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I lift my gaze, roaming it down the line of unfamiliar faces, until I reach one dear to my soul, letting it linger for far longer than I should. Leaned back into his seat, chin wobbling in torment, Hayden wears his heart on the sleeves of his Armani suit, except it's mangled and mutilated, his cheeks dampened by the sorrow streaming from his tear ducts. He composes himself, not drawing any attention, but just barely.
Choking down a sob myself, I move along the line to Elias, the only one in the room whose face reveals second-hand embarrassment, visibly affected by my nervousness.
Then there's the two-headed viper at the head of the table, the CEO at the forefront of America's entertainment industry, who's wrought egregious evil into this world. Used people for his own pleasure. Corrupted families, including his own, even turned that wickedness onto his offspring, one of which he appraises with repulsive joy, reveling at the sight of his tears.
Warren Kingston.
There's no telling how many lives he's destroyed. Which is why, when he swivels those ice-cold eyes onto mine once more, I hold his gaze like a bull facing down a matador.
He grins back, waving that red cape.
I stand firm in the ring, unyielding, resilient, patient...
"We're all listening," Warren taunts.
Shifting on my feet, exhaling on wary breath, everything about me embodies that helpless girl Warren loves to prey upon—everything but my eyes—as I sink a hand into my pocket, quiet and undetected.
"E-everyone here d-deserves to know... the truth..."
Warren leans over the table eagerly, devoid of any soul.
"And th-the truth... i-is..."
My fingers curl around cool metal, retreating with stealth as I watch his grin expand into a cruel smile, growing wider and wider, until—
I slot the truth into place.
"I've played you for a fool."
Warren's expression falters, lips parting on some retort he hasn't the time to voice before—
"MOAN LOUDER OR YOUR KIDS WON'T BE STAYING AT THAT SCHOOL MOAN LOUDER OR YOUR KIDS WON'T BE STAYING AT THAT SCHOOL MOAN LOUDER OR..."
Fiddling along the side of the podium, I twist a dial beside the USB I plugged in, blaring Warren's unmistakable voice even louder through the conference room's speakers. And damn, they sure got some powerful ones installed.
Glass walls rattle around us, board members cover their ears and lurch to their feet. Outside, employees wander from the restraints of their cubicles, furrowing eyebrows and whispering to one another, all while Warren Kingston, seated at the undisputed helm of his empire, withers as the bull overtakes him.
His eldest son gapes his way, while the youngest laughs uncontrollably, teetering on the verge of utter hysteria, blending joyous tears with fake ones, as I...
I revel amongst the chaos.
As it turns out, I'm an incredible actress—and so is Hayden. After Mom slipped me a snippet of her camcorder video last night, I listened to it on repeat until I was numb, lest I give the man who abused my mother any of my real tears.
Then, I stayed the night at Mei's, said I needed a girls' night, ensuring Hayden wouldn't try to talk me out of my plan. If he learned of such a video, he'd fear for my safety when confronting his father, but I was—and still am—beyond caring, blinded by a thirst for vengeance. The next morning, I marched myself into the office and put on a grand show, baiting Warren into granting me an audience with his board of directors.
None of which Hayden was supposed to see. No, I cannot emphasize enough how much I seriously wish he hadn't. Now I'll be mortified about it for the rest of my life, despite never having been so tempted to knee a man in the groin or vomit on him as I was during my entire time with Warren.
But the reality is... Hayden did see everything. When he barged into that breakroom, all concerned for my safety and completely sidelining the fact he had just watched what appeared to be me selling my body to his father for trivial accolades, I had to let him in on my plan.
I gave him two choices. Either refrain from joining the meeting, or attend and give a performance.
He sided with witnessing his father's downfall.
Warren bursts to his feet, laden with rage. Bounding toward me, his mouth curves into a vicious frown, spitting words I can't hear over the speakers until he's steps away.
"Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"
He cranes over the front of the podium, eyes murderous and bloodshot and piercing right into mine, his head red like a rocket about to launch off his neck. Even still, I can hardly hear him. I just smile brazenly, more than happy to suffer a couple years' worth of hearing damage for this moment, which only proves to deepen his wrinkles and bleach his knuckles a starch white as they clutch the podium's edge.
