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The torrential downpour in Bel Air did nothing to cool the fire burning in Camila’s veins as she drove toward St. Jude Memorial Hospital. Behind her, the shattered lock of the grand estate’s double doors swung uselessly in the wind. Behind her, too, was the terrified face of Edwin Vance—a man who had spent five years treating her like dirt, completely unaware that he was living on borrowed time and borrowed money. / Chapter 5 / 8

Chapter 5 - The Dark Secret of Bel AirAs Edwin was escorted out of the building by corporate security, his mind spun into madness. Stripped of his executive power, barred from his home, and facing total financial ruin, he dragged himself back to Beverly’s apartment—only to find federal marshals placing foreclosure notices on the door.

"They took everything, Edwin!" Beverly wailed, pulling her hair out in hysterics. "The luxury cars! The jewelry! The bank accounts! Even our winter house in Aspen!"

"Shut up!" Edwin roared, slamming his fist against the wall. "She thinks she won! She thinks she can just erase me!"

Annika was crying in the corner. "Edwin, what are we going to do? The police said if we don't return the stolen jewelry by tomorrow, they’re issuing arrest warrants!"

A dark, sinister look crossed Edwin's face. "Camila wants to play dirty? Fine. She forgot one thing. She forgot what really happened five years ago."

Edwin pulled out an old, encrypted USB drive from a hidden compartment in his wallet.

Five years ago, before Camila married Edwin, her father’s company suffered a mysterious industrial accident that resulted in a massive settlement. Edwin had discovered a secret back then: a piece of corporate liability evidence that could potentially tarnish George Stanford's legendary reputation if leaked to the media.

Edwin had kept it as his ultimate leverage—his insurance policy.

"If I'm going down, I'm taking her father's legacy down with me," Edwin snarled. "I'll broadcast George Stanford's dark past to the entire world. Let's see how much her pride is worth when her beloved father’s name is dragged through the dirt!"

He picked up his phone and called a high-profile scandal journalist.

"I have exclusive corporate corruption files on George Stanford," Edwin fed into the phone, his voice dripping with venom. "I want a front-page exposé tomorrow morning. I want his reputation destroyed."

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

"Meet me at the waterfront pier at midnight," the journalist replied. "Bring the drive."

Edwin grinned wickedly. He believed he had finally found Camila's weakness. Her devotion to her deceased father was absolute. He would force her to return his wealth, drop the charges, and reinstate his title in exchange for his silence.

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