3

EVERLY’S POV

I was a stain on the marble. As the iron gates of the Chandler Estate hummed open, I caught my reflection in the car window, shameful skin. Spencer’s laughter still echoed in my ears, colder than the rain that had soaked me to the bone.

But as the SUVs lined up like a funeral procession for the woman I used to be, I was coming back to life.

The estate didn't look like a home; it looked like a palace carved out of obsidian and moonlight, silent and lethal. My feet hit the heated cobblestones, a jarring contrast to the icy mud I’d been standing in an hour ago.

"The staff is waiting, Miss Chandler," Arthur said, walking half a step behind me with a heavy, old-world respect. "Your father’s personal stylists, the legal team, and the heads of your global security. Everything is ready for the transition."

I strode through the massive oak doors. Hundreds of servants bowed in unison, a wave of fabric and synchronized movement. The silence here was absolute, weighted with a decade of secrets kept in the dark.

I stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror in the foyer. I looked like a ghost—pale, fractured, and hollow.

"Arthur," I said, my gaze locked on my own haunted eyes. My voice didn't tremble; it cut through the quiet like a blade. "I don't want to see a single trace of Everly Knox by sunrise. Burn these clothes. Scrub that name from every record. From this moment on, I am only Everly Chandler."

"Consider it done," Arthur replied. "And the Knox-Sterling merger?"

"Let it breathe. But don't make it easy," I said, a cold smile tugging at my lips. "I want Spencer to think he still has a chance. I want him to crawl, to beg, and to sell his soul just to keep that merger alive. And then, at the Gala, I’ll pull the earth from beneath his feet."

The transformation took six hours.

By dawn, I was no longer the woman who scrubbed floors to save Spencer a few dollars. I stood before the mirror in a tailored, midnight-blue suit that felt more like armor than silk. My hair was a sharp, polished blade. My eyes, once perpetually wet with tears, were now as hard as the diamonds circling my throat.

"You look like Silas," Arthur whispered from the doorway, his eyes shining with a fierce pride. "Now, about the escort for the Gala. You mentioned you needed someone who could break Spencer’s spirit just by standing next to you."

"I don’t want a bodyguard, Arthur. I want a predator," I said. "Is he here?"

"He’s waiting in the library. He wasn't easy to convince. He doesn't take orders from anyone—not even a Chandler."

I marched toward the library, my heels clicking against the marble like a countdown to an execution. I pushed the heavy doors open.

A man was standing by the window, silhouetted against the morning light. He wasn't in a formal suit; he wore a black leather jacket over a dark shirt, looking like a man who had just stepped off a motorcycle and into a boardroom.

Steve Sterling.

He turned slowly. His eyes were a piercing, stormy gray—the kind of eyes that saw through lies and aimed straight for the jugular. He was Hailey’s older brother, but he shared none of her vapid vanity. He was a man who had built an empire in the shadows.

"So," Steve’s voice was a deep, dangerous rumble. "The ghost of the Chandler family has finally decided to show herself."

"I heard you hate your family, Steve," I said, walking toward him without a hint of hesitation. "And I know you’re sick of watching Spencer Knox use your sister to climb the social ladder."

Steve let out a short, dry laugh. He stepped forward, invading my space until I could smell sandalwood and expensive whiskey. He was a mountain of a man, his presence suffocatingly masculine. He didn't look at me with pity. He looked at me like a puzzle he intended to solve.

"I don't do favors out of the goodness of my heart, Everly," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. "What’s in it for me?"

"I hold sixty percent of the Sterling Group’s debt through my father’s banks," I said, leaning in. "I can hand you the keys to your father’s kingdom on a silver platter. You get to be the CEO who finally cleans the Sterling name of its filth. All you have to do is be my escort to the Apex Gala."

Steve studied me, his eyes narrowing. He reached out, his long fingers grazing my jawline. His skin was cold, but the pressure of his thumb against my chin felt like a brand—a claim I wasn't sure I could handle, but was too desperate to refuse.

"You want to use me to make your ex-husband bleed?" he asked, his voice dropping to an intimate growl.

"I want him to watch us together and realize that everything he ever wanted is now in my hands. Including you."

Steve’s grip tightened slightly on my chin—not enough to hurt, but enough to show me he wasn't a man who could be tamed. "I don't play the 'fake boyfriend,' Everly. If I walk into that Gala with you, the world will think you're mine. And once I claim something, I don't give it back."

"Is that a deal, Steve?" I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Steve stared at me in a long, heavy silence. Then, he released my jaw and stepped back, his face returning to a mask of chilly indifference.

"Seven days until the Gala," he said. "Get your legal team ready to transfer those Sterling shares. And Everly?"

"Yes?"

"Try to keep up. I don't like slow partners."

He turned and walked out of the library without another word. He didn't even look back.

I stood there, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me. Spencer Knox was a boy playing with matches. Steve Sterling was the fire.

"Arthur," I called out, my voice steady. "Send a gift to Spencer’s office. Something to remind him of what he just threw away."

"What would you like to send, Ma'am?"

I glanced at the rusted key to the shack sitting on the desk. "Send him a box of premium trash bags. Include a note: 'For the office cleaning. You’re going to need them when I evict you.'"