All Chapters of Echelon: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The night pressed on, a blur of champagne toasts, staged laughter, and cameras flashing in quick bursts. The Solaya Gala was a roaring success. Celebrities posed in clusters, politicians raised glasses, and Manila's power brokers drifted through the ballroom as if it were their personal kingdom.Carrie moved through it all with poise, every word measured, every smile exact. She didn't glance toward Andrew, not once. She knew he was somewhere in the room, magnetic as always, pulling people into his orbit. She didn't need to see him to picture it.The actress he had arrived with sat abandoned at their table, scrolling through her phone with a pout. Andrew, of course, was already mingling with senators, CEOs, and heirs. His laugh carried easily across the room, confident and practiced. He belonged to the crowd, feeding off their attention.Carrie refused to care. That was her victory."Ma'am," Sofia murmured beside her, "the charity presentation will begin in twenty minutes. Joan and I c

The doors slid open, spilling her back into the noise of the gala. Music, laughter, the clink of champagne glasses. Normalcy wrapped around her like armor. She straightened her spine, adjusted the line of her gown, and stepped back into the ballroom as if nothing had happened.The sudden brightness forced her eyes to adjust. Crystal chandeliers threw light across every polished surface, turning the ballroom into a city of reflections. People twirled in conversation, dressed in satin and money. Waiters glided through the crowd with trays of champagne that sparkled like liquid gold. To everyone else, this moment was just another glamorous night. To her, it felt like walking back into a battlefield.Damien spotted her instantly. He swooped in like a hawk, drink in hand, his undone tie swinging as he flashed his trademark grin. "Carri-ba! Where did you vanish? Don't tell me you were hiding from billionaires in the bathroom again. I told you, you can't let them win."His voice cut through

"Carrie," Damien said again, his voice serious, his grip tightening on her wrist. "If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll..."The grip was not harsh, but insistent, like he was trying to hold her together by force. The ballroom spun with movement around them. Strings swelled from the orchestra. Laughter rippled through clusters of donors and power brokers. Carrie felt the weight of Damien’s eyes searching her face, trying to read every crack she thought she had sealed."You'll what?" Carrie snapped softly, her tone clipped.She kept her chin lifted, refusing to let anything tremble. Damien looked stunned for a moment. He was used to her icy tone around CEOs and pushy clients, not aimed at him. He blinked and recovered, theatrically clearing his throat."I'll assume you and Lorenzo were doing unspeakable things in that elevator, and my imagination is a Netflix special waiting to happen."He widened his eyes like a cartoon villain, dramatically scandalized. Carrie almost smiled. Alm

By Monday, Carrie buried herself in work, determined to scrub the weekend's conversations and the memory of Andrew's grin from her mind. Meetings stacked one after another, layouts for the next issue of Echelon sprawled across her desk, and Sofia hovering nearby with her ever-present clipboard. Routine. Safe. Familiar.Until the courier arrived."Ma'am," Sofia said, stepping into her office with a basket of white orchids tied with an elegant satin ribbon. Balanced on top was a glossy boutique bag. The kind that whispered expensive. The kind that could only mean trouble.Carrie frowned. "Who's it from?"Sofia checked the card, hesitated, then looked up nervously. "Andrew Lorenzo."The name hit Carrie like a spark to dry wood. Her pulse spiked. Her hands, steady from years of training, trembled as she pulled out the bag. Inside was a sliver of black lace, a see-through bra and matching thong, delicate and daring, the kind no woman bought for herself casually. Her stomach flipped, her ch

Carrie had not planned on sitting down. In fact, when the receptionist first said "Your table is ready," her instinct had been to turn on her heel and walk straight back to the safety of her car. The day had already wrung her dry. Back-to-back meetings, endless edits, Sofia's reminders, Damien's commentary, Joan's deadlines. The last thing she needed was Andrew Lorenzo in a private dining room with a bottle of wine and that smirk.Yet she hesitated.The receptionist hovered anxiously, and Carrie hated making people uncomfortable. Her body ached from twelve hours in heels. And for one fragile moment, the thought of sitting down, even across from him, felt easier than another fight.So she let herself be guided inside.She told herself she would stand at the door, deliver a single sharp line, and leave. She told herself she would not give him the satisfaction.But then she saw him.Andrew was already seated at the head of the table, a glass of wine in hand, jacket draped carelessly acro