Chapter 7 A Fatal Blow in Business

Ethan Caldwell’s suspicion hung over the Caldwell estate like an invisible mist. The way he looked at me grew increasingly complex, filled with a kind of obsessive scrutiny. He began coming home more frequently, even casually asking about my past—about my life in the Lane family, about what books I had read.

I remained the same obedient, timid Sophia Lane, answering flawlessly, carefully concealing every edge. Only on rare occasions—when he brought up highly technical business terms or international affairs—would my eyes betray the faintest glimmer of another soul’s sharpness.

I could feel his confusion mounting, along with his frustration. He could uncover nothing. My background as Sophia Lane was clean to the point of emptiness: an overlooked daughter in the Lane family, unremarkable in school, withdrawn in character. This stark contrast to the woman he sensed now formed a riddle he couldn’t let go of.

This game of cat and mouse amused me. Watching him falter because of me was a twisted kind of satisfaction.

But my true aim had never been just to confuse him.

I waited patiently for the right moment—until it finally arrived.

The Caldwell Group had poured massive resources into securing the development rights for the Bayshore Resort Project, a cornerstone of their five-year strategy. Ethan himself led the effort, the entire company stretched taut with anticipation.

I knew this was my stage.

On the eve of the bidding, the lights in his study burned all night. I could picture Ethan and his team combing through the proposal, tense with focus. In my own room, I sat by the window, city lights glittering in the distance, my tablet displaying a sophisticated financial model and a meticulously simulated pricing plan I had refined countless times.

My finger tapped the final confirmation on the screen.

“Good night, Ethan Caldwell,” I whispered toward the empire he ruled, lips curling in a frosty smile. “And good luck.”

The morning of the bid, the atmosphere at the estate was suffocating. Even the servants tread lightly, afraid to make a sound. Ethan left early. For once, we “accidentally” crossed paths in the dining room.

He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit, radiating the confidence of a man certain of victory. When he saw me, his stride faltered, his gaze lingered for several seconds, as though searching for a sign.

I lifted my glass of milk, lowered my lashes, and murmured, “Today seems important. I wish you success.”

My tone was calm, flat, unreadable.

He frowned, dissatisfied with my composure, but merely grunted and strode away.

I watched his retreating figure and finished my milk slowly.

The performance had begun.

The bidding results were to be announced in the afternoon. Hours crept by, the estate weighed down in silence.

At quarter past three, my phone lit up. A message from an encrypted number. Just one symbol: ✅.

Almost simultaneously, hurried footsteps echoed downstairs. Mrs. Zhou’s voice, sharp with panic despite her attempt to hush it, rose into the air:

“…How could this happen?! Where’s the young master? What’s his condition now?!”

I closed my book, rose, and stepped toward the landing, feigning concern as I looked down.

Mrs. Zhou’s face was ashen, her hand trembling around the phone. “They— they lost it? To some company no one’s ever heard of?! Their offer was only higher by 0.5 percent?! Impossible! How could this be?!”

Every word rang clear in my ears.

“Mr. Caldwell, the project was snatched by Stellar Dawn Group!”

Stellar Dawn.

At the name, my pulse remained steady. It was one of the shell corporations I had registered overseas long ago, buried under layers of proxies with no trace to me, Sophia Lane.

Yet hearing it aloud was exquisite.

I could almost picture Ethan’s expression at the bidding hall—the shock, the humiliation. A project he was certain to win, stolen at the last second by a mysterious competitor with a margin so razor-thin it seemed uncanny. For him, for the Caldwells, this was nothing less than a public slap in the face.

The chaos below swelled, filled with frantic speculation about Stellar Dawn’s origins.

Silently, I withdrew to my room and shut the door, shutting out the noise.

Inside, there was only quiet.

I crossed to my desk and opened my laptop. The screen lit, casting a pale glow over my face.

I launched an encrypted channel, keyed in a command, and connected to a video call.

Onscreen appeared a sharply dressed young man in a modern office. His expression was crisp, respectful.

“Boss,” he greeted me.

I stared at him, my face impassive, though deep within my eyes flickered a cold fire I had kept hidden for too long.

My voice was calm, unwavering, carrying an undeniable authority through the line:

“Excellent work. This is only the beginning.”