The Monroe penthouse glittered in the midnight haze, its floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city like a jewel box. Ashley stood at the balcony with her glass of wine, savoring the illusion of triumph.She had dismissed Gordon’s cryptic words as nothing more than wounded pride. Yet her hand trembled slightly as she lifted the glass. “Everything you have was never truly yours.”The memory of his voice lingered, steady and unnervingly calm. She shook her head and muttered, “Ridiculous.”Her phone buzzed. A message from her assistant: Summit Corporation has requested to delay tomorrow’s signing.Ashley’s brows furrowed. “Delay? Why?”She dialed immediately. Her assistant’s voice came, small and nervous. “M-Madam Monroe, they didn’t say much. Just that… they want to reconsider the terms.”Ashley’s grip tightened on the glass. “Reconsider? After everything I’ve done to secure this?”“I—I don’t know, Madam. But they sounded… distant. Different.”Ashley hung up, fury flashing in her eyes. “

The gala had ended hours ago, but the city’s elite didn’t scatter home. They migrated, as they always did, to quieter spaces where real deals were struck.Tonight, it was The Raven’s Den, a private club tucked into the upper floors of a glass tower. Behind soundproofed mahogany doors and crystal chandeliers, the real conversations began.Gordon stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his tailored suit catching the amber glow. Edward Kane walked at his side, already loosening his tie, comfortable in the lair of power.“Not everyone gets invited here,” Edward said lightly. “Ashley clawed her way into the outer circle once, but she never understood this place. She thought the gala was the stage. The gala is just the curtain-raiser.”Gordon’s lips curved faintly. “Then let’s give them a new show.”They entered the main lounge. Smoke curled from thick cigars. A half-dozen men and women sat around a sprawling black-wood table, faces stern with experience. Titans of industry, old money, rising s

The boardroom buzzed with unease, the tension thick enough to choke. The fallout from the charity auction hadn’t cooled, if anything, it had magnified. Articles, gossip columns, investor chatter: all circling one humiliating truth. Ashley Monroe had been outshone.She sat at the head of the table, spine straight, crimson lips pressed into a firm line. Her nails tapped against her tablet as directors murmured among themselves. Clara hovered behind her, pale but silent.Finally, Ashley’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Gentlemen, ladies, what happened last night was a stunt. A childish show. Gordon wanted to embarrass me, and yes, he succeeded in drawing attention. But make no mistake: Monroe Group remains unshaken.”Murmurs of doubt. Harrington, ever the cautious one, leaned forward. “With respect, Madam… the markets disagree. Our stock dipped two points this morning. Investors see instability.”Ashley’s laugh was brittle. “Instability? Because of a necklace? This company is

The storm hit faster than Ashley had imagined. By morning, her name was on every business channel, her photo plastered across every feed. Not the triumphant CEO she’d tried to present, but the liar caught red-handed.Ashley Monroe had gambled her credibility, and lost. She sat in her office, eyes fixed on the television mounted on the wall. A panel of analysts dissected her downfall like vultures pecking at a carcass.“Announcing a fabricated partnership was reckless at best, fraudulent at worst,” one of them said.“Shareholders will demand answers,” another chimed in. “Armitage’s denial was swift and decisive. Monroe Group looks unstable.”Ashley muted the TV with a trembling hand. Her temples throbbed. “Clara,” she said, her voice hoarse.Clara appeared at the door, hesitant. “Yes, Madam?”“Tell me the board hasn’t called an emergency meeting.”Clara lowered her gaze. “They… have. Tomorrow morning.”Ashley’s nails dug into the armrest of her chair. So they’re circling already.That

The invitations had been sent weeks before the scandals, but now Ashley saw them as her salvation.The Winter Rose Gala, the pinnacle of high society, where magnates, celebrities, and politicians mingled beneath chandeliers worth more than small countries. It was the kind of event that once revolved around her.Ashley stood in front of the mirror, her stylist fussing with the diamond-studded gown that hugged her figure. Her reflection was flawless: sleek, powerful, untouchable. Exactly the mask she needed.“This is it,” she whispered. “One perfect night, and they’ll remember who I am.”Clara, lingering nearby, looked uneasy. “Madam… after the Armitage disaster, after the messages… maybe it’s better not to appear in public so soon.”Ashley’s eyes snapped to her, sharp as knives. “Hide? Do you think Gordon’s hiding? No. He’s out there, walking through my city like he owns it. Tonight, I remind them all whose name they cheered first.”Clara lowered her head, defeated. Ashley’s lips curl