Chapter 90

3RD POV

The open-air coffee shop sat on a quiet corner of the street. Warm lights glowed above each table, hanging from metal frames wrapped in tiny vines. The scent of roasted beans drifted in the evening air. Soft music floated around, mixing with the quiet chatter of customers.

The tables were spaced apart, giving people privacy. A few couples laughed softly. A group of students argued about assignments. The waiter moved between tables with steady steps.

At the far corner—half hidden by a plant wall—two women sat close, whispering.

Lilith and Dianna.

Lilith tapped her fingers on the table, impatient. Her eyes kept drifting to the entrance as if she feared someone might see her. Beside her, Dianna scrolled through her phone, then pushed the screen toward Lilith.

"This was the picture I got," Dianna said.

Lilith leaned closer. Her brows squeezed into a thin line.

"Tch… none of these pictures show Mannie flirting with any man." Dianna sighed and swiped to another photo. "Look—this one is just her helping someone pick up their files. And this one? She’s pointing at a direction. These won’t make Dominic suspect her."

Lilith’s face fell.

Her clenched jaw twitched.

"Then what do we do?" Lilith asked quietly.

Dianna tapped her nails on the table, thinking. "Hmm… let’s embarrass her."

Lilith blinked. "What type of embarrassment are you speaking of? We shouldn’t go too far. We can’t suffer the consequences either."

Her voice trembled slightly. She hated showing fear, but she couldn’t hide the edge in her tone.

Her fall from grace still stung.

Last month she was a senior assistant.

Now she was at the bottom, bullied by those she used to command.

Right now her family wasn't what it used to be.

If not for her parents, she would have been fired. Completely thrown out. Left with no chance of winning Dominic’s attention ever again.

The humiliation burned inside her every day.

Dianna leaned closer. "Relax. I’m not saying we harm her."

Lilith swallowed hard. Her fingers tugged her sleeve down nervously.

"I just…" she muttered, "I don’t want to get in trouble again."

"We won’t," Dianna assured. "Look—we just need something that will make her look bad. Something small.”

Lilith exhaled slowly, trying to calm the tightness in her chest.

“Okay… then what?”

They brainstormed, but every idea was either too dangerous or too obvious.

"What if we spill hot water on her?" Dianna suggested.

"Do you want to go to jail?" Lilith hissed.

"Okay fine. What about removing some documents from her bag so Dominic thinks she’s careless?"

"Too risky. Cameras everywhere."

"Then let’s—"

"No." Lilith cut her off.

Each idea hit a wall.

Dianna groaned and leaned back. "Ugh, nothing is working. We need something simple but humiliating."

A moment passed.

Then Dianna sat up slowly.

"Let’s go with the old-school glue and oil."

Lilith blinked. "Glue?"

"Yes. Listen—" Dianna leaned closer, excitement in her eyes. "We pour oil on the floor. She slips. Then someone—some guy—rushes to ‘help’ her. But when he lifts her, we push her from behind. She falls onto him. And the glue on his clothes sticks to her dress."

Lilith’s eyes lit up.

"The picture will look like she threw herself on him."

"Exactly."

Lilith nodded quickly. "Yes… yes, this can work. It’s safe. It’s harmless. And the best part—"

She smirked.

"—Dominic will think she is flirting."

Dianna grinned back. "Then it’s settled. We start tomorrow."

Just as Lilith reached for her coffee cup, something wet and cold slapped against her chest.

SPLAT.

She gasped.

Her eyes widened.

A dark red stain spread across her blouse—thick, sticky, slow.

"Dianna…" Lilith whispered, voice cracking. "Is this… is this a prank?"

Dianna stared at her chest, horrified. "No! I would never do something like that."

Lilith looked around quickly. Nothing seemed strange. Just people sipping coffee, talking, laughing.

No one looked suspicious.

No one aimed at her.

Her breath hitched.

Dianna scanned the area again. "Lilith… this wasn’t me."

Meanwhile—

Up on the hotel’s upper floor, a man knelt behind the railing. His face stayed hidden in the shadows. He lowered a modified gun, its tip still warm.

He watched Lilith calmly.

Then he lifted two fingers.

A small signal.

A silent command.

The real operation begins.

Down below, Lilith’s chest tightened. Her eyes darted around.

"I better leave here before the same thing that happened to Lilith happens to me," Dianna thought panic-stricken.

She shoved her things into her bag, dropped money under her cup, and stood.

"I’m leaving. We’ll continue the planning later," she said quickly and rushed off.

Lilith stared after her, anger bubbling.

"Damn… that bitch surely knows something," she muttered. “Running off so fast.”

In truth, Dianna knew nothing. She simply didn’t want to be struck with whatever hit Lilith.

Lilith sighed, packed her things, and raised a hand toward the waiter.

"Bill, please. Hers is under the cup," she said.

She stood, using her handkerchief to dab at the stain.

She frowned.

"Why does it smell like blood?"

She sniffed again, carefully.

"Ugh… it really does."

Her stomach twisted.

"I can't wash this myself. I’ll take it to the dry cleaner," she whispered.

She used her jacket to cover the stain and hurried toward her car across the street.

"The bastard that stained me… if I catch him, I’ll turn him into soup," she muttered darkly.

---

Meanwhile…

Zarah lounged on a poolside chair at a private rooftop bar, sipping a cocktail with one hand while scrolling through her phone with the other. Her sunglasses covered half her face, hiding her irritation.

Two servants massaged her shoulders and feet carefully.

A man in a suit waited a few steps away, trying to give her space.

But Zarah was not satisfied.

None of the reports she received today were working.

Every plan she made to trap Mannie—failed.

Every scheme to pressure her financially—fell apart.

Every attempt to push her into debt—blocked.

The cocktail tasted bitter tonight.

Ring! Ring!

She snarled. "Who the f*ck is disturbing me now?" She grabbed the phone.

The caller ID flashed:

“The talkative beside Mannie.”

Zarah’s annoyance melted into cold amusement.

Aunt Remi.

Her paid informant. Her eyes and ears in Mannie’s home.

She waved her hand sharply.

"Leave."

The servants fled instantly, relieved.

Zarah brought the phone to her ear.

"Speak," she commanded.

Aunt Remi trembled on the other side. "Madam… the news is useful. Very useful."

"It better be," Zarah snapped.

"Today, a luxurious car came to Mannie’s house with lots of gifts. It didn’t look like her brother. And I heard Clara calling him her son-in-law."

Zarah’s breath stopped.

"You said what now?" she shouted.

"Describe the car," she ordered sharply.

Aunt Remi swallowed.

"It’s black… it has a wing logo at the front. The sound it made was nice… clean… the wing looks like angel wings."

Her voice rose as she realized something.

Zarah’s eyes widened.

"F*ck."

She stood up so fast her drink spilled.

Her heart pounded wildly.

She knew the car.

She knew that symbol.

Dominic’s.

"Has Dominic started seeing Mannie again? And he’s close enough for Clara to call him son-in-law?!"

Her world spun.

If Dominic pieced the past together—

If he found out what she did—

If he uncovered the truth—

She wouldn’t just lose wealth.

She would die.

Aunt Remi called again nervously.

"M-ma’am?"

Zarah blinked hard, realizing she had gone silent too long.

"You did a good job. Watch her closely. I want every detail," she said and cut the call abruptly.

Aunt Remi stared at her phone.

"What of my—"

Click.

The line went dead.

Her face twisted with anger. "Once she pays the remaining money she owes, then I’ll give her this new information," she muttered. A message popped up on her phone showing her call charges.

Her irritation doubled.

---

Back on the rooftop, Zarah stared into space, restless.

The cocktail tasted like water now.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

If Dominic found out the truth… she would lose everything.

Ping!

She looked down at her phone.

A message. It read; "The production is ready. Are you still interested?"

Before she could reply, her phone vibrated again.

A call.

She answered instantly.

“Yes?”

The voice on the other end was calm. Confident.

“Madam Zarah, your order is completed. The replicas are perfect. High-quality. No one will know the difference unless you tell them.”

Zarah closed her eyes, relieved.

“We need to finalize details,” the man continued. “How many units do you want produced? What brand name will you use? The logo? Colors? Packaging? Labels?”

Zarah paced.

She needed this. If she built a strong fake-luxury brand fast, she’d have money, power, security and a future.

They discussed the list one by one—quantities, delivery times, secrecy agreements.

Before hanging up, the man added:

“Fill the form I sent you and send the remaining payment. The transaction takes place next week. Prepare your money.”

The call ended.

Zarah stared at her reflection in the glass window.

Currently, she was almost broke.

Private jets.

Yachts.

Designer clothes.

Lavish trips.

She had burned money like fire.

Dominic hadn’t sent funds since the butler landed in the hospital. She had nothing solid left except—

The mansion.

The mansion that rightfully belonged to Mannie but she snatched from the butler through emotional manipulation.

Zarah exhaled sharply.

"I will just sell it off."

She didn’t hesitate.

With that money… she could turn her fate around.​