final.
"I apologize for the scene," he said, moving to the sideboard to pour two glasses of amber liquid. "Dominic has always had difficulty accepting consequences."
I accepted the offered drink, studying Thorne over the rim of the glass. "The video was released early."
"A tactical decision," he confirmed without a hint of apology. "Dominic was preparing a preemptive statement. I chose not to give him the opportunity."
I sipped the whiskey, welcoming its warming path down my throat. "My father thinks your methods are excessive."
"Your father is a good man," Thorne replied, settling into one of the leather armchairs and indicating I should take the other. "Good men often mistake restraint for virtue."
"And what do you consider virtue?" I asked, genuinely curious.
His gray eyes met mine, intense and uncompromising. "Effectiveness."
The simple answer sent a shiver down my spine—not entirely unpleasant. In my previous life, I had played by rules that others had ignored, and I had lost everything as a result. There was something darkly appealing about Thorne's pragmatism.
"The public narrative has shifted completely in your favor," he continued, changing the subject. "You're now the sympathetic figure—the wronged fiancée who found love after betrayal."
"A convenient story," I acknowledged. "Though not entirely accurate."
One eyebrow arched slightly. "No? Which part do you dispute?"
I met his gaze steadily. "The 'found love' portion. Ours is an arrangement, not a romance."
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, perhaps. Or challenge. "For now," he conceded. "Though public perception requires certain... performances."
"Such as?" I asked, suddenly wary.
"The engagement party next week," he replied. "Now that your reputation has been restored, we need to solidify our relationship in the public eye. The merger announcement will follow shortly after."
Business, always business. I nodded, relieved and oddly disappointed. "Of course. I'll coordinate with your staff on the details."
"Already handled," he said dismissively. "Your only responsibility is to appear appropriately enamored with your fiancé."
The corner of my mouth lifted in a half-smile. "That might require acting lessons."
To my surprise, Thorne laughed—a genuine sound that transformed his severe features, making him appear younger, almost approachable. "I doubt that," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent heat coursing through my veins.
Before I could formulate a response, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression hardening. "Security alert. Excuse me."
He moved to his desk, tapping a few commands on his computer. A series of security camera feeds appeared on the monitor. He studied them for a moment, then pressed an intercom button.
"Harrison, we have an intruder at the east entrance. Female, approximately five-foot-six, attempting to access through the service door. Intercept and remove."
Curiosity drew me to his side. On the screen, a slender figure in a dark coat was clearly visible, trying the handle of a side entrance. The security feed was remarkably clear, even in the dim evening light.
"Is that—" I began, leaning closer.
"Your stepsister," Thorne confirmed, his tone cold. "This is her second attempt today."
I watched as two security personnel approached Vivienne from different directions. She startled, then appeared to be arguing vehemently, gesturing toward the house. After several minutes, she reluctantly allowed herself to be escorted back to the gate.
"What does she want?" I wondered aloud.
"To speak with me, apparently," Thorne replied, shutting down the security feed. "She's been quite insistent."
Unease prickled along my spine. "About what?"
"I haven't given her the opportunity to explain," he said, returning to his chair. "Nor do I intend to."
I nodded, though the incident left me unsettled. Vivienne was many things, but she wasn't stupid. Attempting to confront Thorne directly, especially after today's public humiliation, seemed uncharacteristically reckless.
"She's desperate," Thorne observed, reading my expression. "Her reputation is in tatters, Dominic is distancing himself, and she's lost her home. Desperate people make foolish choices."
"Yes," I agreed softly, remembering my own desperation in my previous life. "They do."
We finished our drinks in companionable silence, discussing the merger details and the upcoming engagement party. As the evening drew to a close, Thorne offered to have his driver take me home.
"Actually," I said, "I should use the restroom before leaving. May I?"
He nodded, directing me to a powder room down the hall. "Take your time. I have a few calls to make before we leave."
I made my way through the corridor, admiring the artwork that adorned the walls—mostly modern pieces that contrasted sharply with the mansion's traditional architecture, revealing a side of Thorne's taste I hadn't expected.
After using the facilities, I took a moment to freshen my makeup, studying my reflection in the ornate mirror. The woman who stared back at me seemed different from the one who had died alone and forgotten in my previous life—stronger, more confident, with a hardness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
As I exited the powder room, voices from further down the hallway caught my attention—one male, one female, both speaking in urgent tones. Curiosity drew me toward the sound, my footsteps silent on the thick carpet.
I rounded a corner and froze, the scene before me searing into my brain with horrific clarity.
Vivienne stood outside what appeared to be Thorne's bedroom, her coat discarded on the floor, wearing nothing but a sheer negligee that left little to the imagination. Her auburn hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, her posture deliberately provocative as she faced Thorne, who stood in the doorway.
"You can't pretend you haven't thought about it," she whispered, one hand trailing up his shirt front. "You've always looked at me."
Thorne's back was to me, his posture rigid. "You have thirty seconds to dress yourself and leave before my security removes you forcibly," he stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "This pathetic display only confirms my opinion of your character."
Vivienne's expression hardened, her seductive pose dropping momentarily. "Don't pretend you're loyal to her. Men like you don't value loyalty—you value power and pleasure. I can give you both."
"Twenty seconds," Thorne replied coldly.
She stepped closer to him, pressing her nearly naked body against his. "Just one night," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "I'll make you forget she exists."
Something twisted painfully in my chest—not jealousy, I told myself, but disgust at her desperation. Yet I couldn't deny the sick feeling that spread through me at the sight of her hands on Thorne's chest, her body pressed intimately against his.
I should leave, I thought. This wasn't my concern. Our engagement was a business arrangement, nothing more. Thorne's personal entanglements were his own affair.
Yet my feet remained rooted to the spot, my breath shallow as I waited for his response.
It came swiftly and decisively. Thorne grasped Vivienne's wrists, removing her hands from his chest and stepping back with visible revulsion. "Security," he called, not raising his voice but projecting it clearly.
Almost immediately, two men in dark suits appeared from around the corner opposite me. They approached Vivienne, one retrieving her discarded coat.
"Miss Winters is leaving," Thorne instructed them. "Ensure she doesn't return. And update the security protocols—this breach is unacceptable."
Vivienne's face contorted with fury and humiliation as one guard draped her coat over her shoulders. "You'll regret this," she spat. "Both of you will. This isn't over."
"It was over before it began," Thorne replied dismissively, already turning away. "Show her out."
As the security personnel escorted a struggling Vivienne toward the exit, Thorne turned—and saw me standing frozen at the end of the hallway.
Our eyes met across the distance, his expression unreadable. Had he known I was there? Had he rejected Vivienne for my benefit, knowing I was watching?
The thought sent confusion spiraling through me. This was supposed to be a business arrangement, a mutual agreement for revenge and profit. Yet the relief I felt at his rejection of Vivienne suggested emotions I wasn't prepared to acknowledge.
Without a word, I turned and fled back toward the study, my mind racing with implications I couldn't process. Behind me, I heard Thorne call my name, his footsteps following mine down the corridor.
I reached the study and grabbed my purse, needing space, air, distance from the conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm me. This wasn't part of the plan—developing feelings for Thorne Blackwood would only complicate our arrangement and potentially jeopardize my revenge.
"Elara," Thorne's voice came from the doorway, deeper than usual. "Stop."
I turned slowly, composing my features into what I hoped was a mask of indifference. "I should go. It's getting late."
He studied me for a long moment, his gray eyes piercing. "You saw."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "It doesn't matter. Our arrangement doesn't include exclusivity."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "Doesn't it?"
He moved toward me with predatory grace, stopping close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Let me be perfectly clear," he said, his voice low and intense. "I have no interest in your stepsister or anyone else. Our arrangement, as you call it, may have begun as a business transaction, but I don't share what's mine."
The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down my spine—fear mingled with something darker, more primal. "I'm not yours," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "This is a mutually beneficial partnership, nothing more."
"Is that so?" he murmured, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The simple touch sent electricity racing across my skin. "Then why did seeing Vivienne with me bother you so much?"
I stepped back, needing distance from his overwhelming presence. "It didn't. I was merely surprised to see her here after you said security had removed her."
Thorne's lips curved in a knowing smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're a poor liar, Elara. Your face betrays everything you feel."
"And what exactly do you think I'm feeling?" I challenged, anger rising to mask my confusion.
He stepped closer again, eliminating the distance I'd created. "The same thing I'm feeling," he replied, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "This unexpected... complication."
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed insistently. With a barely suppressed curse, he checked the screen. "The car is waiting," he said, his tone shifting back to businesslike efficiency. "We'll continue this discussion another time."
The abrupt change left me off-balance, uncertain whether to be relieved or disappointed. I nodded stiffly, moving toward the door.
As we walked silently to the waiting car, I couldn't help but replay the scene in my mind—Vivienne's desperate attempt at seduction, Thorne's unequivocal rejection, the strange tension that had followed between us.
I shook the thought away. No. I wasn't jealous. I didn't care who he touched, or what games Vivienne played.
This was a contract. He was a tool. A dangerous one.
And yet… something twisted in me when I saw how easily he cast her aside.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.
