Isabella Montgomery's fingers sped over the keyboard like lightening. Each instruction and keystroke was a deliberate blow, a direct assault on Benjamin Whitaker's kingdom. She wasn't merely breaking into the system; she was destroying the basis of his fortune. "Done," she whispered to herself as the final upload concluded. Her screen came to life, verifying that all of the major outlets were now using the altered financial information. The world was about to discover Benjamin's dark secret—his money-laundering schemes masquerading as charitable organizations for kids. Breathing deeply, she slumped back in her chair as the moment's truth set in. It was finished. The evidence was visible. The world would be aware of Benjamin's actions. A crystal decanter broke against the wall in Benjamin Whitaker's luxury suite across town. The piercing boom reverberated throughout the opulent room as glass fragments were strewn all over the floor. With his fist gripped so tightly that it

As the clock ticked away in the dimly lit chamber, Lucy was drawn further and farther into the web of peril that had trapped them all. Hunched over her laptop, she traced the call with her fingers furiously moving across the keyboard. Long shadows were cast throughout the room as the screen's light gave her face a sickening hue. With his arms folded and his gaze calculating and keen, Alexander stood on the other side of the room. She was uneasy because he had been silent for so long. When the stakes were high, he was a man of few words, and she knew better than to break his stillness. However, there was a lot of tension in the air between them; they couldn't escape something that was approaching. Lucy eventually exhaled, her voice tinged with relief but also with tiredness, "I've got it." Determination flashed in her eyes as she glanced up at Alexander. The call originated from a marina owned by Whitaker that is located just outside of the city. It's a private, safe place.

Cameras, bright lights, and the heavy buzz of excitement filled the press room. As Benjamin Whitaker approached the podium with a satisfied expression on his lips, the audience fell silent. The muttering increased in volume, a storm lurking beneath each muttered word, and he rearranged his suit accordingly. The big story at the time was the engagement, and he planned to capitalize on it. Tatiana was standing next to him, her hands shaking under the layers of shimmering cloth that held her body in place. The dazzling, cold, cruel engagement ring weighed on her finger like the weight of her predetermined destiny. It was a silent proclamation of possession that glittered in the harsh light. A golden trap, that is. As she drew the attention of reporters, who were all waiting for her to say something, her heart raced. She was having trouble breathing. She was unable to think. Benjamin said, "Today marks the beginning of a new chapter," and his arrogance reverberated around the r

Around Tatiana, the world seemed to be melting. The medication Gabrielle had slipped into her champagne was numbing her senses. As her body slumped, she leaned heavily on Alexander, who had become her only savior in the mayhem, while the cold, bitter taste of the hallucinogen gnawed at her brain. She was drowning in a sea of vivid, twisted pictures that appeared intended to drag her under, but she couldn't recall how she got here, in the middle of this war zone of flashing lights and veiled faces. Her vision whirled wildly, Alexander's face turning like a flickering ghost and the room warping into weird forms. She was held erect by his powerful hands, yet even his hold appeared to be waning, as if a dream were slipping through her fingers. Through the mist, he spoke softly but firmly, "Tatiana, stay with me." But she was unable to concentrate on him. She was unable to concentrate. The humans, those shadows, seemed to morph into hideous incarnations of themselves as the room a

Tension permeated the air in Washington, D.C., with rumors circulating on every corner and every television set to the inevitable. The word was already out on the Capitol steps. The tapes that were leaked. The controversy. The man who had painstakingly built his enterprise over decades was now in danger of losing everything. As he paced his office's marble floors, Benjamin Whitaker's face was hard, his gaze fixed on the television, which was filled with Lawrence Bridgerton's face. It was hard to ignore the somber reality depicted in the blurry, trembling video: Lawrence, his longtime buddy, in a moment of irresponsibility. The intern. The relationship that is prohibited. It was everything out for the world to see. But it was the man who made the tape, not the tape itself, that made Benjamin feel afraid. Alexander. The Phantom. He was everywhere. The murmurs. The gossip. The distinct smell of treachery. This leak was not your typical one. This was deliberate, planned.