“Elsa!” Jen cried, rushing over the moment she saw her. She threw her arms around Elsa, pulling her into a tight hug. Elsa hugged her back, clinging as if she would never let go. Both of them were already in tears. “Jen!” Elsa’s voice broke with relief, sobbing into her shoulder. “I thought I’d never see you again.” “I knew Felix would find you,” Jen whispered, her own tears falling freely. “He never stopped looking until he did.” Elsa glanced at Felix, who stood a few steps back, typing something quickly on his phone. Just seeing him there made her heart steady. They pulled back slightly but still held each other’s arms, as if afraid the other might vanish. “Tell me everything,” Jen urged. “How did you escape?” “It’s a long story,” Elsa said softly, forcing a weak smile. “Felix outsmarted Vasley at his own game. I’ll tell you the details another time… but right now, I don’t want to think about it anymore.” “You don’t have to,” Jen reassured her. “What matters is that y

Elsa sat in the passenger seat, her hands twisting nervously in her lap as Felix drove through the quiet neighborhood. Her heart thudded louder with every turn they made toward Elvis’s house. It had been weeks since she last saw her brother face to face. And now, after everything that had happened, she didn’t know how he’d react. Jen had told her about their conversation over their phones. She felt so bad for him, especially with the shocking news of Felix being the heir all along. She decided to explain everything to him. When the car stopped outside the familiar gate, Elsa exhaled shakily. His Audi A4 was parked there. The porch light was on. He was home. Felix gave her a steady look. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Elsa nodded, even though a small part of her wanted to run. “I have to face him. He deserves the truth.” Felix reached out and squeezed her hand gently before she got out of the car. The cool night breeze hit her as she walked up the steps, her stomach tw

Lena Orlena paced her living room like a storm trapped in a glass box. Her phone was glued to her ear, but all she got was the same dull ringing. “Pick up,” she hissed. “Come on… pick up!” No one answered. She ended the call and tried another number. Then another. And another. Every single one of her contacts at Vasley Cosmetics ignored her. She froze when she saw the headline flashing across her TV screen: “Vasley Cosmetics Faces Liquidation After Market Collapse.” Her stomach dropped. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no!” The contract with Vasley had been her one lifeline. It was her big chance to rise again after all the scandals, after the bad press, after the agents who quietly stopped calling. She had imagined magazine covers, talk show appearances, and runway returns. And now? It was all gone in one headline. “This can’t be happening,” she muttered, clutching her phone so tight her knuckles turned white. She rushed to her laptop and opened every news site she coul

The night was quiet at the duplex. A warm breeze slipped through the half-open window of Jen’s unit, ruffling a few stray strands of hair that had escaped her messy bun. She sat cross-legged on the couch in her favorite pale blue pajamas, laptop on her knees, glasses perched on her nose. Empty coffee mugs were lined up on the table beside her. Her white socks rubbed against each other as she typed rapidly, finishing the last of her reports for the week. The business was moving faster than she'd ever predicted. Merits of having a quadrillionaire behind you. Her stomach growled softly. She sighed and pushed her laptop aside. “Fine, fine. Food break,” she mumbled. She grabbed her phone and ordered her usual late-night noodles from her favorite spot. Fingers tired, she typed fast, barely checking the address before clicking confirm. Then she flopped onto the couch again, yawning. Fifteen minutes later, she heard footsteps outside and the soft sound of a delivery bike leaving. Sh

The doorbell rang softly one early Saturday afternoon. Jen adjusted her messy bun with one hand and wiped her flour-dusted fingers on a kitchen towel. She’d been baking to ease her stress. (Baking, in her case, was code for “avoiding seeing Jake after the towel incident.”) When she opened the door, a warm smile greeted her. “Kingsley?” Kingsley Quince stood on her porch, his ref Ferrari parked outside, dressed in a dark blue button-up, his tie loosened just enough to make him look less like a lawyer and more like someone you could talk to easily. He held a small paper bag. “Afternoon, Jen,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying that deep, steady tone that always made people listen. He removed his black sunglasses. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check on you. I brought scones from that bakery you love.” Jen blinked, pleasantly surprised. “You remembered?” “I try,” he said with a small grin, his golden chain glinting. She stepped aside. “Come in.” Ever since