Swept

The blood on my kitchen floor wasn't going to clean itself.

I stared at crimson droplets trailing across Italian marble, leading to an abandoned crystal stiletto at the foot of the staircase. Grabbing the mop, I considered how to salvage this disastrous morning. Board meeting in two hours. Merger announcement tomorrow. And my stepdaughter missing.

My phone vibrated. Diane, my assistant.

"Tell me you've found her," I said without preamble.

"No sign of Celeste. Her credit cards haven't been used since yesterday's ATM withdrawal. Eight hundred dollars cash."

"Perfect." I pressed fingers to my temple. "Any updates on the photos?"

The images had flooded social media at midnight: Celeste draped over Maxwell Regent Jr., silver dress riding high, triumph in her smile. The Mayor's Midnight Masquerade—invitation only. An event to which she'd specifically been banned after last year's incident.

"Board meeting's at ten," Diane reminded me. "Want me to reschedule?"

"Absolutely not. The Regent merger waits for no one."

I followed the trail upstairs. A beaded clutch on the landing. Diamond earring on the carpet. The matching stiletto outside Celeste's room.

Her bedroom looked like a fashion hurricane. Designer dresses everywhere. Empty champagne bottles clustered on the nightstand.

Rustling came from the bathroom. I pushed open the door to find my stepdaughter curled around the toilet, silver dress twisted at her waist, last night's makeup smeared across her face.

"Go away," she mumbled.

"You're bleeding," I pointed to her feet, streaked with dried blood.

"Those stupid shoes broke."

"Those 'stupid shoes' cost five thousand dollars and were one-of-kind Louboutin crystal stilettos."

"They weren't comfortable."

"They weren't meant to be climbed in or used to pry open champagne bottles," I replied, remembering a particularly disturbing photo. "How did you even get into that event?"

A ghost of a smile. "Max wanted me there."

Maxwell Regent Jr. Of course. The spoiled heir to Regent Communications—the company I was negotiating to acquire.

"You need to clean up," I said, switching tactics. "Board meeting in two hours. You're expected to be there."

She scoffed. "Pass."

"Not optional, Celeste. Your father left you forty percent of Tremaine Industries."

"Send Anastasia and Dalia instead." She waved dismissively. "They're always desperate to prove themselves."

My daughters, who actually earned their positions, who showed up early and stayed late, who hadn't caused a single scandal since our move to Seattle.

"Your stepsisters will be there. As will I, and representatives from Regent Communications. You know, the company owned by your new boyfriend's father?"

That got her attention. "Max's dad will be there?"

"You have ninety minutes to make yourself presentable."

My phone rang. Geoffrey Tremaine, my former father-in-law.

"Elena." His voice carried the crispness of old money. "I've been looking at the quarterly projections."

Of course he had. Despite stepping down, Geoffrey maintained a stranglehold on company information.

"They're quite promising," I replied. "The Regent acquisition will boost our digital division significantly."

"Yes, about that. I've had concerns raised about the wisdom of this merger."

"By whom?"

"Reliable sources."

Translation: Celeste had been complaining to Grandpa again.

"The board unanimously approved the initial talks," I reminded him.

"My son left the company to his family. You, Celeste, and your daughters from your previous marriage."

The distinction never failed to sting. Your daughters. As if Anastasia and Dalia weren't just as much Robert's family during the three years he'd been their stepfather.

"And as CEO, I've quadrupled the company's value," I said. "The Regent merger continues that trajectory."

"I understand my granddaughter will be attending today's meeting?"

So that's what this was about. "Yes, as a major shareholder."

"Good. I've arranged for her to present the quarterly foundation report."

My grip tightened. The foundation was my pet project, started with Robert before his cancer diagnosis.

"That report isn't finalized," I said carefully. "And Celeste has had no involvement with the foundation this quarter."

"She's been briefed."

By whom? I thought of Celeste's smug smile in those photos, her proximity to Maxwell Regent Jr.

I called upstairs fifteen minutes later. "Car leaves now!"

No response. Just running water.

"Celeste?" I tried the bathroom door. Locked.

I rammed my shoulder against it. The lock gave way easily.

Steam filled the bathroom, but the shower was empty. The window stood open.

Below, blonde hair disappeared into the gardener's shed. Then came the rumble of an engine—my vintage Porsche, strictly off-limits.

My phone rang. Diane.

"She's gone," I said.

"I know. She's here."

"At the office?"

"With Geoffrey. And Walter Regent. They arrived fifteen minutes ago."

My mind spun. "How is that possible? She just left."

"Elena, she wasn't home last night. The security system shows her leaving at six yesterday and not returning. Whatever you saw this morning—"

"Was staged." I closed my eyes, remembering the perfect trail of blood, the strategic shoes. "She wanted me distracted."

"There's more. The foundation documents are gone from the server. And the merger proposal has been changed."

"By whom?"

"The log shows Celeste's credentials, but the IP address traces to Geoffrey's home network."

"They're tanking the deal."

"Or rewriting it to terms Geoffrey prefers."

Five minutes later, I was clutching a motorcycle courier as we weaved through traffic. We screeched to a halt outside Tremaine Tower with eight minutes to spare.

Through the boardroom's glass walls, I saw them assembled: board members, the Regent team, my daughters sitting stiffly.

And at the head of the table, in my chair, sat Celeste. Perfectly styled, wearing what appeared to be new Chanel. Beside her, Geoffrey beamed. Across the table, Walter Regent nodded at something she was saying.

"Celeste is proposing herself as new foundation director," Diane murmured. "With a seven-figure salary."

I straightened my jacket and pushed open the door.

All eyes turned. Celeste's confident smile faltered slightly.

"Elena! We were just about to begin." She gestured to an empty chair halfway down the table—not my usual position.

Walter Regent stood, extending his hand. "Mrs. Tremaine. A pleasure. Your stepdaughter has been explaining some... alternative approaches to our partnership."

I shook his hand firmly. "I'm sure she has." I turned to the room. "Before we continue, I'd like to understand why this meeting began early, without the CEO present."

"Oh, just efficiency," Geoffrey waved dismissively.

"Including Mr. Regent, who flew in from New York specifically for a ten o'clock meeting that apparently began at nine fifteen?"

An uncomfortable silence fell.

"Perhaps we should start fresh," I suggested, moving toward my rightful place. "Celeste, thank you for warming my seat."

"Of course, Stepmommy Dearest," she finally said, the saccharine nickname drawing uncomfortable glances.

As she rose, I noticed her feet—perfectly intact beneath clear stilettos. The blood had been staged, a trick from her brief stint at theater camp.

"Mr. Regent," I addressed our potential partner, "I understand you've been presented with alternative proposals. Any changes to our agreed framework would need full board approval and my sign-off as CEO."

Walter nodded. "Your father-in-law suggested the changes might streamline integration."

"Interesting, since our team has been working for months on the original framework—unanimously approved by this board."

Murmurs circled the table. Several board members shifted uncomfortably.

Geoffrey's smile remained fixed. "Market conditions change, Elena."

"Indeed." I nodded to Diane, who distributed tablets. "Which is why I'd like everyone to review updated projections based on our original framework. Regent's stock increase yesterday actually strengthens our position."

"But—" Celeste began.

"Additionally, I've compiled a comprehensive report on our foundation's impact. Engagement metrics up twenty-seven percent, with particularly strong results in education initiatives."

Walter looked impressed. "These numbers are remarkable."

"My daughters have been instrumental in developing these programs," I nodded toward Anastasia and Dalia. "Their insights into next-gen engagement strategies have proven invaluable."

Geoffrey cleared his throat. "Celeste has thoughts on the foundation as well."

My stepdaughter straightened importantly. "The foundation needs fresh energy. I propose rebranding—dropping the boring education stuff and focusing on influencer partnerships and celebrity events."

"Interesting approach," I said neutrally. "Perhaps you could walk us through the budget implications?"

She faltered. "Well, Grandpa's team has those details..."

"Actually," Anastasia spoke up, sliding a document across the table, "I modeled Celeste's proposed changes. The projected impact is a ninety percent decrease in measurable outcomes and a four hundred percent increase in administrative costs."

Walter frowned. "That seems counterproductive."

"Unless administration includes a seven-figure director's salary," Dalia added quietly.

I watched the room read the situation—Geoffrey's power play using Celeste as his puppet, my daughters' careful preparation. The tide was turning.

"Mr. Regent," I addressed him directly, "our original framework honors your company's legacy while maximizing shareholder value for both parties. I suggest we proceed as planned."

Walter studied me. "You've built something impressive here, Mrs. Tremaine."

"Thank you."

"And yet family dynamics clearly present... challenges."

I met his gaze steadily. "Show me a family business without complications, and I'll show you a company without passion."

"Usually," Celeste muttered.

Walter's attention shifted between us. "Let me be direct: my son has developed a certain fascination with your stepdaughter."

The boardroom went silent.

"I see," I said carefully.

"Max is impulsive. Currently convinced that Ms. Tremaine represents some romantic ideal."

"Your point, Mr. Regent?"

"Business and pleasure rarely mix well." He closed his tablet. "I came prepared to walk away if the altered terms were indicative of how Tremaine Industries conducts business."

Geoffrey stiffened. Celeste's smug expression faltered.

"However, your handling of this situation suggests leadership integrity I value. The merger proceeds on original terms, with one condition."

"Name it."

"My son remains in New York during the transition. And Ms. Tremaine maintains professional distance until integration is complete. Six months minimum."

Celeste's face contorted with outrage. "You can't—"

"Agreed," I said firmly.

"Bozhe moy!" She slammed her hand down, lapsing into the Russian her boarding school roommate had taught her. "Max and I—"

"Will have plenty of time after the merger is complete," I finished. "Assuming his interest survives a six-month separation."

Geoffrey, recognizing defeat, attempted damage control. "A sensible precaution."

"Do I understand corporate priorities?" Celeste snapped, rising. "Because this looks like my stepmother once again controlling my life while pushing her precious daughters forward!"

"Celeste," Geoffrey warned.

"No! She swoops in and takes everything—Dad's company, Dad's house, Dad's car—"

"Your father built this company with me," I reminded her evenly. "He wanted you to learn the business, not use it as your personal ATM."

"He wouldn't have wanted me controlled by you," she hissed. "You weren't even his first choice!"

Walter cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should reschedule—"

"No need," I said firmly. "Shall we vote on proceeding with the original merger framework?"

Celeste wasn't finished. "I vote no. Forty percent says no."

"Actually," Anastasia interjected, "your shares are still in trust until you're twenty-five. Your vote is exercised by your trustee."

"Grandpa votes my shares," Celeste insisted.

"Only when Elena authorizes it," Dalia pointed out. "The trust document is very specific."

Geoffrey looked uncomfortable as all eyes turned to him.

"This is ridiculous," Celeste grabbed her purse. "I don't need to sit here and be humiliated."

"No one is humiliating you," I said calmly. "But there are consequences to actions."

"Like you've never manipulated situations," she scoffed. "Everyone knows you only married Dad for his money."

"Your father and I built this company together. My work is what's made your trust fund possible."

"You know what Dad called you behind your back? The Ice Queen. He said marrying you was his biggest mistake."

The words hit their mark. Robert had never said any such thing—our marriage had been passionate until cancer took him—but Celeste knew how to weaponize my deepest insecurities.

As the door slammed behind her, Walter spoke first. "Reminds me of my daughter at that age. All fire and no direction."

"How is Victoria these days?" I asked. "Still running your European division?"

"And doing a damn fine job," Walter confirmed. "Though we nearly killed each other when she was twenty-one."

"There's hope, then," I said with a small smile.

The meeting proceeded smoothly after that. The merger was approved with original terms intact.

"Impressed by how you handled that situation," Walter said quietly afterward. "Takes guts to stand your ground in a family power struggle."

"The corporate integration will be the easy part," I replied. "Good luck with the home front."

As the room emptied, only my daughters remained.

"Well," Anastasia said, "that could have gone worse."

Dalia snorted. "Only if she'd actually set the building on fire. Which, given her history, was definitely on the table."

I sank into my chair. "She's going to be impossible after this."

"So don't let her be," Anastasia suggested. "She's an adult. Let her move into that condo she's always threatening to buy."

"With what money?" Dalia countered. "Her trust fund is locked until twenty-five, and she can't hold a job longer than a week."

"My point is," Anastasia continued, "you don't have to keep setting yourself on fire to keep her warm."

I studied my stepdaughters—technically my daughters now, after I'd legally adopted them following Robert's death at their request.

"Your father wanted us to be a family," I said softly. "All of us."

"We tried," Dalia pointed out. "For three years. But Celeste doesn't want a family. She wants to be the princess in her own fairy tale."

"With us cast as the wicked stepmother and ugly stepsisters," Anastasia added. "No matter how many times you try to rewrite the script."

I thought of the blood trail, the missing Porsche, the attempted sabotage of the merger that would secure all our futures.

"Maybe it's time to let her write her own ending," I said finally. "Even if it's not the one her father would have chosen."

"Some princesses don't want to be rescued," Dalia squeezed my hand.

My phone buzzed with a security alert. The vintage Porsche had been in an accident on Mountain Highway. Driver unharmed but vehicle totaled.

I showed the screen to my daughters.

"Shocker," Dalia rolled her eyes. "Another dramatic exit."

"We should go," Anastasia said, already gathering her things.

I hesitated, remembering the stilettos stained with fake blood, the calculated ambush at the meeting, the cruel words about Robert.

"No," I decided, closing the notification. "The police report says she's fine. She's called Geoffrey to pick her up."

"You're not going to rush to her rescue?" Dalia asked, surprised.

"Not this time." I set my phone down. "Some stories need new endings."

As we left the boardroom, I caught my reflection in the glass—hair still tousled from the motorcycle ride, suit slightly rumpled, eyes tired but determined. Not the Ice Queen of Celeste's accusations, not the doormat I'd sometimes allowed myself to become.

Just a woman trying to mother a child who didn't want to be mothered. A stepmother wrongcast as a villain in a fairy tale of someone else's writing.

My phone buzzed again. Celeste.

Need you to come get me. Grandpa's not answering.

I stared at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Three years of rushing to her rescue, of making excuses, of trying to build bridges she immediately burned.

Car service has been arranged. We'll talk tomorrow when you're calm.

I put the phone away, ignoring the immediate barrage of incoming messages. Outside, Seattle sparkled under rare sunshine, the future suddenly looking clearer than it had in years.

Sometimes happily ever after starts with saying no.