Chapter 255:
“Game theory is just economics in high speed,” Aurora grinned. “Watch me.”
Back in the boardroom, Vivian was celebrating with champagne that she couldn’t afford. They toasted to Aurora’s inevitable failure.
Aurora walked out of the building, into the sunlight. She pulled out her phone.
She dialed Victor King at Pulse.
“Activate it,” she commanded. “Deploy the Genesis algorithm on the Kensington servers. Start with the logistics division. Now.”
The war had begun. And Aurora had just brought a nuke to a knife fight.
The return of Madam Cordelia Halloway to Kensington Manor was not merely a visit; it was an ultimatum wrapped in tweed. Unlike her previous appearance at the breakfast table, where she had merely assessed the board, today she had arrived to make a move.
She stepped out of her vintage Rolls Royce with the kind of effortless grace that could not be taught, only inherited through generations of banking dividends and summer homes in Newport. She wore a tweed suit that whispered of old money—understated, impeccably tailored, and terrifyingly expensive.
Sawyer Halloway stood by the fireplace in the main drawing room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked haggard. Since his disinheritance, the weight of his choices had settled physically upon his shoulders. He adjusted his tie for the third time in a minute.
“Mother,” Sawyer said, stepping forward as she entered. “I didn’t expect you to return so soon.”
Madam Halloway didn’t answer immediately. She peeled off her leather driving gloves, her eyes scanning the room like a laser grid, searching for flaws.
“Your grandmother is impatient, Sawyer,” Madam Halloway said, her voice cool and melodic. “She believes we may have been too hasty in cutting ties. Provided, of course, that you can prove your utility. This alliance with the Kensington girl—Aurora—is the only lifeline you have left to the family trust.”
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Eleanor Kensington rushed forward, her heels clicking frantically on the hardwood floor. She was wearing a dress that was slightly too bright, her smile a brittle mask of desperation.
“Cordelia! Darling!” Eleanor exclaimed, extending her hands. “Welcome back! We are so honored to host you again.”
Madam Halloway bypassed Eleanor’s outstretched hands with a polite, dismissive nod, effectively treating her like a piece of upholstery. “Eleanor. The weather is dreadful, isn’t it?”
She walked past Eleanor, her gaze sweeping the room until it landed on the staircase. Aurora was descending.
She wasn’t wearing diamonds. She wasn’t wearing a ballgown. She was wearing a simple, charcoal-grey wool dress with long sleeves and a high neck. It was severe, almost monastic, but the tailoring was lethal. It hugged her waist and flared gently at the hips, moving with her as if it were a second skin. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, elegant chignon, exposing the long, graceful line of her neck.
She didn’t look at her feet. She looked straight ahead, her chin tilted up at the exact angle of a woman who owned the ground she walked on.
Sawyer’s breath hitched. He took a step forward, his eyes softening with a mix of adoration and regret.
“Mrs. Halloway,” Aurora said. Her voice was low, calm, and carried across the room without effort. “I trust the drive from the city was smooth.”
“Aurora,” Madam Halloway acknowledged, a flicker of genuine respect in her tone. “It is rare to see consistency in this house. You, at least, do not disappoint.”
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