CHAPTER SEVEN

Ethan picked up the glossy photographs one by one, his jaw clenched tight.

Without a second glance, he began to tear them apart—deliberately, violently—until the pieces rained to the floor like confetti at a funeral.

He looked up, eyes sharp and resolute.

“Ms. Carter,” he said coolly. “Effective immediately, all your equity holdings and capital investments in Whitmore Group will be liquidated and returned to your designated account by 7 p.m. today. The paperwork has been prepared and will require your acknowledgment for compliance.”

His voice was level—controlled, final, and without the slightest hint of reconsideration.

Madeline’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious,” she snapped, rising from her seat.

Ethan didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned to face her fully, his tone tightening.

“You had access to the board. To our infrastructure. You even gained provisional oversight on sensitive projects under the terms I allowed. But interfering with Lauren Whitmore—my wife—was not part of our arrangement.”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice lowering.

“Crossing that line has legal and personal consequences. And I assure you, Madeline... next time, there won’t be a buyout. There’ll be litigation.”

Without waiting for a response, Ethan turned on his heel and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Madeline stood frozen, her fingernails digging into her palm. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.

No. She wouldn’t let it happen. She would rather die than watch them reconcile.

If Ethan thought she needed to lay a finger on Lauren to destroy her, he was sorely mistaken.

She would unravel Lauren piece by piece—socially, emotionally, and financially—without ever touching her skin.

And by the time she was done, not even Ethan could put Lauren back together again.

***

The scent of grilled cheese and tomato soup filled the warm air of the kitchen when Lauren heard a knock at the door.

She wiped her hands on a towel, expecting it to be Granny Rosa—until the door swung open and Ama stepped in, flanked by her two boys. She balanced a wide plastic container in her arms, sealed with foil.

“We made a load of chocolate cakes this morning,” Ama said, grinning, “and I figured I should drop one off before these boys ruin them. Besides, Cain needs a treat.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow, confused. “Who’s Cain?”

Ama gasped as if personally offended. “Our beautiful dog! I can't believe you don’t know Cain, Lauren. Everyone knows him.”

Lauren rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove. “He doesn’t look that cute. I didn’t exactly feel moved to remember his name.”

Ama placed the cake on the dining table, smirking. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Everyone in America has a dog, except you and Granny Rosa. You two are weird.”

Lauren chuckled. “Granny Rosa says she’s getting a hen instead. As a pet.”

Both women burst into laughter just as another knock came at the door.

Richard, Ama’s eldest, raced to the entrance. “It’s not Granny Rosa,” he announced, peeking through the curtains.

Lauren dried her hands again and walked to the front door, still smiling faintly. But the moment she opened it, her expression froze.

A woman stood there—stylish, unfamiliar, but clearly intentional.

“Can I help you?” Lauren asked, brows knitting.

The woman’s smile was cold. “I heard you're still legally married to the father of my child.”

Lauren’s breath caught. “Excuse me?”

“Ethan Whitmore,” she said smoothly. “While he was recovering in L.A., with no memory of who he was, we met… and well, let’s just say one night turned into something more permanent.”

She pulled a neatly folded envelope from her purse and held it out. “I have a child for him. Here’s the DNA proof. Please… pass along the message. And maybe speed up that divorce, hmm?”

Before Lauren could say a word, the woman turned and walked away, heels clacking softly against the pavement.

Lauren stared at the envelope, heart thudding. She opened it slowly—one page, official-looking. The words blurred for a second behind her tears.

From across the room, Ama watched her closely. “Why do you look so miserable? I thought you were ready to sign those divorce papers.”

Lauren sat heavily on one of the chairs, the paper still trembling in her hand. “That’s the problem, Ama. I shouldn’t be this sad. I should be angry. Or relieved. But this… this hurts.”

Ama exhaled sharply, setting the cake knife down. “What do you even want, Lauren?”

Lauren didn’t answer. She just stared at the paper, mind spiraling, heart sinking. Somewhere deep inside, something had shifted. Something that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

***

The top enemies sat around the table in their underground room.

They were wearing masks.

"When I told the lady this evening that I had Ethan's child, she seemed to believe me". One of the masked people reported to the others.

"Madeline Carter will make a move on Lauren. You don't need to make any other move. Our spy heard her telling Edith that she would finish up her fashion organization". He burst into laughter.

"What happens after that?".

"Ethan will come looking for us. The people threatening that he has a child, the people that know who set up that LA fire, the people that know the real secret between Raymond Whitmore and Jonathan Monroe ".

"Let's watch the fools fight themselves for the wrong reason. Raymond Whitmore, Jonathan Monroe, Ethan Whitmore, Madeline Carter and Lauren Whitmore". A deeper voice chirped in.

"I am curious. What will be Lauren's next step when she looses everything?" .

***

Madeline Carter didn’t need to raise her voice or storm into rooms to command power.

She understood business warfare better than most men in suits. And today, she dressed the part—charcoal heels, an ash-colored silk blouse, and a diamond-studded Rolex that gleamed every time she raised a glass.

Her driver dropped her off at the rooftop lounge of the Marriot Beverly Hills, where Lauren’s most loyal client, Claudette Marlowe, was hosting her semi-annual networking brunch.

Claudette was a woman who loved three things—money, power, and her reputation.

“Madeline Carter,” Claudette said, standing as if receiving royalty. They air-kissed.

“I won’t waste your time,” Madeline said with a sharp, polished smile. She handed over a velvet folder. Inside were designs—bolder, trendier, more globally diverse than Lauren’s signature pieces.

“What’s this?” Claudette asked, flipping through.

“A collaboration with my new line. Half the price, double the exclusivity. Your boutique gets the entire first collection before Milan even sees it. Provided…” she sipped her drink, “...you quietly step back from the Lauren Whitmore brand.”

Claudette hesitated. “Lauren’s brand still has pull. Especially in LA.”

“Not when there’s a federal inquiry breathing down her neck.” Madeline’s voice was calm, but her words struck like a blade. “Do you want to risk being associated with someone the world is beginning to question?”

She opened her tablet and showed Claudette a private group chat of luxury brand owners.

Lauren’s name had been mentioned three times already—once linked to “moral uncertainty,” once to “PR risks,” and once with a blunt “she’s sinking.”

Claudette frowned.

“I haven’t leaked this,” Madeline said. “But you know how fast social media bites. And you don’t want your name to be trending for the wrong reasons.”

Claudette gave a quiet nod, the weight of her empire on her shoulders.

***

Lauren stood by the window of her office, her arms folded across her chest, watching the once-busy Beverly Hills flagship store fall into a hush.

The mannequins in the display windows still wore her signature "Lauren" collection — but the power behind those pieces had just been ripped from her hands.

Her assistant walked in, pale-faced. “The auditors Madeline sent in just gave their final report. Your license to trade has been frozen. Something about unethical employment practices in one of the supplier chains.”

Lauren blinked. “What supplier?”

“The one Madeline introduced last quarter…”

Her breath caught. Madeline had planned this from the beginning — investing just enough to get inside, introducing her own vendors, then pulling the rug out at the perfect moment.

Then the email hit her inbox.

Subject: Immediate Board Restructure Notification

“Due to financial misrepresentation and failure to disclose material risk, your rights as CEO have been suspended, pending review. The new acting CEO will be appointed by the majority shareholder — Madeline Carter.”

Her hands trembled as she dropped her phone.

Her company — her dream — was no longer hers.

The next day, a truck arrived and removed crates of her unreleased summer line. Madeline had it all boxed up, labeled under "rebranding inventory."

She had done it.

Madeline Carter had stolen her brand from under her, dismantled the board, and turned the media against her — all while smiling with the softness of a socialite.

And that was when Lauren called her.

It happened so fast.

***

Lauren stood in the corridor of the courthouse, dressed in a tailored black suit, her heels silent against the polished floor.

Her phone trembled in her grip as she stared at the name flashing across her screen—Madeline Carter.

She dialed without hesitation.

The line connected.

“Hi, Madeline,” she said, her voice calm but laced with steel. “I want you to witness how I dump Ethan Whitmore at the court today”

Before Madeline could reply, Lauren disconnected and turned sharply on her heel, walking into the courtroom.

Inside, her lawyer sat stiffly beside her. Across the aisle, the opposing counsel adjusted his tie. There were murmurs. The press had gotten wind of something. She could feel the heat of the spotlight again—but this time, she welcomed it.

Moments later, the doors creaked open.

Madeline Carter entered, radiant in white, with a smirk that could cut glass. She took her seat quietly, legs crossed, designer sunglasses perched on her head like a crown. She came for a funeral—and she thought it would be Lauren’s.

Lauren didn't glance her way.

She rose when the judge entered and cleared her throat.

“Your Honour,” she began, voice clear, unshaken.

“I came here today to finalize a divorce with Ethan Whitmore. The man I was told was dead. The man I was told to forget.”

She paused. “These,”—she gestured to the papers on the desk—“are the divorce documents.”

The judge nodded for her to proceed.

Lauren took the papers, flipping to the signature page. Her pen hovered. She hesitated. One second. Two. Her lips twitched.

Then, with slow, deliberate motion, she ripped the pages in half.

Again. And again. Until the shreds floated like feathers to the floor.

A gasp rippled through the room. Madeline’s smirk dropped like a curtain.

Lauren turned sharply toward her, fire in her eyes.

“I am never going to divorce Ethan Whitmore,” she said. Her voice rang with a strange, dangerous calm. “I will be moving to his house today, as his legal wife. Starting tonight, I wear the ring again". She brought out Ethan's ring and wore it on her finger.