Christian’s blood ran cold. The world tilted on its axis, the polished marble floor of the Avery Tower lobby seeming to ripple beneath his wheelchair. Scarlett. It was impossible. The pathetic, timid girl who cleaned his floors and endured his insults was standing before him, draped in couture, stepping out of a Rolls-Royce like a queen returning to her castle. His mind refused to process it. Beside him, Chloe’s shock morphed into pure, unadulterated rage. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into her palms, her face twisting into a mask of ugly disbelief. “Security!” she shrieked, her voice echoing through the cavernous, silent lobby. “What are you all standing around for? Arrest her! That’s our maid! She’s a thief!” All eyes swiveled to Chloe. The stoic bodyguards flanking Scarlett didn’t even flinch, their gazes fixed forward. Scarlett’s assistant, a sharp woman in a tailored suit, simply raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Chloe, emboldened by their lack of reaction, pointed a trembling finger at Scarlett. “That dress is worth more than her entire miserable life! Those cars, that jewelry… she stole it all! She must have stolen it from the Ethans! She’s a pathetic, gold-digging whore trying to impersonate someone important!” She lunged forward, her face a snarl of fury, intending to rip the diamonds from Scarlett’s neck. “I’ll teach you to steal from me, you little worm!” Before her fingers could even graze Scarlett’s skin, a powerful hand clamped around her wrist. One of Scarlett’s bodyguards, a mountain of a man named Leo, held her in place with effortless strength. Chloe struggled, her face turning red. “Let go of me! Don’t you know who I am? I’m Chloe Vance! Christian Ethan’s fiancée! Now get this filth out of here!” Scarlett finally moved. She turned her head, ever so slowly. The meek, downcast gaze Christian had known for three years was gone. In its place was an arctic frost. Her eyes, cold and sharp as diamond shards, swept over Chloe with utter disinterest, as if looking at a particularly distasteful insect. Her expression held no anger, no surprise. Only the flat, chilling composure of an empress observing a court jester’s tantrum. That look, more than anything, sent a spear of ice through Christian’s heart. Who was this woman? “Miss Vance,” Scarlett’s voice was low, smooth, and laced with a terrifying authority. “Your screeching is disturbing the peace.” “You dare speak to me?” Chloe spat, still struggling in the guard’s grip. “You are nothing! A maid! A servant! Christian, tell them! Tell them who this trash is!” Christian’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t speak. Every instinct, every sharp, analytical part of his Alpha brain that had built his empire, was screaming at him. This was not an act. The power radiating from Scarlett was real. It was the innate aura of old money, of untouchable influence. The kind of power that could crush his own billion-dollar corporation like a tin can. Just then, the main elevator doors chimed softly. An elderly man in an impeccably tailored Brioni suit strode out, his silver hair neatly combed, his posture ramrod straight. A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the lobby staff. It was Chairman Thompson, the supreme leader of the entire Avery Group, a legendary figure who hadn't been seen in public for years. Christian felt his last hope crumble to dust. Thompson’s eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned the scene: Chloe struggling, the bodyguard’s impassive face, Christian frozen in his wheelchair, and finally… Scarlett. The old man’s stern expression melted away. A look of profound respect and genuine warmth washed over his features. He walked directly to Scarlett, bypassing everyone else, and executed a deep, formal bow. A bow of a loyal subject to their ruler. “Lady Avery,” his voice was rich with reverence, ringing with absolute clarity in the stunned silence. “Welcome home. We have been awaiting your return.” Lady Avery. The two words struck Christian like a physical blow. Avery. As in Avery Oil. As in the mythical, trillion-dollar dynasty that owned this very tower. The ground fell away from beneath him. Betrayal was a bitter pill, but this... this was cosmic karma of the cruelest kind. He had housed the heir to a fortune that dwarfed his own. He had treated an empress like a slave. Chloe’s face went from red to a deathly white. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no sound came out. The security guards she had been screaming at now stared at her with a mixture of pity and contempt. Scarlett gave Chairman Thompson a slight, gracious nod. “It’s good to be home, Uncle Alistair.” She then gestured dismissively toward Chloe. “Have this woman removed. Her presence is… unpleasant.” “Of course, My Lady.” The Chairman snapped his fingers. “Security. Escort Miss Vance from the premises. She is permanently banned from all Avery properties.” Two guards moved in, taking Chloe firmly by the arms. “No!” she finally found her voice, a desperate, pathetic wail. “You can’t do this! Christian! Christian, do something! Tell them!” Scarlett turned her glacial gaze back to Christian. For the first time, she truly looked at him. Her eyes traveled from his face, down to the useless blanket covering his legs in the wheelchair, and a flicker of something unreadable—contempt? Pity?—crossed her features. She took a slow, deliberate step toward him. Each click of her heels on the marble floor was a nail in the coffin of his pride. She stopped directly in front of his wheelchair, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at her. The power dynamic had never been so brutally, humiliatingly clear. The air crackled with unspoken history, with three years of cruelty and calculated indifference. He had been the master, the cold billionaire in his castle. Now, he was a beggar at her feet. Scarlett’s lips curved into a slow, merciless smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. Those remained as cold as a winter tomb. “Mr. Ethan,” she said, her voice a silken whisper that cut him deeper than any shout. “I heard your company is in trouble. I heard you need my money.” Christian stared into the eyes of the woman he had tormented, the woman he had called a spy, the woman who was his wife. And a cold, terrifying certainty slammed into him with the force of a physical blow. The devastating hack. The inside information. The precision of the attack that brought Ethan Corp to its knees. It wasn’t a random enemy. It wasn’t a corporate rival. The Alpha hacker known only as ‘Rosewood’ wasn’t some stranger. She had been living under his roof all along.

Chapter 7: Who Is The Thief Now?