The Queen's Gambit

The boardroom of Euphorica Industries was a pristine, glass-walled chamber perched high above Manhattan—a place where power was dictated in whispers and fortunes were made or unmade before the morning’s espresso had cooled. The walls were adorned with portraits of Euphorica’s past—beautiful, commanding women who had once shaped the company, their legacy etched into the empire’s DNA.

Today, however, the space felt suffocating. A battlefield where Vivienne Laurent was outnumbered, but not yet outmaneuvered.

She sat at the head of the long, gleaming table, her back straight, her expression carved from ice. The city stretched out behind her in a glittering expanse of steel and glass, but the real fight was here—within these walls, among these men and women who were determined to rip her family’s power from her hands.

Across from her sat Euphorica’s board of directors, a collection of seasoned executives, investors, and industry leaders, each dressed in meticulously tailored suits, each wielding their influence like a weapon. Their eyes, sharp and assessing, pinned her in place.

At the center of them all was Clarence Montague, the board’s chairman. He had been Jean’s right-hand man for years—an older, shrewd businessman with a practiced smile and the heart of a vulture. Today, his smile was absent. Instead, he leaned forward, his manicured hands folded neatly atop the table, his gaze cool and expectant.

“Vivienne,” he began, his voice smooth but firm, “this has gone on long enough.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. They were growing impatient. Hungry.

Vivienne inhaled slowly, keeping her composure. “I still fail to see the urgency in dismantling Jean’s legacy when his will has clearly outlined the course of action.”

Clarence exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as if disappointed in a child who refused to understand reason. “No one is questioning Jean’s will,” he said, though the irony was thick in the air. “But his **** has left a void in this company, and we cannot afford to waste time on sentimentality.”

Sentimentality.

As if this was about grief.

Vivienne’s fingers curled against the armrests of her chair, but her face remained unreadable. “The will states that Euphorica will belong to its next true leader,” she said evenly. “A Laurent should be the one to inherit. That was Jean’s intention.”

“We have no proof of that,” another board member interjected—Marjorie Sterling, a sleek, calculating woman in her fifties who had made it her life’s work to claw her way to the top of the beauty industry. “The will does not name an individual.”

A silence fell over the room.

Vivienne could feel them pressing in, their collective will bearing down on her.

This was the heart of the issue—the truth that threatened to shatter everything.

Jean had hidden their children's identities from the world.

No press coverage. No public appearances. No carefully staged family photos for the company’s investors to see. To them, Jean had been a larger-than-life enigma, a self-made king with no heirs, no dynasty to follow. He had controlled the Euphorica empire with absolute authority, never once hinting at who might come next.

Now, in his absence, the board saw an opportunity.

They didn’t just want to replace Jean. They wanted to erase him.

If Euphorica was to survive in a world where image was everything, they demanded a female figurehead—someone who embodied the brand’s ethos. They wanted a queen, not a ghost.

And Vivienne… Vivienne had no queen to give them.

Not one they would accept.

Clarence cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Vivienne, we have been patient. We have allowed you time to mourn. But the reality is this—we need a new face for Euphorica, and we need her now.” His gaze sharpened. “You have fought for weeks to keep this within the family, but we need more than vague assurances. Who are you protecting?”

A dangerous question.

Vivienne could feel the weight of the room shifting, the growing sense of inevitability pressing against her.

They wanted names.

They wanted proof.

And she could never give it to them.

If she revealed Kieran, it would be over before it even began. The moment they learned Jean’s heir was a man, their resistance would be absolute. There would be no argument, no negotiation—only exile.

She had no room left to maneuver.

And they knew it.

Clarence leaned forward, his voice a low murmur. “You are stalling, Vivienne. And while I understand your… sentimental attachment to this company, we need to move forward.” A pause. A shift. The kill was coming.

“If you cannot produce a suitable successor today… then perhaps it is time for us to look elsewhere.”

Vivienne’s stomach turned to ice.

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

The threat had been implied before, but now it was laid bare.

If she did not give them what they wanted, the board would seize control of the company. They would find someone else—someone outside the Laurent name—to take the throne.

Her family would lose everything.

Jean’s empire would be stripped from them, handed over to some soulless executive with a polished résumé and a manufactured smile. Euphorica would become just another brand, a diluted shadow of what they had built.

Vivienne had always known this moment would come.

She had fought. She had bargained. She had manipulated every angle she could.

And yet, here she was. Backed into a corner, trapped between silence and surrender. She had no names to give them. No heirs they would accept.

Vivienne could feel the weight of a dozen gazes piercing through her, pressing in on all sides, demanding an answer that would either secure her family’s future or see it crumble before her very eyes. She had known this battle would be ruthless, but now, backed into a corner, she could feel the sharp edge of inevitability against her throat. They were pushing her to break. To concede. To hand over Euphorica to outsiders.

That was not going to happen.

Clarence Montague’s expression was unreadable, but the glint in his eye spoke volumes. He was testing her, circling like a vulture, waiting for the moment she would falter. The other board members, their polished nails tapping against the glossy surface of the conference table, were no different.

“I will ask you again, Vivienne.” His voice was smooth, deliberate. “Who exactly are you protecting?”

Vivienne’s heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and possibilities. She could feel the board’s impatience growing, and she had to think fast. The stakes had never been higher—the family’s future depended on this very moment.

“We are not prepared to risk the company’s future based solely on your word,” Marjorie Sterling interjected, her tone icy. “You expect us to trust your judgment simply because you are Jean’s widow? That is not enough.”

Her words struck deep, and Vivienne fought to maintain her composure. They were right; she had spent years in the shadows, a supportive wife, but never had she taken the reins in public view. Jean had been the face of Euphorica—his vision, his leadership. The board had never seen her as a leader in her own right, and now, they were demanding evidence.

She glanced at each board member, weighing their expressions, the doubt lingering like a dark cloud over them. If she could not convince them of a worthy successor, they would turn to an outside candidate. The thought sent chills through her. No one outside the family understood Euphorica. No one would protect its legacy the way she would.

She took a slow breath, her spine straight as steel, and gave a measured smile. Now was the moment to move.

“Jean had exactly two children,” she said simply.

The words landed like a gunshot.

A ripple of movement swept across the table—surprise, intrigue, skepticism. For years, speculation had lingered around Jean Laurent’s private life, but no proof had ever surfaced. If Jean had children, why had no one ever seen them? Why had he hidden them from the world?

Clarence leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Two, you say?”

Vivienne gave him a slow, deliberate nod. “Yes. Two.”

The reaction was immediate. The room, already charged, turned electric. Whispers flitted between board members, glances exchanged in rapid succession. They hadn’t expected this. Not even a hint.

Silence enveloped the room as the board members exchanged glances. Vivienne could feel their curiosity igniting, but she knew they would push for more.

“Children?” Clarence repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean to tell us that there are multiple heirs to Jean’s throne that we know nothing about? Why have we never seen or heard of them?”

“Because Jean was fiercely protective of his family,” Vivienne replied, forcing herself to sound calm and collected. “He believed in keeping personal matters separate from business. They are not public figures.”

Clarence studied her, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Why reveal them now, Vivienne? Why keep them hidden all this time?”

She folded her hands in her lap, tilting her chin slightly. “Because they weren’t meant to be used as bargaining chips.”

A sharp laugh from Marjorie. “And yet here we are.”

Vivienne met her gaze without flinching. “Here we are,” she agreed, her voice soft but firm.

The board was listening now, really listening. There was an opening, a sliver of control she could slip through—but it was fragile. One misstep, one hesitation, and the illusion would crack.

Clarence’s eyes darkened in thought. “Jean’s will states that the next true leader will inherit Euphorica. We have already discussed why you, Vivienne, are not that person, and to reiterate, it is because it would be unwise to do so. Simply being the wife of the deceased Jean Laurent does not put you in the running.”

“Of course,” she said smoothly. Let them believe they are in control. Let them think they have won.

Clarence nodded, satisfied. “Then that leaves your children.”

Marjorie’s brow arched. “And tell us, Vivienne… are either of them actually qualified?”

Vivienne felt the weight of the board’s scrutiny bearing down on her, and her mind raced. She had a choice to make—reveal the truth about Kieran and Celeste, or continue to protect them from the consequences of their father’s secrecy. Celeste had no desire for leadership, and Kieran was—by all appearances—still a man.

But what if… what if she could reshape the narrative? What if Kieran could become...the daughter they needed? The very thought sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, an idea sparking to life in the depths of her mind. She had to act fast, to twist the situation in their favor.

“I assure you, my younger child has been shadowing Jean for years.” Her voice rang with conviction, though she could feel the tremors beneath. “She understands the business. She has been prepared for this moment without the world knowing.”

“Your younger child?” Clarence pressed, skepticism lacing his tone. “And why should we trust that they are fit for leadership? What qualifications do they even have?”

Vivienne took a deep breath, drawing from the reserves of strength she had built over the years. “Because I have been by Jean’s side throughout our tenure. If you trusted me, you must trust that I have raised a successor who can uphold our family’s legacy.”

A beat.

And then—uproar.

Murmurs, scoffs, a few outright laughs. The board members leaned toward one another, whispering behind hands, shaking their heads.

Clarence’s smile was all teeth. “You expect us to believe that Jean, a man who ran this company with an iron fist, was secretly grooming some phantom child to be his successor?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Vivienne replied. “I expect you to listen.”

Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the chaos like a blade.

The murmuring died down.

Clarence’s eyes flickered with something—curiosity, wariness, calculation. “I assume this child is a woman, as we have been saying, yes? And you say this younger daughter is the one fit to lead?”

“Yes,” Vivienne said, unwavering. “She is prepared. She understands the industry, the brand, the vision. She is everything Euphorica needs in a leader.”

Marjorie Sterling crossed her arms. “If this is true, then why wasn’t she presented sooner?”

Vivienne’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because Jean’s **** was unexpected. His plan was to announce her when the time was right. That time has come.”

A long, drawn-out silence stretched between them.

The board was considering. Testing.

Vivienne knew what they were thinking—was she bluffing? Was she grasping at straws?

But then, Clarence leaned back in his chair, studying her with sharp, scrutinizing eyes. “If this girl is truly Jean’s successor, then we need to meet her.”

She could use Kieran. He had the right skills, the right temperament—if only he could step into a new identity. If Kieran became...a daughter, he could fulfill the role they were demanding. This was her chance, the lifeline her family needed, and she had to seize it.

“I will present her to you,” she said, her voice steady, a fire igniting within her.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

Marjorie pursed her lips. “We cannot hand over a billion-dollar empire to a ghost, Vivienne. You still expect us to take your word alone?”

Vivienne exhaled softly, the ghost of a victorious smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Of course not.”

She had won this battle—but the war was far from over.

They would demand proof. They would demand a face.

And she had just given them one.

The moment they saw her supposed heir, they would expect a woman.

And they would get one.

A woman who didn’t yet exist.

But that was a problem for another day.

“I promise you,” Vivienne said, leaning forward, urgency crackling in her voice. “She will embody everything Euphorica stands for. Trust my judgment, as you have trusted Jean’s for all these years.”

The board members exchanged glances, their expressions inscrutable. Vivienne could feel the moment hanging in the balance—this was her gamble, and she had to see it through.

Before the meeting concluded, Clarence leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of intrigue in his gaze. “We will need to meet her before any terms can be finalized.”

“I understand,” Vivienne said, hiding the mix of relief and dread that coursed through her.The tension in the room settled into something colder—agreement wrapped in suspicion.

Just as Clarence was about to move on to closing formalities, his gaze flickered back to Vivienne, amusement curling at the edge of his lips.

“You’ve been careful with your words, Vivienne,” he mused. “You’ve told us about your children, but not much else.”

The board members stirred, catching the shift in his tone.

Clarence’s smile sharpened. “Tell us, then… what is your daughter’s name?”

Vivienne didn’t blink. She knew it the moment she crafted this lie. A name that would rewrite fate.

She folded her hands neatly in her lap and said, “Kiara.”

And just like that, a new heiress was born.