CHAPTER 4

 Chapter 4: The Poisoned Smile

My phone buzzed against the marble kitchen counter at exactly nine in the morning, breaking the quiet hum of our luxury penthouse. I picked it up, staring at the glowing screen.

Mia.

I let it ring twice, watching the digital numbers flash before I swiped the green button and pressed the speaker to my ear. I let my shoulders slump, letting out a soft, ragged sigh to make my voice sound as weak and exhausted as possible.

"Hello, Mia," I murmured, my voice trembling just enough to sound fragile.

"Anika! Good morning, sweet sister!" Mia’s voice chimed through the speaker, dripping with a sickening, sugary warmth. It was the exact tone she used whenever she wanted to steal something of mine. "How are you feeling today? Are you resting comfortably after coming home yesterday?"

"I'm resting," I replied slowly, pausing to take a shallow, shaky breath. "My blood pressure is still high, and I get dizzy whenever I walk around too much. Carousel left early this morning to check on his mother's company."

A sharp rustling sound came through the phone, as if Mia was leaning closer to her microphone, her curiosity instantly spiking.

"Oh? Did he?" Mia asked, trying her best to sound casually unbothered, though her eagerness bled through every word. "That’s good of him. He’s been so stressed with Catherine's new business venture lately. Did he... did he happen to mention the paperwork you two went over yesterday? The trust fund transfer?"

I closed my eyes, picturing her sitting on her plush sofa, legs crossed, sipping coffee while waiting to hear if her multi-million-dollar payday had cleared.

"Yes," I whispered, letting a tiny sob hitch in my throat. "I signed the power-of-attorney forms for him, Mia. I gave him the account passwords, too."

On the other end of the line, a sharp intake of breath echoed, followed by a brief, triumphant silence. I could practically see the wicked, gloating smile stretching across her lips. For three years, Mia had schemed behind my back, believing she was the clever mastermind playing the long game while I was just a blind, obedient fool.

"Oh, sweetie," Mia cooed, her voice practically vibrating with fake sympathy. "Don't cry. You know Carousel only has your best interests at heart. He has to handle the money because you're so emotional right now. It’s for the good of our family."

"I know," I answered, letting my voice drop into a defeated, hollow register. "I just feel so useless. Carousel says I can't handle anything by myself anymore. He told me to pack my bags because he and Catherine are taking me to a high-society charity gala tonight to show me off to their friends. I don't even want to go, Mia. I'm so big and clumsy."

Mia let out a soft, dismissive giggle, entirely hooked on my performance.

"Oh, stop being so hard on yourself," Mia said cheerfully. "Just put on a nice dress and smile for the cameras like a good wife. Carousel likes it when you look pretty on his arm. I’ll come over tomorrow to help you pack up the rest of your things. Rest up today, okay? Love you!"

The line clicked dead.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, staring at the black screen. The fake warmth vanished from my face, leaving behind a frozen, chilling mask.

“Keep smiling, Mia. Enjoy the next nineteen days. Because very soon, every single penny you and Carousel thought you stole will turn into ash in your hands.”

---

By seven in the evening, the air inside the grand ballroom of the city’s most exclusive hotel was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, roasted duck, and fake smiles. Chandeliers made of real Austrian crystal cast a blinding white light over rows of round tables covered in imported silk tablecloths.

I sat near the front table, wearing a stiff, heavy emerald-green maternity gown that Catherine had picked out specifically to make me look bloated and awkward.

Across the table, Carousel sat leaning forward, laughing loudly at a joke told by a local real estate tycoon. His tailored charcoal suit cost more than a month of groceries for an average family, and his gold Rolex caught the chandelier light every time he raised his champagne flute. Next to him, his mother, Catherine, sat with her chin raised high, diamond earrings dangling from her lobes as she whispered malicious gossip into the ear of a senator's wife.

"Look at her," Catherine muttered loud enough for everyone at our table to hear, casting a cold, judgmental glance in my direction. "Few months pregnant and she still has no sense of occasion. Dragging herself to a charity gala looking like a green velvet tent. Honestly, Carousel, I don't know how you have the patience to manage her at home."

Carousel didn't defend me. He didn't even look at me. He just took a sip of his champagne, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"She's simple-minded, Mother," Carousel said smoothly, loud enough for the neighboring tables to catch. "As long as she sits quietly and signs where she's told, she serves her purpose."

A ripple of quiet, cruel laughter drifted around the table.

"Oh, poor Anika," a sharp, high-pitched voice chimed in from the adjoining table.

Helena, the daughter of a major tech conglomerate and one of Mia’s closest socialite friends, leaned back in her chair. She crossed her bare legs, her diamond-encrusted heels gleaming under the table. Her eyes swept over my green gown with open, venomous disgust.

"Some women are just born to be background furniture," Helena sneered, her voice carrying across the entire front section of the ballroom. "Can you imagine walking into a room wearing that? It looks like an upholstery remnant from a cheap hotel lobby. Honestly, Carousel, I don't know why you don't trade her in for a younger model. At least Mia has some style."

The ballroom went slightly quiet. Heads turned. People whispered behind their champagne flutes, watching to see how the submissive, fragile Mrs. Carousel would humiliate herself this time.

In my past life, this exact moment would have broken me. I would have flushed red with shame, stared down at my plate, and fought back hot tears while Carousel scolded me for embarrassing him in public.

This time, I didn't even blink.

I slowly picked up my glass of ice water, took a calm, unhurried sip, and set it back down on the linen tablecloth with a soft clink.

I reached into the pocket of my heavy green gown, pulled out my sleek, matte-black private smartphone, and unlocked the secure terminal screen. My face remained completely serene, my eyes fixed on Helena’s smug, laughing face across the aisle.

"What's the matter, Anika?" Helena mocked, raising her glass toward me in a toast. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you too busy calculating how much of Carousel's money you're going to spend on dessert?"

"I'm not thinking about dessert, Helena," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly through the hushed air of the ballroom. "I was just wondering how long your family's tech stock is going to hold its value today."

Helena’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of annoyance. "My family's stock? Vance Technologies is worth billions. It's the most stable asset on the exchange. What would a housewife who can't even pick out a dress possibly know about the market?"

I didn't answer her. Instead, my thumb flicked across my phone screen with absolute, icy precision.

In my hands, I held the private financial backdoor codes I had quietly purchased and retained from my father's old corporate contacts—codes linked directly to Vance Technologies' leveraged margin accounts and short-position vulnerabilities.

I tapped my screen three times.

“Execute short position: 4,000,000 shares of Vance Tech.”

“Trigger algorithmic sell-off cascade.”

“Inject liquidity trap into primary margin pool.”

A silent, invisible wave of data rushed across the global stock exchange server miles away.

At our table, nobody noticed anything. Carousel was still chuckling with the real estate tycoon, and Catherine was busy adjusting her diamond necklace.

Then, suddenly, Helena’s phone—resting right beside her bread plate—lit up with a blinding, frantic string of emergency push notifications. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Helena frowned, picking up her phone with an annoyed sigh. "Ugh, probably just my broker checking on my dividend portfolio..."

She unlocked the screen.

The color drained from her face so fast her skin turned the shade of fresh milk. Her eyes bulged wide, staring at the red numbers flashing uncontrollably across her financial trading app.

“Vance Tech down 3.2%... Vance Tech down 5.1%... Margin call triggered... Vance Tech down 8.4%.”

Within thirty seconds, billions of dollars in market valuation vanished into thin air. Her family's primary holding company had just been hit by a massive, perfectly coordinated institutional short attack that completely wiped out their quarterly liquidity buffer.

Helena froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Her phone slipped from her trembling fingers, hitting the porcelain plate with a sharp, echoing crash that made everyone at the table jump.

"No..." Helena whispered, her voice cracking into a panicked shriek as she stared down at her phone lying broken on the table. "No, that's impossible... our shares... our margin... we just lost eighty million dollars in ten seconds..."

The entire front section of the ballroom turned in shock. Whispers erupted like a swarm of angry hornets.

I sat back quietly in my chair, folding my hands over my swollen belly. I picked up my glass of water again, took another slow, refreshing sip, and looked straight across the table into Helena’s terrified, wide-eyed gaze.

My lips curved upward into a calm, gentle, and utterly terrifying smile.