Jake sat in the corner of Sullivan Crest’s study, the house dark except for the glow of his laptop. His eyes were red, skin drawn tight over the tension burning through his chest. Every news site screamed the same headline: Diane Carter’s Secret Holt Fund Exposed. But instead of killing her, it made him look like a cornered animal — and Diane was turning it to her advantage.His phone buzzed on the desk. Vivian’s voice cut through the ringing in his ears. “You think you won? You think that leak buys you time? Diane’s spinning it like you hacked the servers and forged the files. The DA still wants your head.”Jake leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Then feed the DA Holt’s testimony. He’ll talk for immunity.”Vivian snorted. “Holt’s gone. She paid him off or buried him. Nobody knows. Nico’s burning every contact to find him.”Jake’s jaw tightened. The Sullivan legacy, the revenge he’d nursed like a dying flame — all of it flickering now. “She won’t bury me that easy,” he said, but hi

Jake sat in the corner booth of an all-night diner, staring at the cold coffee in front of him. The neon lights flickered overhead, washing the chipped table in pale blue. His burner phone buzzed twice. He didn’t bother answering—Vivian had made herself clear. The Syndicate had pulled back every dime, every bit of muscle. He was alone.He ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t slept in two days, not since Amanda dumped the ledgers in the DA’s lap. He could see the chain reaction she’d set off from miles away—seized accounts, questions from men who shouldn’t be asking questions, quiet threats drifting in through half-burned phones.A waitress dropped the check at his table. Jake didn’t move. He flipped his old Sullivan family signet ring in his fingers, the gold dulled by years in drawers and glove boxes. His father’s legacy—what did that mean now? Darius Holt was dead, Diane was breathing free air again, and Amanda was no one’s fool anymore. He’d turned her into exactly what he’d alwa

The storm hit at dawn.Jake watched it unfold on three screens at once—news tickers scrolling, live anchors stumbling over words they hadn’t been ready to say at sunrise. Local channels flared first, then national outlets picked it up, then the digital bloodhounds ran with every dirty word his father had hidden away for decades. Diane Carter’s name wasn’t just trending—it was burning.Amanda stood behind him, phone to her ear, voice clipped as she fed instructions to an anonymous tip line that had promised to syndicate the files to foreign outlets too. Greg paced by the fireplace, mumbling into his own phone, half-assuring some old fixer that the hush money days were done. Ethan sat at the edge of Jake’s desk, knees bouncing, eyes flicking between screens like he expected Diane herself to come crashing through the window at any second.Jake hadn’t moved in an hour. The whiskey bottle was gone—empty on the floor by his feet. In his hands was Michael Sullivan’s last ledger, the final pa

Amanda Carter never thought she’d be back at the Carter & Associates tower at dawn, half the board still asleep, the other half waiting like wolves for the next scandal to break.But here she was, standing in the marble lobby, hair pinned back, fresh bruises hidden under her blouse collar. Jake stood beside her, one hand on the small of her back — not possessive, but grounding, steady. He’d barely slept, and she knew he wouldn’t until this was over.“Sure you’re ready for this?” Jake asked, voice low.Amanda didn’t answer. She just stared at the elevator doors until they opened, the mirrored surface splitting her reflection in half. She stepped in first, forcing her nerves down into her shoes. She’d made her choice — Diane could rot in that hospital bed or crawl her way back, but Amanda wouldn’t follow her into the pit.Upstairs, the boardroom reeked of stale coffee and too much expensive cologne. Greg sat slouched at the far end, a fresh cut on his cheek from the chaos at the mansion

Amanda Carter never liked the quiet of her mother’s study. It was too still, too perfect—mahogany shelves lined with leather-bound books no one ever read, the smell of old polish, the weight of secrets pressing on every polished surface. Tonight, it felt like a vault waiting to snap shut.She stood by the shelves, staring at a framed photo of her as a child—her tiny hand wrapped in Diane’s, both smiling for the camera. The smile looked brittle now. Amanda wondered if her mother had always known how this would end—Diane keeping the family together with one hand while twisting the knife with the other.She’d found the hidden file by accident. Or maybe not. Maybe Diane had left it for her to find—a test, a threat, or something worse. The file sat open on Diane’s massive desk: bank transfers, private correspondence, a single blood report that made Amanda’s stomach knot. Michael Sullivan’s name. The date from that night.A soft knock pulled her back. Diane entered without waiting for an an