The harsh, metallic scrape of the master key forcing the lock shattered the suffocating silence.
Clara swallowed the terrified scream rising in her throat.
A split second before the heavy dressing room door swung open, she violently shoved the crumpled red note deep into the tightest, most hidden fold of her silk corset. Her heart was hammering so brutally against her ribs she was entirely convinced Richard could hear it from the doorway.
The door clicked open.
Richard's massive frame instantly filled the threshold. His razor-sharp gaze immediately swept every single inch of the tiny room, hunting for a threat, before finally locking onto Clara's face.
Clara's eyes were bloodshot. Her chest heaved. Hot, furious tears were already spilling over her flawless makeup.
"What exactly are you doing in here?" Richard hissed. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The soundproof room instantly felt completely stripped of oxygen.
Clara stared up at the devastatingly handsome face looming over her.
This was the face of a devil. This was the monster who had ruthlessly ordered a hit on her innocent little brother, nearly slaughtering him in the street, just to manufacture the exact level of sheer, agonizing desperation required to force her signature onto a contract.
A blinding, explosive hatred detonated in Clara's chest. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to slap that arrogant face. She wanted to claw those calculating eagle eyes right out of his skull.
But then, the harrowing image of her brother's ventilator flashed violently in her mind. She saw her mother, pale and entirely defenseless in the ICU.
If I fight him right now, my family dies.
Clara forcefully dropped her gaze to the floor. She let a single tear roll down her cheek and forced a desperate lie through her trembling lips.
"This corset," Clara gasped, clutching her chest as if she were in agonizing physical pain. "It's too tight. I can't pull air into my lungs. I feel like my chest is going to crack open."
Richard completely froze. His dark eyes intensely scrutinized her face, ruthlessly hunting for even a microscopic fraction of deceit hiding behind her tears.
He took a slow step forward, completely erasing the distance between them. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand and wrapped his long fingers around the back of Clara's neck.
Clara's skin violently erupted in goosebumps. His touch felt exactly like venom slowly seeping into her veins. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from violently slapping the murderer's hand away.
"Swallow the pain," Richard whispered directly into her ear. His tone was chillingly flat, entirely devoid of a single ounce of human empathy. "The outside world does not give a damn about your pain, Clara. They only care about the flawless illusion you project."
Richard slowly pulled his hand back and reached for the doorknob.
"Loosen the lacing by exactly one centimeter," he ordered the terrified head designer waiting in the hallway. "Then get her to the car. We are already behind schedule."
Thirty minutes later, the suffocating luxury of the boutique was abruptly replaced by a literal gladiator arena.
The Grand Ballroom of the Sterling Plaza Hotel had been transformed into a sprawling sea of vipers. Hundreds of flashing camera lenses from the global financial press fired relentlessly, creating a blinding, chaotic storm of light.
This was not a simple press conference. This was Richard's absolute, public declaration of war and his brutal assertion of dominance over the corporate board of directors.
Clara walked up the carpeted stairs to the elevated stage, moving perfectly in sync with Richard. The man's massive hand was wrapped possessively around her waist. To the hungry cameras, it looked like the warm, protective embrace of a deeply devoted, newly married husband.
To Clara, it felt like an iron shackle.
"Smile," Richard murmured through his perfectly clenched teeth.
Clara forced the corners of her mouth upward. She delivered the most radiant, breathtaking smile of her entire life. It was a flawless masterpiece crafted from pure, unadulterated hatred.
I am going to completely destroy you, Richard, Clara thought viciously, offering a delicate wave to the blinding flashes. I am going to tear through the Apex archives, rip the bloody truth out of the servers, and personally watch you rot in a federal cell.
Richard stepped up to the acrylic podium and seized the microphone. His deep baritone voice instantly boomed across the ballroom, silencing the chaotic roar of the press in a matter of seconds.
"Good morning. Today, I stand before you not merely as the Chief Executive Officer of the Sterling Group," Richard declared, his terrifying charisma completely dominating the massive space. "But as a man who has finally found his equal. Please allow me to formally introduce my legal wife, Mrs. Clara Sterling."
The room violently erupted in applause. The camera flashes doubled in intensity.
Down in the very front row of the VIP section, the executive board of directors sat with grim, terrified expressions. Among them, Howard Sterling looked as pale as a ghost. His midnight coup had failed spectacularly, and now he was being forced to publicly swallow his humiliating defeat on live television.
But Clara's eyes weren't locked on Howard.
Her gaze was completely paralyzed by the figure sitting perfectly still in the highest seat of honor, directly to Howard's right. The man was not clapping. He was not smiling.
His hair was entirely stark white, slicked back with meticulous precision. He wore a pitch-black tailored suit and rested both of his wrinkled hands heavily atop a polished wooden cane topped with a solid silver wolf's head.