My Husband Told Me To Take Our Newborn And Disappear—He Didn’t Know His Grandfather Left The Entire Empire To The Baby / Chapter 18 / 20

Chapter 18 - The Master StrokeTo hack an impenetrable corporate fortress, you don't break down the front door. You use the architect who built the walls.

We didn't just defend our network; we set a spectacular, devastating trap.

"Silas’s automated clone accounts are programmed to attack the moment we push the live stream feed for Lumina’s official debut," Elias explained as we prepped the counter-strike.

"Then we open the door and let them in," I smiled—a cold, terrifying expression that made the room fall silent. "We don't block his fake traffic. We absorb it. But we attach a polymorphic tracking worm to every single data packet his clone accounts interact with. When those accounts report back to his Geneva server, they will carry our virus straight through his firewall."

"The virus won't just crash his server," Julian added, his architectural mind mapping the absolute destruction. "It will extract the offshore wire transfers proving he illegally bribed our textile manufacturers, and it will document his massive market manipulation."

"Exactly," I said. "And as for our runway collection? Silas thinks because he bought the Milan factories, we have no clothes to show."

I pulled up a secondary file on the smart-board. "Six months ago, Julian and I quietly purchased a redundant, state-of-the-art 3D textile printing facility in South Korea as a failsafe. The entire autumn collection was produced there three days ago. It’s currently on a private cargo plane headed for Paris."

Julian wrapped his arm around my waist, kissing the side of my head. "The queen always has a contingency plan."

The following evening, we flew to Paris under the cover of a freezing midnight sky, operating from our private, stealth-modified Gulfstream. The city of lights was glittering below us, entirely unaware of the seismic corporate execution that was about to take place.

The Maison de Lune runway show was the most exclusive event of Paris Fashion Week, held inside the historic Grand Palais. Silas Thorne was on the VIP guest list. He intended to sit in the front row and watch my empire publicly humiliate itself with an empty runway.

I did not hide in the backstage shadows. I arrived looking like absolute, terrifying supremacy.

I stepped out of the armored Maybach wearing a sweeping, backless gown of liquid-emerald silk that cascaded to the cobblestones like a waterfall of ice. Julian walked beside me in a razor-sharp, midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo, radiating the protective energy of a king ready for war.