The Carter mansion was wrapped in a false calm, the kind that came after storms but before destruction. Moonlight pooled through the tall glass windows, spreading over the polished marble floors and the grand staircase. But for all its beauty, the house didn't feel alive—it felt haunted.
Nick Carter lay awake in the dim light of his bedroom. His tie was undone, the top buttons of his shirt open, and a half-empty glass of whiskey rested on the nightstand beside him. The silence around him was heavy, broken only by the faint tick of the clock and the storm still running in his head.
He couldn't stop seeing her.
Samantha Bradley.
No—Ally.
The way she had looked at him across the ballroom tonight — calm, unreadable, a ghost made flesh — it unsettled him more than he'd admit. There had been no warmth in her eyes, only distance. Yet something about her silence felt louder than any accusation.
His fingers twitched. For seven years, he had buried that name deep beneath ambition and guilt. And now she had returned, not as the woman he destroyed, but as the woman standing above him.
The ice in his glass melted slowly, cracking softly.
"Still awake?"
Kate's voice sliced through the silence. She stood at the doorway, wrapped in a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. In the low light, she looked beautiful, but her eyes—tired, searching—betrayed the fear behind them.
Nick didn't look at her. "Couldn't sleep."
She walked closer, her bare feet soundless on the carpet. "You've been quiet since the gala."
"I'm thinking," he muttered.
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said quietly, settling onto the edge of the bed. "Thinking leads to remembering."
Nick's jaw tightened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Kate replied quickly, forcing a small smile. "I just… saw how you looked at her tonight."
Nick's silence was answer enough.
Kate's smile faltered. "She's just another business rival, Nick. Don't let her get in your head."
He turned then, his eyes sharp. "You think this is about business?"
Kate flinched. "Isn't it?"
Nick looked away again. He didn't trust his voice to answer.
---
Hours later, Kate sat alone in her private lounge, staring at her reflection in the glass. The phone on the table buzzed once. Her pulse spiked.
She glanced toward the bedroom door—Nick had finally fallen asleep—and then picked up the phone. The number was hidden.
She answered anyway. "I told you to stop calling."
The voice on the other end was low, male, and calm—too calm. "And I told you, Mrs. Carter, I don't stop until I get what I'm owed."
Kate swallowed hard. "I sent part of it."
"Part," the man echoed with a mocking tone. "The rest, by tomorrow. Or your little accident story will make headlines."
Her grip tightened on the phone. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me," he said smoothly, then hung up.
Kate sat frozen, her breath catching in her throat. Her reflection stared back—beautiful, yes, but cracking around the edges.
If this got out… if anyone found out what she had done to Ally—no, to Samantha—her life would be over.
"God," she whispered, pressing her palms against her temples. "What do I do?"
But there was no answer.
---
Down the hall, Naomi Carter stirred awake in her own room. She had heard whispers earlier—Kate's voice, tight with panic, echoing faintly through the corridor.
For a moment, she lay still, staring up at the ceiling. The house had never felt so cold.
When she rose and peered out her window, she saw Nick's light still on. Her son—always chasing something he could never hold on to.
She sighed deeply, whispering to herself, "It's just business tension. That's all."
But even she didn't believe it.
---
The next afternoon, Chloe Carter sat in a high-end café downtown, sunglasses hiding her bloodshot eyes. Her phone buzzed on the table, flashing with a message:
Unknown Number: Come alone. 3 PM. You want to win again? I can help you.
Chloe smirked bitterly. She had lost more than money in the past months—reputation, investors, leverage. But she wasn't about to drown quietly.
When the clock hit three, she spotted a man walking toward her table. He was tall, well-dressed, with the kind of confidence that came from knowing things others didn't.
"Miss Carter," he said, sliding into the seat across from her. "You've been looking for a way to recover what you lost. I'm here to offer it."
She arched an eyebrow. "And you are?"
He smiled faintly. "Let's just say… I represent someone with an interest in the Carter downfall."
Her fingers froze around her coffee cup. "You're talking about Samantha Bradley, aren't you?"
His expression didn't change. "Names aren't important. What matters is, I can help your company gain more clients— if you give me what I want."
"And what's that?" she asked, suspicion flickering.
"Access," he said simply. "To Carter Group's internal files. Everything that's not public."
Chloe leaned back, thinking. "You realize that's illegal?"
He chuckled softly. "So is embezzlement, Miss Carter. But you've already crossed that line, haven't you?"
Her face drained of color. "Who are you?"
He stood, buttoning his jacket. "A friend. For now."
As he left, Chloe's heart raced. Her hands trembled as she picked up her cup again.
The Carter name was supposed to mean power, stability, perfection. But tonight, she saw what Samantha Bradley had already seen—this family was rotting from the inside.
---
Back at the mansion, Nick stood in his study, staring at a framed family photo. His reflection glared back at him from the glass — the man who had everything and lost the one thing that mattered.
A knock came at the door. Naomi entered quietly.
"Nick," she said softly, "you've been shutting yourself in here all day."
He exhaled, forcing a tired smile. "Just thinking."
"About her?"
Nick didn't answer.
Naomi stepped closer, her tone gentler now. "Sometimes, regret is a heavier punishment than guilt, my son."
He looked at her, surprised. "What do you mean?"
She gave a faint, knowing smile. "I've lived long enough to see what happens when love is replaced with pride. Don't let history repeat itself."
Nick frowned. "History?"
But Naomi just turned toward the door. "You'll understand soon."
When she left, Nick sat back down, his thoughts spinning. Samantha's face wouldn't leave him — not her eyes, not her voice, not the way she looked at him like he was already buried in his own mistakes.