The ballroom glowed beneath a canopy of crystal chandeliers, every table a portrait of wealth and pride. Cameramen lined the edges, flashes bursting like lightning as the city's elite mingled, their laughter layered over the music of a live quartet.
Samantha stepped into the hall beside Nick, her hand resting lightly on his arm. They looked like the perfect picture—two titans of industry, poised, elegant, untouchable. But beneath the polished façade, history breathed like a ghost between them.
Nick's hand tightened slightly over hers as they entered the crowd. "You make it look easy," he murmured, half-admiring, half-tormented.
Samantha smiled faintly, her voice even. "It is. When you've had enough practice pretending."
He looked at her then, really looked, as if trying to read between her calm and his memories. But Samantha kept her eyes forward, nodding politely to familiar faces, her lips carrying the perfect, practiced smile of a woman who'd mastered masks.
---
At the center of the room, a spotlight rose on the podium. Naomi's portrait hung behind it, a tribute to her late matriarchal power and charm. The charity gala she founded now continued under her son's name—Nick Carter, the face of legacy.
When he took the stage, Samantha stood among the guests, her presence commanding but still.
"Good evening," Nick began, his voice calm but layered with something heavier tonight. "My mother built this foundation to remind us that power should serve people, not the other way around."
He paused, his gaze drifting over the crowd, then to Samantha. Their eyes met, only for a heartbeat—but long enough for everyone else to fade away.
"And I'll admit," he continued, his tone softening, "there was a time I forgot that. I once lost something priceless because I valued power too much."
A ripple of applause broke through the audience. People smiled, thinking it was humility—an admirable confession from a man reborn through philanthropy.
Only Samantha knew the weight behind those words.
She leaned slightly closer, her voice low enough for only him to hear when he returned to her side. "Regret doesn't buy redemption, Nick."
He didn't answer. But the faint tremor of his jaw said everything.
---
As the evening continued, the two of them played their parts—cordial smiles, poised conversation, a perfect public tableau. Yet the air between them carried a private storm.
At one point, during a slow waltz, a guest nudged Nick playfully. "Mr. Carter, surely you'll dance with Ms. Bradley? You two make quite the pair."
Nick hesitated. So did she.
But Samantha, ever in control, gave the faintest nod. "One dance," she said, her tone as smooth as her movements when he led her to the floor.
The orchestra began to play. The room blurred around them.
Nick's voice broke the silence between steps. "You still hate me."
Samantha's gaze didn't waver. "You're giving yourself too much importance."
"Then why can't I stop feeling like every time I see you, I'm being judged by the past?"
She stopped mid-turn, her hand resting over his heart. "Because you are."
The music swelled again, and they moved as though nothing had happened. Cameras flashed. The crowd saw beauty, not the slow unraveling of two lives bound by betrayal.
---
Across the city, in a much darker part of town, Lynn stood outside a small office building. Her brother's company—EvanTech—looked more like a ghost than a business now. Shattered blinds, unpaid bills taped to the door, silence in the hallways.
She stepped inside, her heels echoing faintly. Evan sat behind his desk, pale, exhausted.
"Evan," she whispered, "I sent the files. I did everything they asked. Why didn't it work?"
Her brother's eyes lifted, guilt heavy in them. "Lynn… the investors never existed. The company that called—it's gone. It was all fake."
Her stomach dropped. "Fake?"
"They used you," he said bitterly. "Whoever you sent those files to… they weren't helping. They were taking advantage of you."
Her knees weakened. For weeks, she'd been carrying the guilt, hoping at least her betrayal meant something—that it saved someone she loved. But now…
"I—oh God…" Her hand flew to her mouth. "What have I done?"
Evan stood to steady her, but before he could speak, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Her blood turned to ice.
A message.
Don't think about telling her, Lynn. You talk, your brother disappears next.
Tears blurred her eyes. Her chest tightened as she realized the truth. Marcus Reed—or rather, his people—had played her from the start.
---
Meanwhile, inside the Carter mansion, the cracks began to widen.
Chloe burst into Nick's office, waving a printed report. "Someone leaked the audit. The board thinks I've been moving money offshore!"
Nick stood from behind his desk, fury barely contained. "Have you?"
"Of course not!" she snapped, though her voice trembled. "Someone set me up!"
Kate appeared in the doorway, feigning shock. "What's going on?"
Nick shot her a warning look. "Not now, Kate."
But Chloe's eyes darted between them, her paranoia peaking. "This is her fault, isn't it? Samantha Bradley. She's been after us since she arrived. First the deals, now this!"
Nick slammed his hand on the desk. "Enough, Chloe! I don't have proof, and I won't accuse anyone until I do."
But even as he said it, something inside him twisted.
He remembered Samantha's words at the gala. Regret doesn't buy redemption.
And for the first time, he wondered—was this revenge?
Or justice?
---
Later that night, Kate sat alone in her dressing room, her reflection a blur of anxiety and vanity. The phone on her vanity table buzzed once. She picked it up.
Marcus Reed.
"Hello, Kate," came his smooth voice. "Rough night?"
"You set me up," she hissed, pacing. "The leak—it's your doing, isn't it?"
He chuckled softly. "Please. If I wanted to destroy the Carters, I'd do it cleanly. I prefer leverage, not chaos."
"What do you want from me?"
"Information," he replied. "You're already feeding me updates. Keep doing it, and I'll make sure no one ties you to Chloe's collapse."
Kate's voice wavered. "And if I stop?"
There was a pause on the line. Then his tone turned sharp. "Then you'll fall with them."
The call ended.
Kate stood there, trembling, realizing she was now trapped—Marcus's pawn in a game she barely understood.
---
By morning, the headlines broke.
Carter Group Board Investigates Internal Embezzlement.
Chloe Carter Facing Suspension Pending Review.
Nick's phone buzzed nonstop. Investors wanted answers. Lawyers wanted statements. And in the middle of it all, Samantha Bradley remained untouched.
She stood in her office window at Elevate, coffee in hand, watching the news unfold on the screen.
Jake stepped beside her, crossing his arms. "You did it. The board's turning on them."
Samantha's expression didn't change. "Not me, Jake. The truth did."
But deep down, she knew that the truth had only been guided—nudged into the light at the right time, in the right way.
A soft knock interrupted them.
Lynn entered, her face pale, eyes swollen as if she hadn't slept.
Samantha turned, concerned but composed. "Lynn? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Lynn tried to speak—but the words stuck in her throat. Her hands trembled at her sides.
"I…" She swallowed. "Miss Samantha, I—"
Before she could finish, her phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Remember our deal. Say nothing.
Lynn's breath hitched. She forced a smile. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
Samantha's eyes lingered on her for a long moment — the instinctive sense that something was wrong flickering through her.
But she let it go. For now.
"Get some rest," Samantha said softly. "Tomorrow's going to be heavier."
As Lynn turned to leave, Samantha's reflection caught her own eyes in the window glass—calm, unbroken, lethal.
Chloe's fall had begun. Marcus's hand was showing. The Carters were bleeding from the inside.
But even as she watched the cracks deepen, she couldn't shake the feeling—there was a darker storm still gathering beyond her control.
And it had Marcus Reed's name written all over it.