Chapter 10
JADE
The next morning begins with the mechanical precision that seems to pulse through Cayden Miller’s entire existence. At seven sharp, a knock at the door. Helena enters, silent as a ghost, bringing the smell of painfully strong coffee.
“Mr. Miller expects you in fifteen minutes,” she says. “Henry is prepping the car. Parker is already at breakfast.”
I slip into a navy blazer and simple slacks. I need every ounce of professionalism to not drown in this house. When I get downstairs, Cayden is at the door. In his charcoal three-piece suit, he looks like a sculpture of success and arrogance.
“Punctual. A rare virtue in your industry,” he says without turning. His gaze brushes me as I step beside him. “Conservative choice. Good. The men we’re meeting today think they're guardians of morality while trying to eat each other alive.”
Parker runs out of the dining hall, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Morning! Mom, did you see? The fridge has its own screen for recipes!”
Cayden’s mouth twitches—Parker’s tech-enthusiasm amuses him. “Henry’s taking you to school, kid. If anyone asks, tell them you’re the Royals' new strategy consultant. That’ll explain your mouth.”
“You’re not his boss, Cayden,” I say as Parker sprints to the Bentley.
“This month, I’m pretty much everything, Jade. Get used to it.” He gestures to the second car, a Mercedes waiting in the shadows. “Get in. We have a meeting with the Chester Street Society. Financing for the North Stand. Elias Hayes is waiting. And he isn't a man you keep waiting.”
The drive into downtown Montreal is cold.
Cayden is silent, his profile as hard as the rock of Quebec.
I review my dossier on Hayes. He is Cayden’s opposite.
Cayden is the eccentric ex-star; Hayes is the tech giant—Icarus Systems. He controls the software behind half of Canada’s logistics.
Married, three perfect children, charity patron. A clean man.
And he is the man Cayden’s entire legacy depends on.
As we stop before the discreet building, Cayden closes his eyes for a moment. A deep breath, like bracing for a dive into poisoned water.
“What’s wrong, Miller? Scared of the man who never lies?” I whisper.
He opens his eyes. The cold is back. “Lying is an art, Jade. Hayes doesn't lie with words. He lies with silence. And his silence is costing me two billion dollars.”
In the conference room, time stands still. Heavy oak, the smell of old paper. Elias Hayes sits at the head of the table. He radiates a calm that is more threatening than Cayden’s aggression.
“Cayden,” Hayes says, his voice perfectly level. “Glad you could make it. And I see you brought the press.” His gaze slides over me, and I can't shake the feeling he’s thinking something dirty.
“Jade Sterling from the Chronicle,” Cayden says, sitting down without being asked. “She’s writing the profile. I thought it’d be useful for her to see this project is more than a toy for my ego.”
Hayes lays his hands flat. He wears a simple wedding ring. “The profile. Exactly. My partners and I value integrity. A project of this scale, binding billions in public and private funds, needs a foundation that doesn't shake at the next headline about a night in Miami.”
“My night in Miami has nothing to do with the North Stand’s physics, Elias,” Cayden snaps.
“Maybe not the physics of concrete,” Hayes counters gently.
“But the physics of trust. The investors see the playboy.
They wonder if the Royals' owner has the discipline to lead a five-year build. I won't sign this deal until I see in black and white that you’re ready for the responsibility your name demands.”
He looks at me. “Miss Sterling, your article will be the tipping point. If you can show us Mr. Miller is more than the sum of his mistakes, we have a foundation. If not...” He lets the sentence hang.
Cayden lets out a harsh, dry laugh. “You’re making my life’s work dependent on the opinion of a journalist? That’s pathetic, Elias.”
“Image is a harder currency than gold,” Hayes says, unmoved. “We wait for the profile. Until then, the funds stay frozen.”
It’s a power play. Hayes is using his "clean" reputation to keep Cayden on a short leash. The meeting lasts hours—a brutal skirmish over interest rates and credit lines, but underneath, it’s about Cayden’s character.
Hayes survives on a surgical coldness that clearly rattles Cayden.
I take notes as fast as I can: Cayden’s suppressed rage, Hayes’ unshakable self-righteousness.
When we’re finally back in the car, the silence is different. It’s the silence after a battle no one won. Cayden rips his tie loose and leans his head back. He looks pale.
“He hates you,” I say softly.
“He doesn't hate me,” Cayden murmurs without opening his eyes. “Hate takes energy. Hayes just judges. He thinks he’s the moral compass of this city because he’s been kissing the same woman for twenty years and goes to church on Sundays.”
“His image is clean, Cayden. In this business, that’s gold.”
“His image is a lie!” he snaps, sitting up, eyes flashing. “Nobody is that clean. He just hides his bodies better under a pile of charity receipts. But he’s using you. Using your profile to bring me to my knees.”
He reaches for my hand—a sudden, violent impulse. His grip is firm, almost painful. “What will you write, Jade? Will you give him what he wants?”
“I’ll write the truth, Cayden. That’s my job.”
“The truth?” He laughs bitterly and lets go of my hand as if he’d been burned. “You know nothing about the truth.”
That makes two of us, I think, but I stay silent.
He stares out the window at the rainy streets. “Married, three kids, no escapades... he’s what I should have been if I hadn't broken everything.”
“Is that why you fight him? Because he reminds you of what you don't have?”
Cayden doesn't answer for a long time. “You have no idea,” he says finally. “The worst monsters are the ones that smell like lavender and wear perfect suits. Watch yourself. He’s more dangerous than I could ever be.”