Semua Bab HEIRESS REBORN: Bab 31 - Bab 40

Alina's Pov I stood off to the side, drink in hand, watching Nathaniel and Sasha exchange heated words. My heart raced with excitement. I hadn’t initially wanted to come to this gala—dressing up and mingling felt tedious—but Aunt Lillian had insisted. “You need to be seen, Alina. You can’t disappear forever,” she had said, her voice firm and unwavering.Now, I was grateful for her push. The tension between Nathaniel and Sasha was palpable, and I could hardly contain my smile. When Sasha stormed off, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor, I internally cheered. This was exactly what I had hoped for.I raised my glass of champagne to my lips, hiding my grin behind it. The bubbles tickled my nose; I savored the moment. This was just the beginning of my plan. Nathaniel was caught in a web of his own making, and I was the spider watching him squirm.As I turned to leave the scene, I was suddenly accosted by a familiar face. “Kaia! Wait up!”It was Nina Rhodes, the gossip bl

ALINA’S POVIt always starts the same way. Coffee in my hand, notepad open, pen tapping against the edge, like I’m some overworked assistant just trying to keep up. That’s what they see. That’s what I want them to see.They don’t see the quiet calculations in my head. The way I listen more than I speak. The way I memorize every name that gets thrown around. Every number. Every crack in their voices.This morning is no different. We’re in the tenth-floor boardroom at Ashen. Vivian’s leading the meeting, her voice smooth but sharp. She’s dressed like a woman who doesn’t take bullshit. Navy blazer. White blouse. Gold earrings that catch the light just enough.I sit three chairs down from her, scribbling notes. Nobody looks at me twice. They never do. To them, I’m the assistant who brings coffee and stays out of the way. They don’t know I own the room. That every word being spoken is running through a filter in my head.Greg Talbot is here today. One of the more vocal ones on the board. H

ALINA’S POVThe moment I see Theo’s message flash across my screen, I already know it’s something good. Or ugly. Probably both.“She took the job.”No name, no detail. Just that.But I know exactly who he means.I lower my coffee onto the desk, slide my chair closer, and swipe to open the full message.Sasha Moore – now listed as Nathaniel’s secretary.Secretary.I actually laugh.It bursts out of me before I can hold it in, loud and sharp and ugly. The sound bounces off the walls of my apartment like it doesn’t belong here. And maybe it doesn’t. Not with how quiet I’ve been since the gala.But this… this is different.Because Sasha, who once sauntered around like a queen at Cross Industries, who used to dangle herself off Nathaniel’s arm like a trophy, just signed herself up to be the help.Desperation looks good on her.I take another sip of coffee. It’s cold now, but I don’t care. My laptop’s already open, running a backdoor access window into Cross Industries’ internal systems, on

KAIA I choose the restaurant on purpose.It’s not fancy. Not over-the-top like the places Nathaniel flaunted me around in when he wanted the world to see his “perfect” wife. No. This one is quieter. Tucked between glass towers and forgotten corners of Midtown. Brick walls. Dim lighting. Soft music you can actually talk over.It used to mean something. Back then, when we still played pretend.I get there early. Of course I do. I sit in the corner booth facing the door, the way Theo taught me. Never put your back to an entrance. Not when the people you're meeting are the same ones who tried to kill you.My fingers curl around the wine glass, but I haven’t touched it. I just watch the room. Watch the way the candlelight flickers across polished wood. Watch the way the host smiles at strangers, the way the server checks her reflection in the mirror behind the bar when she thinks no one’s watching. It’s all familiar. But also… different.Because the last time I was here, I was someone els

NathanielI stare at the number.It’s written in blue ink, circled three times like Sasha couldn’t believe it either. But it’s real. It’s right there. On the third page of the Cross-Ashen proposal draft. Confidential terms. Buried in a contract no one was supposed to see. But Sasha found it. She always finds things when she gets paranoid.And now I’m paranoid too.Because I know this number. I know it the way you know a scar on your own skin. It’s Alina’s. It was hers. The one she had before she died.Only she didn’t text. She barely used it. She’d leave it on the counter and miss twenty calls and say she forgot. But I knew it. I used to call it when I was running late. When I was drunk. When I was pretending I cared enough to keep her on the hook.But she’s dead.And that number should be gone. Out of service. Deactivated. Buried with her.So why the hell is it tied to a contract I signed last week?I scroll back through my messages, checking the calls I made. There’s no record of it