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Chapter 17: The Collapse
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2025-12-17 11:54:46December 18th. Manhattan. 8:00 AM.
The city, silenced by the heavy overnight snowfall, was an immaculate landscape under glass. The only sound was the high-pitched, mournful howl of the frigid wind slicing between the monolithic skyscrapers.
On the 88th floor of the Voss Group Headquarters, the global board meeting was in session. Landon sat at the head of the table, his cigarette clenched so tightly between his fingers it was permanently deformed, yet he hadn’t lit it. A look of sated, habitual smugness was plastered across his face, the confidence of a lion who had just secured his prey. This lasted until all the massive video screens in the room simultaneously went dark.
The blood-red characters, cold and stark, then slammed onto the monitors, each line an invisible, agonizing blow to the chest:
The meeting room descended into instant, paralyzing silence. One director slumped immediately in his chair, as if his backbone had been surgically removed. Landon stared at the two chilling initials, $S.R.$, and with a sharp crack, snapped the cigarette in two between his fingers.
He surged to his feet, his eyes bloodshot, his voice a low, furious snarl. “Find out! Find out who this is, now!”
The assistant practically scrambled into the room, his face paper-white. “Sir… we can’t trace the source. Every single trace has been wiped clean… It’s exactly like… the last time, ten years ago…”
Landon’s pupils contracted violently. Ten years ago. The first time he’d been targeted in the shadows, losing thirty billion, unable even to catch a glimpse of his opponent's shadow.
He had presumed that person was dead, buried in the dark history of the financial world. Now, they were back. And for the first time in years, Landon felt a profound, sickening sensation of something vital tearing apart in his chest.
The Same Time. Rosier Holdings, 88th Floor.
Ava stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the black coffee in her hand long since gone cold.
She looked out over the snow-draped city, observing the chessboard she was about to overturn with her own hand. Sebastian stood a half-step behind her, still wearing his black trench coat, his silver-gray eyes reflecting the snowlight, cold and sharp as a poisoned dagger.
“It has begun,” he said, his voice low, but carrying an unmistakable, suppressed thrill.
Ava didn't turn. She simply nodded, her fingertip tapping a soft, rhythmic beat against the cold glass. “Let him panic first.” She turned her head slightly, a faint, fleeting curve touching her lips, though her eyes remained utterly humorless. “The first cut was his wallet. The second, his lifeline. The third cut…”
She abruptly turned fully, rising on her toes, her fingertip tracing the old, ten-year-old scar on Sebastian’s collarbone—the mark Landon had left him with. Her voice dropped to the intimate whisper of a lover, and Sebastian’s breath hitched violently. “The third is watching me take everything that belongs to him.”
Sebastian’s throat worked hard. The force of his grip on her waist was heavy, near bone-crushing. He lowered his head, his lips hovering an agonizing millimeter from hers, his voice trembling with a desperate desire. “You are making this impossible for me to control.”
A tear slid down Ava’s cheek, but she laughed softly, a fleeting sigh. “Then control it.”
“Because I can’t let you lose your sanity yet.”
December 18th. 10:30 AM. Outside the Voss Group Headquarters.
Over a hundred reporters besieged the main entrance, creating a chaotic, suffocating blockade. Landon emerged, clad in a heavy black coat, his face dark and menacing, promising violence.
Flashbulbs rained down like a sudden, fierce storm. A microphone was shoved violently toward his face. “Mr. Voss, how do you explain the $47.28 billion freeze?” “Are the rumors of illegal military-grade weapons true?” “Is there any truth to the claim that all of this is connected to Rosier Holdings? Will you respond?”
Landon stopped, a cold, predatory smile twisting his lips. His voice, however, was unnervingly composed. “In 24 hours, I will give everyone a full account.” He turned and slipped into his waiting car. The moment the door slammed shut, his fist smashed into the leather upholstery, his knuckles bruising instantly.
The driver glanced fearfully into the rearview mirror, holding his breath. Landon’s voice was a low, dangerous command. “Drive to Rosier Holdings. Now.”
December 18th. 12:00 PM. Rosier Holdings Penthouse.
The elevator chimed open. Landon stormed into the corridor; no one dared to intervene. He threw open the door to the Chairman’s office and stopped dead. Ava was seated at the main desk, and Sebastian stood a half-step behind her, an imposing, silent angel of death.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Landon fixed his gaze on Sebastian, his voice low, venomous. “You’re not dead.”
Sebastian’s lips curved into a slight, chilling smile. His voice was polished, yet imbued with a lethal coldness. “My apologies for the disappointment.”
Ava didn’t stand. She simply raised her eyes, her voice as calm and indifferent as if discussing the weather. “Landon, what brings you here?”
Landon violently threw the humiliating contract onto the desk. His voice was husky, tinged with a near-psychotic amusement. “Little flower, the medicine is yours. But the contract is void. All I want now is his death.” He pointed at Sebastian, his eyes bloodshot, like a wolf driven to its last, desperate stand.
Sebastian’s tongue pressed against his back molar. He grinned like a true predator. “The pleasure would be mine.”
Ava finally rose, walking smoothly between the two men. Her voice was light as a feather. “You want blood? Fine. But before that, tell me, what price will you pay me for it?”
Landon stared at her, his fury battling with a raw, undeniable possessiveness. “I’ll give you everything I own. Just make him disappear from my sight.”
Ava laughed. She stood on tiptoes, pressing a brief, deliberate kiss to the corner of Landon’s mouth. “Deal. But not today.”
She turned, taking a step toward Sebastian. Her fingertips delicately traced the line of the ten-year-old scar on his collarbone.
Then she looked back at Landon, her eyes utterly cold. “He is my brother. Before you dare to touch him, you ask me for permission.”
Landon’s eyes dilated. In that moment, the final, devastating truth hit him. He had lost from the very beginning. His defeat wasn't at the hands of Sebastian, but to the woman standing before him—Ava.
He walked out, his posture stiff, like a body drained of all its bones. The moment the door clicked shut, he looked down at his own trembling hands, then burst into a harsh, choked laughter that sounded more like weeping. “Insane… We’re all insane…”
December 18th. 3:00 PM. The Internet Exploded.
The number one trending topic globally: [#IvySinclairExposesAvaRosierSellingBodyForMedicineFullVideo#] The high-definition, uncensored footage, complete with timestamps, showed Ava stumbling out of the East Hampton mansion the previous night. Every horrific detail was magnified: the torn clothes, the faint stains on her inner thighs, the vacant, haunted look in her eyes.
The video’s repost count broke two million in one hour. The comments section was a torrent of vile abuse: “The bastard daughter deserves this.” “Selling her body for medicine and doing it so thoroughly, how disgusting.” “Rosier’s stock is going to crash, isn’t it?”
Summer was ambushed by the press downstairs. A reporter shoved a microphone directly into her face. “Miss Summer, did you know about Miss Ava selling her body for medication?”
Summer’s face was pale, but she suddenly snatched the microphone, her voice trembling but resolute. “All I know is that Ava is the purest person I have ever met. She went to hell to save her mother. Any of you who dare to condemn her will have to go through me first!”
As she turned and ran back toward the building, tears finally streamed down her face. She pulled out her phone and sent a message to Ava: [Ava, I’m holding them off. Don’t be afraid.] But she was terrified herself.
December 18th. 8:00 PM. Ava’s Penthouse Apartment.
Ava watched the relentless torrent of hate and abuse on her phone, her fingers shaking. Sebastian came up behind her, embracing her, resting his chin in the hollow of her shoulder. His voice was low and intimate. “Do you want me to handle this?”
Ava shook her head, her voice a faint sigh. “No. Let them scream. The louder they scream, the faster Ivy will die.” She turned in his arms, standing on her toes to press a light kiss to his throat. “Brother, do me one favor.”
Sebastian’s throat worked hard. His voice was thick with emotion. “Name it.”
“Send Ivy’s phone records, her communication with Victoria, and all the transaction details to the media. I want everyone to know exactly who drove the knife into my mother’s heart.”
Sebastian lowered his head and kissed the crown of her hair, his voice heavy with solemn devotion. “As you wish.”
December 19th. 0:00 AM. The Search Trend Reversed Instantly.
The top trending topics flipped violently: [#IvySinclairSoldNoraICUPhotos#] [#Victoria’sMangledFingersLeak#] [#IvyVictoriaConspiredToFrameAva#]
Public opinion ignited like spilled gasoline. Ivy’s social media accounts were instantly overwhelmed, her DMs flooded with death threats. She hid inside her apartment, crying uncontrollably until she passed out.
December 19th. 9:00 AM. Hospital Rooftop.
Summer, cornered and harassed by reporters, was at her breaking point. Someone threw a water bottle at her head; another reporter yelled vile slurs at her. She huddled on the ground, holding her knees, tears mixing with the blood from the impact. Her phone was full of death threats and abuse. She managed to send Ava one last, faint voice message, her voice barely a whisper:
“Ava… I’m so tired… But I still want to block this last attack for you…”
Ava burst onto the hospital rooftop, fighting through the snow, and found Summer unconscious on the ground. A fresh, shallow cut marked her wrist, and the blood bloomed on the white snow like a shocking red flower. Ava collapsed beside her, holding her tightly, weeping uncontrollably. “Summer… I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” Her voice was hoarse, tearing her throat, the melting snow and her tears soaking both of them.
Sebastian stood three paces away, his silver-gray eyes cold as glass. He glanced down at his phone. The screen displayed a message from Landon Rourke:
[The medicine is yours. But Sebastian, you must die.]
Sebastian's lips curved into a cold, terrifying smile. He typed a single, stark reply:
[Come and try.]
The snow fell heavier now. Ava held Summer, weeping almost to the point of suffocation.
Sebastian stood like a silent executioner behind her. He leaned down, kissing Ava’s snow-damp hair, his voice a low promise meant only for her. “Don’t cry. Now, it’s my turn.”
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