Cynthia Sharpe sat in her office, scrolling through the background check she had run on Sophie Laurent. The pieces fit too perfectly: the crushing debt, the sudden payment of her father’s medical bills, and the hiring timeline that aligned exactly with Lady Beatrice’s renewed interest in custody.
“She’s a plant,” Cynthia whispered, a cruel smile spreading across her face. “The little mouse is a spy.”
She could have exposed Sophie immediately. She could have marched into William’s office and destroyed the budding romance right then. But Cynthia was the “Exploiter”; she knew that pain was most effective when maximized.
She dialed a number.
“Lady Beatrice,” Cynthia purred when the line connected. “We have a mutual acquaintance. A Miss Laurent.”
There was a pause on the line. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Ms. Sharpe.”
“Oh, cut the act,” Cynthia laughed. “I know she’s working for you. And I know she’s failing. She’s falling in love with him, Beatrice. She’s not going to give you the dirt you need.”
“And why are you telling me this?” Beatrice asked sharply.
“Because I want him broken, and you want the child,” Cynthia said, looking at a photo of William from the Gala. “If we reveal her betrayal now, he might forgive her. But if we wait… if we wait until he lets his guard down completely… it will destroy him.”
“We wait,” Beatrice agreed, her voice cold as steel. “When the ring is bought, we strike.”