Chapter 360 The Storm Is Already Here

Claire’s POV

This was business. Just business.

The mantra repeated in my head like a broken record, but my hands shook so badly I could barely type. Outside my cramped studio apartment, London’s weather turned vicious—wind howled through the narrow streets, rain hammered against my single window like bullets.

Fitting. The whole world went to hell that night.

“Files are ready to send,” I reported into my phone, hating how my voice wavered. On my laptop screen, Serena’s autumn collection stared back at me—months of her brilliant work, her sleepless nights. And I was about to hand it all over to Sophie Anderson like some corporate spy.

“Wonderful, darling.” Sophie’s voice purred through the speaker, dripping with satisfaction. “Send everything now. Don’t leave out a single sketch.”

My cursor hovered over the send button. One click. That was all it would take to destroy someone’s life.

“About that position at ARt,” I ventured, trying to sound casual instead of desperate. “When exactly might I—”

“Oh, you’re still worried about that?” She laughed, the sound sharp enough to cut glass. “Sweet Claire, always so anxious. Don’t fret—I always honor my agreements.”

Agreements. Was that what we were calling betrayal now?

“Once this little tempest passes,” she continued, “you’ll have your corner office. The one with the Thames view you mentioned wanting. I remember everything, darling.”

The way she said it made my skin crawl. Like she was collecting my dreams to use against me later.

I clicked send. Watched as years of Serena’s creativity transferred to Sophie’s inbox in neat little digital packages.

Thirty pieces of silver. That’s what Judas got, wasn’t it?

“Now listen carefully,” Sophie’s tone shifted, becoming businesslike and cold. “Delete every trace of our communications after this call. Every email, every text message, every voicemail. I want a clean slate. Understood?”

“Yes, Mrs. Anderson.” The words tasted like ash.

“Excellent. Sweet dreams, Claire.”

The line went dead, leaving me alone with the storm and my conscience.

I stared at my computer screen, at the folder labeled “SR Autumn Line – CONFIDENTIAL.” The weight of what I’d just done settled over me like a lead blanket.

“She’ll recover,” I whispered to the empty room, systematically deleting our message history. “Someone like Serena always lands on her feet.”

But would I? Would I ever recover from being this person?

Lightning illuminated my tiny apartment, casting harsh shadows across the walls. My phone buzzed with a text from Sophie:

“Perfect execution. You’ve made the right choice tonight. Rest well knowing you’re finally on the winning team.”

The winning team. Right. Because destroying someone who trusted me definitely felt like victory.

I poured myself a glass of the cheapest wine in my fridge—the kind that came with a screw cap, not like the vintage bottles they served at Serena’s fancy industry parties. The kind Sophie probably wouldn’t use to clean her Louboutins.

By tomorrow morning, ARt would unveil their “new” collection. Designs that looked suspiciously similar to what Elegant Realm planned to showcase at London Fashion Week. And when the fashion world saw the similarities, they’d assume Serena copied them.

She’ll never know it was me, I told myself, draining half the glass in one burning gulp. No one will ever trace this back to me.

Thunder crashed overhead, so loud it rattled my windows. I refreshed the news on my laptop, desperate for distraction from the guilt eating me alive.

BREAKING: London Now in Direct Path of Category 2 Storm

Even Mother Nature thought this city needed to be punished that night.

My phone rang, and Vivi’s name flashed on the screen. My blood turned to ice water.

“Claire? Thank God you picked up.” Vivi sounded breathless, worried. “Are you somewhere safe? This storm is getting seriously nasty, and your building isn’t exactly… well, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I managed, my voice cracking. “Just… watching the weather.”

“Good, good. Listen, I know it’s late, but I had to tell you—I know I’ve been pushing everyone hard these past few weeks,” she continued, “but Claire, you have real talent. The kind that can’t be taught. I’m so grateful you’re on this team.”

I pressed my hand over my mouth to muffle a sob.

“Claire? You there?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Thank you. That… that means everything.”

“Get some rest, okay? Tomorrow’s going to be another marathon day, but we’re almost there. I can feel it—this collection is going to change everything for us.”

She had no idea how right she was.

After we hung up, I sat in my darkened apartment, listening to the hurricane tear through London’s streets. My laptop pinged with an email from Sophie, confirming receipt of the stolen files.

By morning, Serena’s reputation would be hanging by a thread. Sophie would be hailed as a visionary.

And me? I’d be what—successful? Vindicated? Or just another casualty in Sophie’s war games, waiting for the knife in my back?

I poured another glass of wine and closed my eyes, trying to silence the voice screaming that it wasn’t too late. That I could still warn Serena. Still confess. Still choose to be better than this version of myself.

But the storm was already here. The files were already sent.

At least tomorrow, I’d finally have that corner office I’d always wanted.