"Tell me you're not going to that gala," Jake said flatly, his tone halfway between concern and disbelief.
Samantha didn't look up from the invitation in her hand. The heavy cream envelope bore the embossed golden seal of Carter Group — and beneath it, handwritten in elegant cursive, her name.
Samantha,
It would mean a great deal if you could attend.
— Nick Carter
A faint smirk curved her lips. "He still has good handwriting," she murmured, more to herself than to Jake.
"That's not handwriting," Jake countered. "That's a trap written in ink."
Samantha chuckled softly, placing the letter down on her desk. "Relax, Jake. It's just a gala."
"Hosted by the same family that tried to ruin you," he said pointedly. "And let me guess — sponsored by someone mysterious, with too much money and no conscience?"
Her gaze flicked to him, sharp and amused. "You've been reading my thoughts again."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sam, you're walking straight into their territory."
"No, Jake," she said calmly, rising from her seat and moving toward the window where the skyline bled with the last colors of dusk. "This time, they're walking into mine."
Her reflection in the glass was everything she had built herself to be — calm, beautiful, lethal.
---
The Carter Group's Partnership Revival Gala was a spectacle of wealth and desperation. The ballroom shimmered under chandeliers, gold and ivory draped across the walls, the air heavy with perfume, champagne, and quiet anxiety. The press called it "a night of corporate rebirth." Those who truly knew the industry called it "a plea for survival."
Nick stood near the grand staircase, bow tie crisp, smile carefully practiced. But his eyes — restless, searching — betrayed him. Every time a new arrival entered the hall, his gaze flicked toward the door.
Kate noticed. She always noticed.
"You've been staring at the entrance for twenty minutes," she said lightly, though her fingers clenched around her champagne flute.
Nick's lips tightened. "Just watching the guests."
Kate's laugh was soft, brittle. "Of course you are."
The murmur of conversation shifted as the orchestra changed tempo. Then — silence rippled, almost visible — as Samantha Bradley entered.
She wore crimson.
A gown of silk and shadow, simple in design yet impossibly commanding. Her hair swept up in an elegant twist, her diamond earrings catching the light like stars. Every step she took was deliberate, measured — the walk of a woman who had conquered fear, loss, and time.
The crowd parted instinctively, like water before a flame.
Jake followed half a step behind, dressed in a dark tailored suit that made him look every bit the powerful ally. But tonight, it was clear — all eyes were on her.
Nick's breath hitched, his practiced composure slipping. For a second, the noise, the guests, the lights — all of it disappeared.
Kate saw it, and something sharp and cold twisted inside her.
---
"Miss Bradley," Naomi Carter greeted with a gracious smile, her tone just a little too warm. "You look radiant, my dear. I'm so glad you accepted our invitation."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carter," Samantha replied smoothly, her tone dripping with practiced charm. "It's always… nostalgic to attend a Carter event."
Naomi chuckled, missing the undertone. "Oh, you mustn't say that. The past is only useful when it makes the present look better."
Samantha's smile didn't reach her eyes. "I couldn't agree more."
Jake murmured something polite beside her, and the conversation moved on — but Samantha could feel Nick's gaze burning from across the room.
---
At the far end of the ballroom, Chloe was busy being both brilliant and reckless. She laughed too loudly, leaned too close to the man standing beside her — Marcus Reed.
He looked effortlessly magnetic tonight, in a midnight black suit, his confidence like quiet thunder.
Chloe tilted her glass toward him, her lips glossed and dangerous. "I told you you'd enjoy this. The Carters know how to throw a party when they're desperate."
Marcus's gaze, however, wasn't on her. It was on Samantha — across the room, surrounded by a ring of curious onlookers and business magnates hanging on her every word.
"Who's the woman in red?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew.
Chloe followed his gaze, jealousy flickering in her eyes. "That's Samantha Bradley. CEO of Elevate Strategic Group. You'll want to stay out of her way. She doesn't play nice."
Marcus smiled faintly. "Neither do I."
---
Their meeting was inevitable.
Samantha had just turned from greeting a senator's wife when a shadow fell beside her. She looked up — and there he was.
Marcus Reed.
"Miss Bradley," he said with a smooth smile, extending his hand. "I was beginning to think we'd never meet."
Samantha took his hand, her grip firm, her smile controlled. "Mr. Reed. I've heard your name whispered in quite a few corridors lately."
"Whispered?" His brows lifted slightly. "I was hoping for conversation."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "Whispers are how power travels, Mr. Reed. You of all people should know that."
He chuckled softly. "Fair enough. Still, I have to admit — you look like a woman who's used to winning."
Samantha met his gaze, unflinching. "Winning is a beginning," she said smoothly. "I prefer finishing."
For a heartbeat, neither looked away. Around them, the hum of conversation seemed to dim — as though even the air paused to watch.
Marcus's smile deepened, though his tone shifted to something sharper. "I suspect we'll be finishing the same game soon, Miss Bradley."
"Then may the best player win," she replied.
When she turned to leave, his eyes followed her, the faintest curve of intrigue touching his lips.
Jake appeared at her side, catching the tension instantly. "Who was that?"
Samantha didn't look back. "A man who thinks he's the hunter," she murmured. "He doesn't know he just walked into the trap."
---
Across the room, Nick stood watching.
He saw Marcus's eyes linger on Samantha, the brief spark between them. His chest tightened, his grip on the champagne glass unconsciously hardening.
Kate moved to his side, her voice soft, too soft. "You should be careful, Nick. She's dangerous."
Nick didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the woman in red — the woman who haunted his dreams, the woman who didn't even glance his way tonight.
"Maybe," he said quietly. "But she's not the danger I'm afraid of."
---
As the night wore on, alliances shifted behind polite smiles.
Naomi basked in public praise.
Kate whispered lies disguised as loyalty.
Chloe danced too close to Marcus.
And Samantha?
She watched them all — calm, patient, waiting.
Her revenge was no longer just personal. It was evolving — now a game of intellect, power, and pride.
And somewhere beneath the chandeliers, Marcus Reed — her new rival — smiled to himself, recognizing her for what she truly was.
Not an opponent.
A worthy equal.