"Really? Then I suppose you won't need this either."
Helena's gaze dropped—and her heart stopped.
On the screen were photos from last night—her clothes torn, her face streaked with tears, humiliation captured in cruel, deliberate angles.
Every photo screamed shame.
Laica watched the color drain from Helena's face, her voice dripping with venomous delight. "I've already sent them out. Every media outlet in Boston should have received them by now."
She leaned closer, whispering like a demon savoring her victory. "Stop investigating my thesis from three years ago. Otherwise, these photos will just be the appetizer."
Her voice hardened. "I have a hundred ways to ruin you, Helena—to make sure you'll never rise again."
"Damn you, Laica!" Helena's vision went red. She lunged forward, fury exploding as she tried to snatch the phone from Laica's hand.
"Ah!" Laica screamed and dramatically stumbled backward, collapsing in an exaggerated heap. The phone clattered to the floor.
"Laica!"
A man's furious voice thundered from the doorway.
Jackson stormed in. Without even glancing at Helena, he rushed to Laica's side, cradling her protectively.