The name ‘Christian Ethan’ glowed on Scarlett’s screen, a digital ghost attached to the encrypted file that had annihilated Marcus Thorne. It was the final nail in Thorne’s corporate coffin, the one piece of evidence Scarlett’s own network hadn't been able to unearth. And Christian had delivered it.
“It came through a series of anonymous proxies, routed through a dead-drop server in Zurich,” her assistant, Leo, reported, his voice crisp in the sterile silence of her new office. The office overlooked the city, a glass cage at the apex of the Avery Oil skyscraper. “But the final encryption key was biometrically linked. It would only open for you, Ms. Avery. For Rosewood.”
Scarlett’s fingers traced the edge of her marble desk. Her expression was a mask of cold composure, the empress fully in her element. But inside, a storm raged. Betrayal. Seduction. Regret. Karma. Christian had played all those cards. He had humiliated her, accused her, cast her aside. And then… he had helped her. He hadn’t just given her a weapon; he had sharpened it and placed it in her hand, aimed directly at her enemy.
It wasn’t an apology. Christian Ethan didn’t apologize. It was a move in a game she was only now beginning to understand. A game of billionaires and hidden assassins.
“He’s confirming he knows who I am,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the sprawling metropolis below. “This wasn’t a gift. It was a message.”
***
In the smoky haze of a private lounge downtown, Chloe Vance looked nothing like the polished socialite who had once tormented Scarlett. Her designer dress was wrinkled, her eyes wild with desperation. She slammed her glass down, whiskey sloshing over the rim.
“You promised me!” she hissed at the man sitting opposite her. “You said if I played my part, if I made Christian believe Scarlett was a spy, he would throw her out! You said I would be Mrs. Ethan!”
The man took a slow, deliberate sip of his own drink. Damian Ethan, Christian’s uncle, looked as distinguished as ever, his silver hair perfectly coiffed. He radiated a calm, predatory authority that made Chloe’s frantic energy seem pathetic.
“Your part was to be a distraction, Chloe. And you were,” he said, his voice smooth as poison. “You kept my dear nephew occupied, looking for a spy in his bed while the real threat circled.”
“A distraction? I ruined my reputation for you!”
“A small price to pay,” Damian said with a dismissive shrug. He leaned forward, his avuncular mask slipping to reveal the ruthless alpha beneath. “You were a pawn. A useful, if noisy, one. But now your usefulness has expired. Christian is walking again. And his little bride… well, she has turned out to be far more interesting than anyone anticipated.”
Chloe’s face crumpled. “You used me.”
“Of course,” he said, as if stating the obvious. “Just as I used the information I fed you. The false proof, the doctored photos. All to keep Christian’s eyes off the prize.” He smiled, a chilling, empty gesture. “The assassination attempt failed. A miscalculation. But it taught me that Christian is more resilient than I thought. I needed more time to plan my next move.”
Realization dawned in Chloe’s eyes, followed by sheer terror. “The… the assassination? That was you?”
Damian’s smile widened. He placed a thick stack of cash on the table. “This is your severance. I suggest you take it and disappear. Because if you ever speak my name to anyone, your betrayal will be the least of your worries. Karma, my dear, can be so… permanent.”
He stood, adjusted his bespoke suit, and left her trembling in the smoke-filled room, a ghost of a woman who had gambled against a king and lost to the devil.
***
“Ms. Avery, your uncle-in-law, Damian Ethan, is here to see you,” Leo’s voice announced through the intercom.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. Perfect timing. “Send him in.”
The doors to her office swept open, and Damian entered, a warm, charming smile plastered on his face. “Scarlett, my dear! Forgive the intrusion, but I had to come and congratulate you in person. The news about Thorne Industries… simply breathtaking. The work of a true titan.”
Scarlett rose, not to greet him, but to stand as his equal. She didn’t offer a hand. Her gaze was no longer the downcast, submissive look of the Ethan family maid; it was the direct, unnerving stare of an empress on her throne.
“Damian,” she said, her voice like ice chips. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Family, of course!” he boomed, his eyes twinkling with false sincerity. He walked around her desk, examining her office. “My, my. From the Ethan estate to this… you are a woman of secrets. I must confess, we all underestimated you.”
“Most people do,” Scarlett replied, her posture rigid. “It’s their first, and last, mistake.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “I see Christian’s ruthlessness has rubbed off on you. Or perhaps it was there all along.” He stopped directly in front of her, his proximity a clear invasion of her space, a test of her nerve. She didn’t flinch.
“Power is a dangerous game, my dear,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It attracts unwanted attention. Look at what happened to Christian. One moment he’s on top of the world, the next, he’s the victim of a tragic… accident.”
The way he said ‘accident’ sent a shiver down her spine. It was deliberate. A taunt.
“Christian is a survivor,” Scarlett stated, her voice flat.
“For now,” Damian agreed, his eyes gleaming with something dark. “But his enemies are patient. As the new head of Avery Oil, you’ve just painted a rather large target on your back. You’ll need powerful allies.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that was meant to seem paternal but felt like a brand. “The Ethan family protects its own. Remember that.”
He squeezed her shoulder, then turned and walked out, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and palpable menace in his wake.
Scarlett stood frozen for a long moment, the warmth of his hand still burning through her blazer. The air crackled with unspoken threats. He hadn’t come to congratulate her. He had come to assess her. To warn her.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Leo,” she commanded, her voice dangerously quiet as she stared at the door he’d just exited. “Pull up the complete, unredacted intelligence file on Christian’s assassination attempt. I want everything. Every witness statement, every frame of security footage, every forensic report. Now.”
Seconds later, the file materialized on the holographic screen beside her desk. She scanned through it, her mind racing, re-contextualizing Damian’s every word, every gesture.
She stopped at a grainy image from a traffic camera, captured moments after the explosion that had crippled Christian’s car. A figure was seen running down a dark alley. The image was too blurry for facial recognition. But the witness report attached to it was crystal clear.
*‘…the suspect dropped something shiny as he fled. It was a cufflink. Silver, with a black stone carved into some kind of bird. An eagle, I think.’*
Scarlett’s blood ran cold. Her eyes darted to the memory of Damian standing before her, adjusting his French cuffs. Peeking out from under the crisp white fabric, she had seen it for only a second.
A silver cufflink, with an obsidian eagle carved into its face.
The betrayal hit her with the force of a physical blow. It wasn't a business rival. It wasn't an external enemy. The traitor Christian had faked his paralysis to find, the man who tried to murder him, was his own blood.
Damian Ethan, the family patriarch, was the snake in the garden. And he had just been in her office, sizing up his next victim.