"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a drink?" Jake asked, breaking the silence in the car as they drove through the sleeping city.
Samantha stared out the window, her reflection ghosted over the skyline — bright lights, tall towers, and in between, shadows she couldn't quite outrun. Her voice came out low, distant. "I've had enough noise for one night."
Jake glanced at her briefly, the faintest trace of worry softening his expression. The gala had ended hours ago, but the mask she'd worn there still clung to her like second skin — beautiful, polished, and suffocating.
When they reached the penthouse, Samantha stepped out first, heels clicking on the marble floor of the lobby. Jake followed a few paces behind, his silence careful — he knew better than to push when she retreated into herself.
Inside, the penthouse was dim, only the soft glow from the city spilling through the glass walls. Samantha dropped her clutch on the console table and shrugged off her wrap, her movements mechanical.
Jake watched her from the doorway. "You were brilliant tonight," he said quietly.
She turned, arching a brow. "That's what everyone says to the performer after the show."
He gave a faint smile. "And you were the best one there."
Samantha's gaze softened for a heartbeat before she looked away. "It wasn't a performance, Jake. It was a rehearsal."
"For what?"
"For their downfall."
The words hung heavy between them — steady, cold, and certain.
Jake stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, his tone gentler. "And what about you? When this is over — when there's no one left to fight — what will you have left?"
Samantha's lips curved, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Peace, maybe. Or just silence."
Jake's voice lowered. "You deserve more than silence, Sam."
She looked at him — really looked at him — and for a moment, the steel in her gaze wavered. Then she turned away. "Goodnight, Jake."
---
When the door to her room closed behind her, Samantha exhaled for what felt like the first time all evening. She stood still for a long moment, then crossed to the dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer.
Inside was a small locked box. She hesitated, then took out the key she kept hidden behind a framed certificate on her vanity.
The lock clicked open with a quiet snap.
Inside — old photographs.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted one out. It was a faded picture of her and Nick, taken years ago at a charity event. She was smiling — truly smiling — and his arm was wrapped around her waist. Their eyes had been full of a kind of foolish hope that now felt like another lifetime.
She ran her thumb across the photo, tracing the faint smudge where water had once blurred the edge — maybe a tear, maybe rain. She couldn't remember anymore.
Another photo lay beneath it — her father, Steve Bradley, with his arm around a much younger Ally, standing outside Elevate's first office. She'd been wearing a simple white dress, holding a coffee in one hand, the sun in her hair.
That girl was gone.
Samantha closed her eyes. The echo of Sophia's tiny voice calling "Ally" in the Carter mansion that night wouldn't leave her. It was soft, innocent, pure — the kind of voice that could break a heart.
Her breath hitched. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to push the ache back where it belonged.
But grief, even buried, has sharp edges.
---
A soft knock at the door broke the silence.
"Sam?" Jake's voice was low, hesitant.
She quickly closed the box and slid it back into the drawer before answering. "Come in."
He stepped inside, jacket off now, sleeves rolled up. The loosened tie made him look less like the COO of Elevate and more like the boy she'd grown up with — the one who'd stayed when everyone else left.
"You didn't sleep," he said quietly.
"I wasn't trying to."
He nodded once, taking in the untouched glass of water on her nightstand, the faint tension in her shoulders. "You saw something tonight, didn't you? Something that got under your skin."
Samantha didn't answer right away. Her voice was distant when it finally came. "When you walk into a place that once felt like home, it's strange how your body remembers before your mind does. The smell, the walls, the silence after laughter…" She exhaled slowly. "For a second, it felt like being back there again. Before everything burned."
Jake's throat tightened. "Sam—"
"Don't," she said softly, cutting him off. "Don't say it was a long time ago. Don't tell me I've moved on. I haven't. I just learned to breathe through the smoke."
Jake stepped closer, his hands twitching slightly at his sides. "Then let me help you breathe."
Her eyes met his. For a moment, there was only the sound of the city — distant cars, a faint hum of life below.
He reached out — slowly, as if afraid the moment might shatter — but stopped an inch from her hand.
Samantha's lips parted, but she didn't pull away. She could feel his warmth, could almost feel his heartbeat through the air between them.
Then she whispered, "You shouldn't look at me that way."
He gave a small, broken laugh. "I've been looking at you this way since before you even knew what revenge meant."
Her gaze softened, pain flickering through the composure. "And I can't afford to look back."
Jake's hand dropped to his side. He nodded once. "Then I'll keep looking forward — right where you are."
It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit her harder than any confession.
For a long second, she said nothing. Then she stepped past him, toward the window. "Go to your room, Jake. You'll need rest. Tomorrow we start the next phase."
He studied her silhouette against the glass — elegant, unbreakable, but achingly alone. "The next phase?"
She turned slightly, the light catching the edge of her profile. "The part where I start tightening the strings."
---
It was nearly midnight when Lynn arrived, clutching a manila envelope. Her face was pale, breath a little uneven from rushing. "Sorry for the hour, Ms. Bradley," she said softly. "But these just came through from the monitoring team."
Samantha took the envelope and gestured for her to sit. "What is it?"
Lynn hesitated. "Financial updates on Carter Group. Their foreign investments are tanking faster than we expected. And… there's a rumor about an internal conflict between Chloe and Kate."
Samantha's eyes sharpened as she spread the documents across the desk. The numbers told a story she already knew was coming — losses hidden under layers of accounting illusion.
"Good work," Samantha murmured. "Did Jake see this?"
"He was copied on the files, but I thought you'd want to review first."
Samantha nodded absently, her focus narrowing. "Naomi's charity gala, their sudden PR push… all distractions. They're trying to hold the house together with duct tape."
Her voice cooled, precise. "Then let's make sure it collapses quietly — from the inside."
Lynn looked uneasy. "Are you sure? If Carter Group fails too fast, the regulators might—"
Samantha cut her off gently. "Lynn, we don't break them. We let them break themselves. We just guide the fall."
The younger woman nodded, her admiration mixed with fear. "Understood, Ms. Bradley."
"Go," Samantha said. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll send new directives."
As Lynn left, Samantha sat back, staring at the city lights again. The reflection in the glass showed a woman who looked nothing like Ally Miller — and yet, deep down, that same heartbeat remained.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "You wanted to destroy me, Kate. You almost did. Now it's your turn."
---
Moments later, Jake returned, knocking lightly before entering. "You're still awake," he said quietly.
"Barely," she admitted. "Lynn just brought me the Carter reports."
He leaned against the desk, watching her hands glide over the papers — steady, precise. "So what's the plan?"
Samantha glanced up, her eyes colder now. "Simple. I'm going to make them need me — before they realize I'm the one who's been starving them."
Jake let out a low whistle. "You're terrifying, you know that?"
She smiled faintly. "Only to people who deserve it."
He shook his head, half amused, half concerned. "You scare me sometimes too."
Her gaze softened slightly. "Good. That means you still care."
Jake studied her for a long moment, the silence between them filled with everything he couldn't say.
Finally, he said quietly, "Just promise me you won't lose yourself in this war."
She met his eyes — calm, resolute. "I already lost myself once, Jake. What you see now is what's left."
He swallowed, nodded once, and turned toward the door. "Then I guess I'll protect what's left."
When he was gone, Samantha leaned back in her chair, exhaustion finally catching up to her. She let her head fall back, eyes half-closed, the faint hum of the city seeping into the silence.
Her heart ached — not from love, not from hate, but from everything in between.
Tomorrow, she would tighten the strings. Tonight, she would remember what it cost to pull them.