INICIAR SESIÓN12:18 A.M. Carter Mansion. Richard's Study.The silence stretched between them.Richard Carter hadn't moved.Neither had Vivienne.The air in the study suddenly felt too small.Richard slowly straightened his tie, forcing calm back into his expression."You've been spending too much time online," he said evenly.Vivienne tilted her head."So that's your answer?""I don't owe you one."A faint smile touched her lips."No."She stepped farther into the room, quietly closing the study door behind her."But your face already answered me."Richard's jaw tightened."You imagined it.""Did I?"Vivienne's eyes drifted toward the desk.The papers Richard had hurriedly covered were no longer visible.Too quickly.Too carefully."You hide things very fast, Dad."Richard folded his arms."Enough."His voice was firmer now."I've tolerated your strange behavior since the accident because I assumed you were recovering."His gaze hardened."But this obsession ends tonight."Vivienne didn't flinch."
Ethan slowly closed Clara's diary.For a moment, neither man spoke.The only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of the old clock on the wall.Richard stared at the documents scattered across the table.The past he had spent decades hiding was no longer buried.It was sitting in front of him."You don't understand," Richard whispered."I had no choice."Ethan's expression hardened."No choice?"He let out a bitter laugh."You always had a choice, Richard.""You chose greed.""You chose power.""You chose to destroy anyone who stood between you and what you wanted."Richard's face tightened."You have no proof."Ethan looked at him calmly."That is where you're wrong."He tapped the diary."Clara kept records."He placed another file on the table."The company records."Another."The property transfers."Another."And the witnesses who were too afraid to speak twenty-three years ago."Richard's breathing became heavier."You planned this.""No."Ethan looked him directly in the eye
9:00 A.M. Cross Mansion.The dining room buzzed with activity.Fabric swatches, invitation samples, floral catalogs, and venue brochures covered the long mahogany table, turning it into a battlefield disguised as wedding planning.Damian sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, surprisingly invested in every detail."I don't like the ivory invitations," he said, flipping another sample aside. "They're too plain."The wedding planner blinked."Mr. Cross... these were imported from Italy.""I know," Damian replied calmly. "They're still plain."Aria watched him over the rim of her coffee cup.She had expected him to lose interest after approving the venue.Instead, he had become... excited.Genuinely excited."What about these?" Evelyn asked, sliding another design toward him.Damian studied it carefully before looking at Aria."What do you think?"She forced a warm smile."They're beautiful.""They're perfect," Damian corrected softly.He reached across the table a
6:15 AM. Carter Mansion.Richard Carter hated mornings.Not because he disliked waking up early. In fact, he had built his entire life around discipline. He was the kind of man who woke before sunrise, read market reports before breakfast, and knew exactly what his employees were doing before they even entered the office.Mornings were supposed to belong to him.They were supposed to be quiet.Predictable.Controlled.But that morning, the silence felt different.It felt like the silence before a storm.Richard stood in front of the large window of his study, staring at the garden below. The roses were perfectly trimmed. The fountain was running. The mansion looked exactly the same as it had for years.Yet something felt wrong.He couldn't explain it.And Richard Carter hated things he couldn't explain.His phone rang.He glanced at the screen.Victor — Financial Department.Richard answered immediately."What happened?"There was a brief hesitation on the other end.That alone irrita
10:20 PM. Vivienne’s Room. Carter Mansion.The house had settled into its usual night rhythm.Distant clinks from the kitchen.A door closing somewhere down the hall.The low hum of the generator kicking in and out like a steady pulse.Vivienne shut her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it for a second.Not to rest.To listen.Nothing unusual.No footsteps lingering. No voices just outside the door.Still, she stayed there a moment longer, eyes on the handle, as if expecting it to turn.It didn’t.She stepped away.The shopping bags from earlier sat untouched on the chaise. Peach fabric peeked out from one of them, the color too soft, too harmless for what it had become.Armor, she had called it.The word lingered.Vivienne crossed the room slowly and set the Lawrence Holdings file on her bed.It looked ordinary.That was the most dangerous thing about it.A worn leather cover. Slightly frayed edges. No lock. No label that would make anyone curious at a glance.You could
8:45 PM. The Penthouse.Aria stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the skyline. From this height, the city looked like a circuit board of gold and amber. Far in the distance, the lights of the Link Bridge cut through the darkness like a suspended blade.She held a glass of Pinot Grigio, but she hadn’t taken a sip in twenty minutes. The condensation dripped cold onto her fingers, but she didn’t wipe it off.She was back in the car.“I like the wind. It feels like flying.”The words looped in her mind, over and over.It wasn’t just what Vivienne said. It was the biological impossibility of it.Aria knew fear. She knew the smell of it, the twitch of it. When they were children, Vivienne used to scream if a cockroach scurried across the floor. When they were teenagers, Vivienne refused to watch horror movies because they gave her nightmares.And today? Aria had driven like a madwoman on the very site of Vivienne's near-death experience.And Vivienne had just… smiled.It was
The next morning.Lucas Walter’s private office.The room smelled faintly of espresso and leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city, sunlight spilling in, but the mood inside was anything but bright.Lucas stood by the window, arms crossed.Daniel Pete sat casually on the edge of the de
6:00 PM. St. Nicholas Hospital.The sun was setting, casting long, bruised shadows across the hospital room.Aria walked down the hallway, her heels clicking softly on the linoleum. She had changed out of her boardroom attire into a soft, cream-colored cardigan and jeans—the costume of the concerne
9:30 AM. St. Nicholas Hospital.Aria walked into the fourth-floor wing with purpose. She was dressed for battle in a blood-red blazer and wide-leg trousers, her hair slicked back into a flawless, severe ponytail.She reached the nurses' station, ready to breezily sign in and march to Room 4.But as
2:15 PM. St. Nicholas Hospital, ICU.The rhythmic whoosh-click of the ventilator was the only sound in the dimly lit room.Aria locked the door behind her with a soft click. She moved with the efficiency of an assassin, placing her Chanel purse on the chair and retrieving the vial of muscle relaxan







