(Yvette POV)
Paris mornings always slled like bread.
Even before the sun had fully risen over the rooftops, the city carried that soft, warm scent of bakeries opening their doors and ovens beginning their work for the day.
Normally it was comforting.
Today it only reminded of yesterday.
The bakery.
Joseph sitting across from .
Brent joining us minutes later.
The strange gravity that had ford around our table as if the air itself had realized sothing important had changed.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling of my small apartnt.
My phone rested on the bedside table.
Silent.
For once I was grateful for that.
Because if it buzzed, I wasn’t sure which na I was more afraid of seeing.
Joseph.
Or Brent.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.
This is ridiculous.
Two n sharing pastries with shouldn’t feel like the center of the universe shifting.
And yet it did.
Joseph had been... different yesterday.
Quieter.
But stronger in that quiet.
He didn’t compete with Brent.
He didn’t try to claim anything.
He just stayed.
That steadiness made my chest tighten in ways I didn’t fully understand.
Then there was Brent.
Calm.
Observant.
Completely aware of what was happening and yet unwilling to step back.
He hadn’t pushed either.
But his presence beside felt deliberate.
I buried my face briefly in my pillow.
"Stop thinking," I muttered.
This was exactly the kind of spiral I had promised myself I wouldn’t fall into.
I didn’t co to Paris to analyze my heart every morning.
I ca here to cook.
To learn.
To build sothing that belonged to .
And that was exactly what I planned to focus on today.
I pushed myself out of bed and walked toward the small kitchen.
Coffee first.
Then class.
Then thinking about anything other than Joseph Hamilton and Brent Dawson.
Outside my window, Paris stretched into the pale blue light of early morning.
The city looked calm.
Peaceful.
Completely unaware that sowhere beneath that calm surface, sothing had already begun to move.
The institute always buzzed with noise.
Students rushing to kitchens.
tal trays clanging.
Chefs barking instructions.
But when I stepped into the hallway that morning, sothing felt... off.
It wasn’t quiet.
But the sound was different.
Muted.
Like conversations stopping just before I walked past.
At first I told myself I was imagining it.
But then I saw the looks.
Quick glances.
Whispers.
Phones being tilted away the mont I walked by.
My steps slowed slightly.
Okay.
That’s strange.
I turned the corner toward our classroom and nearly ran into Élise.
She looked up from her phone.
"Oh—there you are."
Her tone sounded normal.
But her expression didn’t.
"What?" I asked imdiately.
"Nothing."
That was the most suspicious answer she could have given.
"Élise."
She hesitated.
Then sighed.
"You haven’t seen it yet?"
My stomach tightened.
"Seen what?"
She turned her phone around slowly.
"I was hoping soone was exaggerating."
I leaned closer.
And then I saw it.
A news site.
The headline was impossible to miss.
"Hamilton’s CEO’s Step-Sister in Love Triangle with Company Lawyer and Step-Brother."
For a mont my brain refused to process the words.
Hamilton.
Step-sister.
Love triangle.
My chest tightened as I scrolled slightly.
Photos appeared below the headline.
Joseph and I walking beside each other on a Paris street.
Brent standing outside my apartnt building.
The three of us leaving the bakery yesterday.
My throat went dry.
These weren’t casual pictures.
They were taken from angles that ant soone had been watching.
Following.
Tracking.
And the article didn’t even try to hide its tone.
The text twisted everything.
It suggested:
I was manipulating Joseph’s positionBrent was abusing his legal influenceThe Hamilton family had questionable morals
My fingers trembled slightly as I read.
"This..." I whispered.
"Yeah," Élise muttered. "That’s what I thought."
Around us, the whispers grew louder.
So students looked sympathetic.
Others looked amused.
A few looked openly judgntal.
One girl behind us whispered loudly enough to hear.
"So that’s why she gets so much attention."
Another replied,
"Must be nice having two powerful n chasing you."
Heat rushed to my face.
I handed the phone back to Élise quickly.
"Who published this?"
"A business tabloid," she said. "But it’s spreading fast."
I believed her.
Because the damage was already done.
The headline didn’t just attack .
It attacked Joseph.
And Brent.
And suddenly the quiet life I had been building in Paris felt exposed under a spotlight.
I forced myself to walk into the kitchen classroom.
Cooking usually centered .
Knife in hand.
Ingredients in front of .
Clear steps to follow.
But today my concentration kept breaking.
The headline replayed in my mind again and again.
Step-sister.
Love triangle.
The words were designed to sound scandalous.
And worse—
They worked.
Students whispered behind while I prepared vegetables.
One pair of classmates stopped talking entirely when I turned around.
Even the chef supervising our class looked at a little longer than usual.
Not accusing.
But curious.
My hands tightened slightly around the knife.
Focus.
Chop.
Slice.
Dice.
I repeated the motions chanically.
But the tension refused to leave my chest.
Because one question kept repeating in my mind.
Who took those photos?
The bakery.
My apartnt building.
The street outside the institute.
Soone had been watching .
Watching us.
And that realization felt colder than the embarrassnt of the article.
I stepped outside during our short break.
The cool air hit my face imdiately.
For a mont I simply stood there.
Breathing.
Trying to steady myself.
Across the street, traffic moved normally.
Students walked past laughing.
Everything looked ordinary.
But the feeling in my chest refused to fade.
The strange sensation of being observed.
I glanced down the street again.
A black car sat parked near the corner.
Nothing unusual.
Just another vehicle among many.
Still...
My eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
Then I shook my head and turned away.
You’re imagining things.
But as I walked back toward the institute entrance, I didn’t notice the slight movent inside that parked car.
A cara lens lowering slowly.
And a quiet voice murmuring from the passenger seat.
"Target confird."
(Joseph POV)
I was in the middle of a video call with the Europe division when Gregory knocked on the hotel suite door.
Not unusual.
Gregory knocked all the ti.
What was unusual was the expression on his face when he stepped inside.
Tight.
Controlled.
Concerned.
The kind of look assistants develop when they know the news they’re carrying is going to ruin soone’s day.
"Sir," he said carefully.
I muted the call.
"Yes?"
He handed a tablet.
"I think you should see this imdiately."
The mont the screen lit up, I already knew sothing was wrong.
The article filled the display.
The headline alone made my jaw tighten.
"Hamilton’s CEO’s Step-Sister in Love Triangle with Company Lawyer and Step-Brother."
For a few seconds I didn’t move.
Then I read the article.
Each sentence twisted reality just enough to turn sothing ordinary into sothing scandalous.
Photos were embedded below.
Yvette walking beside .
Brent waiting outside her building.
The three of us leaving the bakery yesterday.
My stomach dropped.
These weren’t paparazzi shots.
They were too precise.
Taken from angles that ant soone had been deliberately observing our movents.
"This has already reached business dia," Gregory said quietly.
"I assud it would."
"Calls are beginning."
"I assud that too."
My voice sounded calr than I felt.
Inside, sothing much darker had already begun to stir.
"Sir... should we issue a statent?"
"No."
Gregory blinked.
"No?"
"Not yet."
I leaned back slightly in the chair.
Because this wasn’t just gossip.
This was strategic.
Soone had carefully chosen the wording.
Chosen the photos.
Chosen the timing.
The article didn’t just embarrass Yvette.
It damaged:
the CEO of Hamilton Groupthe reputation of our legal counselthe image of the company itself
Which ant one thing.
This wasn’t a tabloid story.
It was a move.
And if it was a move—
Then soone had made it deliberately.
My mind moved quickly through the list of potential enemies.
Competitors.
Forr partners.
Corporate rivals.
But only one na settled clearly in my mind.
Sebastian Vale.
The thought made my jaw tighten slightly.
I looked down at the photos again.
Yvette.
Smiling at the bakery table.
Completely unaware soone had been watching.
My chest tightened.
"Gregory."
"Yes, sir."
"Find out who published the article."
"I already have."
"Good."
I stood slowly.
"Then find out who paid for it."
Because whoever had started this story had just declared sothing very clearly.
They weren’t attacking Hamilton Group first.
They were attacking Yvette.
And that ant I was going to end this very quickly.
Brent Dawson saw the headline fifteen minutes after Joseph did.
Unlike Joseph, he didn’t react emotionally.
He reacted analytically.
He read the article once.
Then he read it again.
Then he looked at the photos.
Carefully.
The bakery image was taken through the window.
The apartnt photo was taken from across the street.
The walking shot had been captured from behind a parked car.
Brent leaned back slowly in his chair.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He enlarged the images.
Zooming.
Studying.
Looking not at the people in the photos—
But the angles.
Distances.
Lines of sight.
These weren’t paparazzi.
Tabloid photographers preferred chaotic images.
These photos were precise.
Disciplined.
Almost professional.
Which ant sothing far more troubling.
Soone had been conducting surveillance.
Brent picked up his phone and dialed a contact.
"Victor."
A tired voice answered.
"You only call when sothing’s wrong."
"Correct."
"What happened?"
Brent forwarded the article.
"Tell what you see."
A pause.
Then Victor sighed.
"This wasn’t taken by a journalist."
"I know."
"These are surveillance shots."
"Yes."
Victor continued scrolling.
"And whoever took them wasn’t improvising."
"aning?"
"They planned this."
Brent’s gaze drifted toward the window of his office.
Across the Paris skyline.
Toward the district where Yvette’s institute stood.
"How long would soone need to follow a target like this?" Brent asked quietly.
Victor thought.
"Several days at least."
Brent’s expression hardened slightly.
Days.
That ant soone had been watching Yvette long before the article appeared.
Soone patient.
Soone organized.
Soone dangerous.
Victor spoke again.
"Who’s the girl?"
Brent’s voice lowered.
"Soone important."
Victor chuckled faintly.
"They always are."
Brent ended the call and looked down at the photo again.
Yvette laughing at the bakery table.
Unaware.
Completely unaware.
The calm inside him shifted slightly.
Not panic.
But focus.
Because if soone had been watching her—
Then this article wasn’t the attack.
It was just the beginning.
Diane sat in the sleek leather chair beside the office window.
The Paris skyline stretched beneath her like a glittering map.
Her phone screen glowed in her hand.
The article was spreading exactly as planned.
News sites.
Blogs.
Social dia.
Each share multiplied the damage.
She read the headline again slowly.
Hamilton’s CEO’s Step-Sister in Love Triangle with Company Lawyer and Step-Brother.
A small smile curved her lips.
"ssy," she murmured.
Exactly how she wanted it.
Joseph’s reputation would take a hit.
Brent’s legal credibility would be questioned.
And Yvette—
Yvette would beco a public spectacle.
Just imagining it made sothing bitter inside Diane’s chest feel slightly lighter.
"You look pleased."
The voice behind her was calm.
Controlled.
Sebastian Vale stood near the desk, studying the sa article on a large screen.
Diane tilted her head slightly.
"It’s a good opening move."
Sebastian humd thoughtfully.
"Perhaps."
"You don’t sound impressed."
"I’m interested," he corrected.
Diane’s smile faded slightly.
Because Sebastian Vale was not a man easily impressed.
He studied the image of Yvette on the screen.
The one taken at the bakery.
Her head tilted slightly back in laughter.
Eyes bright.
Unaware she was being photographed.
Sebastian leaned slightly closer to the screen.
"So this is her."
Diane’s eyes narrowed.
"Yes."
"The famous Yvette Matthews."
Diane’s voice carried a sharp edge.
"She’s nothing special."
Sebastian didn’t answer imdiately.
He studied the image a mont longer.
Then said quietly,
"She broke Joseph Hamilton."
The statent hung in the room.
Diane’s nails pressed lightly into her palm.
"Joseph broke himself," she said coldly.
Sebastian finally turned toward her.
His expression thoughtful.
"No," he said calmly.
"He changed."
His gaze returned to the screen.
"And n like Joseph Hamilton only change for one reason."
Diane’s stomach tightened slightly.
Sebastian smiled faintly.
"Won like her."
Sebastian Vale had built an empire by understanding people.
Weakness.
Desire.
Fear.
Those three things controlled almost everyone.
Joseph Hamilton had always been predictable.
Stable.
Responsible.
But recently sothing about him had shifted.
Sebastian had noticed it months ago during a negotiation.
The calm had changed.
The focus had sharpened.
Now Sebastian understood why.
Yvette Matthews.
The woman who had altered Joseph Hamilton’s center of gravity.
Sebastian studied the photo again.
Her expression held sothing interesting.
Not arrogance.
Not manipulation.
Strength.
The quiet kind.
The kind that made powerful n rearrange their lives.
"Hmm."
Diane looked impatient beside him.
"What?"
Sebastian gestured toward the screen.
"She’s more interesting than I expected."
Diane scoffed.
"She’s just a cook."
Sebastian’s smile deepened slightly.
"Joseph Hamilton disagrees."
Diane’s eyes flashed.
"Joseph is weak."
Sebastian turned toward her.
"No."
The correction was calm.
"Joseph Hamilton is dangerous."
Diane fell silent.
Sebastian looked back at the image of Yvette.
A thought forming slowly.
Corporate war was predictable.
But emotional leverage—
That was far more powerful.
"If you want to hurt a man," Sebastian said thoughtfully, "you attack what he values."
Diane’s smile returned.
"That’s exactly what we’re doing."
Sebastian nodded slowly.
"Yes."
But his eyes remained fixed on Yvette’s face.
Because suddenly the ga had beco more interesting than simple corporate rivalry.
"Let’s see," he murmured quietly,
"How strong you really are."
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