LOGINElara's POV Ivy’s heels clicked softly as she approached my desk, stopping a respectful distance away. She carried a sleek black tablet against her chest, posture straight, expression professional.“Everything is prepared, Miss Rhodes,” she said gently. “Just as you instructed.” My fingers continued moving across the keyboard — unhurried, deliberate — the soft rhythm echoing through the room. I didn’t answer immediately. Silence has power.And I know exactly how to use it.I finished typing the last line before lifting my gaze to her.Calm.Measured.Unreadable. “Is it precise?” I asked. “Not close… not approximate… exact.” Ivy nodded once.“Yes, ma’am. Every detail aligns with your specifications. I’ll forward the final address as soon as the other party confirms.”A faint pause.Her eyes flickered with subtle curiosity. But she knew better than to ask. “Good,” I replied, my tone soft — almost soothing. “Proceed discreetly.”“Yes, Miss Rhodes.”She turned to leave.Almost reached t
Camila’s POV The boardroom was so quiet I could practically hear the soft hum of the AC and the faint ticking of the wall clock. The city skyline stretched across the glass windows behind us, but no one dared admire it. Not when our sales report glowed on the massive presentation screen like a wound that refused to heal. Charts and sales graphs frozen mid-slide – silent proof of everything we had lost these past days. I crossed one leg over the other, fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass table. Everyone avoided my gaze. Good. They should. “Walk me through the numbers again,” I said flatly. Laura stood at the head of the room, her posture stiff, the remote trembling slightly between her fingers like a soldier about to deliver a death sentence. “Our fourth-quarter sales dropped significantly,” she said, clearing her throat. “The market took a heavy hit – especially in our luxury line.A thirty-two percent decline after the scandal footage circulated online.” A rippl
Ian’s POV Victoria’s voice crackled faintly through the speaker, bright yet distant — like a star too far from earth to warm anything.“I’ve been trying to reach Mom all day, but the network’s terrible on set,” she explained hurriedly. “Please tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it tonight. I love her — truly. I promise I’ll visit soon.”I exhaled slowly, pressing my fingers to my temple.“Victoria, you’ve said that for three years now,” I replied, my tone firmer than I intended. “Every family gathering becomes my responsibility alone. How do you expect me to face her again?”She sighed — that elegant, rehearsed sigh she reserved for interviews and press calls.“Ian… acting isn’t a hobby anymore. The new season premieres soon, and tonight’s casting rehearsal is crucial. You, of all people, should understand commitment.”Commitment. An interesting word — especially coming from someone so skilled at escaping it.“Fine,” I said curtly. “I’ll tell h
Noah’s POV — Sydney, 7:45 PM "God-dammit!". The word slipped out before I could stop it as my character collapsed on the screen again. Jace’s victory animation flashed across my monitor, taunting me. I slammed both palms on my desk — not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to feel something. That was my fifth loss in a row. He was never going to let me hear the end of it tomorrow at school. I clenched my jaw, leaning closer to the screen, determined to win the next round — when my bedroom door creaked open behind me. “Not now, Nanny Mona,” I muttered, fingers tight on the gamepad. “I already took my vitamins. I told you fine.” A pause. Then a different voice. “Actually…it’s not Nanny Mona,” Emily said softly. “It’s Claire and me.” I sighed through my nose. Of course. They only came in when they wanted something. Without turning around, I kept my eyes glued to the screen. “What do you both want? You know the rules — you don’t come into my room unless it’s important.”
Camila’s POV Morticia stood poised in front of the mirror touching her makeup like she owned the fucking world. Her slender fingers meticulously tracing the contours of her face as she applied a final layer of concealer. That alone made my blood boil. A caustic sting spread as acid ate into my skin. I shoved the restroom door open with such force it slammed against the wall, rattling the mirrors. The sharp echo bounced off the tiled walls, slicing through the air like a warning. Rage burned so violently inside me I was almost certain the room would go up in flames if I stayed another second. Two women stood by the sinks, frozen in place. “Get out.” My voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that carried death underneath it. They didn’t hesitate. Not a single second. They grabbed their bags and rushed out, heels slipping against the floor, the door shutting behind them with hurried panic. Morticia
Ian’s POV The whiskey burned down my throat — but not nearly enough I slammed the empty glass onto the counter. The sound was sharp, final.The bartender didn’t hesitate. He reached for the bottle immediately. Smart man.“Rough night, sir?” he asked carefully, already pouring.I lifted my eyes to him.One look. Not long. Not hard. Just enough.He froze, swallowed, and pushed the glass toward me without another word.Good.“Keep it coming,” I said, voice cold, distant. “Don’t stop until I say so.” I drank again, eyes drifting towards the stage. Camila.Cameras loved her tonight — flashing endlessly, all focused on her. She stood on stage like a fallen angel resurrected by sympathy — tears glistening, voice trembling,the perfect victim.Perfect posture. Perfect timing.She knew exactly when to take break, when to pause, when to let the silence do the work.For five years,she had played her role well and I had watched her manage chaos like this—smooth it over, redirect the narrative, p







