Chapter 3 - THE QUEEN'S INVITATIONWhile Ethan panicked in his glass tower, Amelia sat on the veranda of her Blue Ridge estate, sipping chamomile tea while watching the sun dip below the rolling green hills. The crisp evening air carried the scent of wet pine and blooming jasmine—a stark contrast to the sterile, artificial scent of ozone and luxury leather that suffocated Willow Creek.
Victor Sterling sat across from her, closing a sleek leather briefcase. His tailored charcoal suit looked entirely out of place against the rustic wooden table, yet he looked as comfortable here as he did in a federal courtroom.
"The trap is set, Mrs. Cole," Victor said, a thin, knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ethan’s legal team reached out three times in the last two hours. They are desperate to negotiate before the public gets wind of the Class-A preferred stock leverage. If we drop the bomb tomorrow morning, his stock valuation will plummet by at least thirty percent before the IPO even hits the floor."
Amelia set her teacup down with a soft clink. "Let him sweat for a few more days, Victor. A panicked animal makes the biggest mistakes. But... I do want to send him a little reminder. Just to let him know I’m watching."
"What do you have in mind?"
"An invitation," Amelia replied, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Tell him that if he wants to discuss the terms of the settlement, he is welcome to come to Blue Ridge this coming Saturday. But tell him to bring his new guest. I’d love to host them for dinner."
Victor raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "You want to invite the mistress to your old home while you hold his corporate throat in your hand? That’s wonderfully cruel, Amelia. I love it."
"It’s not cruelty, Victor," Amelia murmured, standing up and looking out over her garden. "It’s closure."
Meanwhile, back at Willow Creek, the atmosphere was far from victorious.
Chloe was lounging by the indoor pool, wearing one of Amelia’s most expensive silk robes, scrolling through her phone. She looked up as Ethan stormed into the mansion, slamming the front door so hard the crystal chandelier in the foyer shook.
"Ethan? Babe, what's wrong?" Chloe asked, pouting as she strutted over to him. "You look awful. Did something happen at the office?"
Ethan glared at her, his chest heaving. For the first time since he met her at the diner, he didn't see a breath of fresh air or a symbol of his new freedom. He saw a distraction—an expensive, reckless distraction that had blinded him while his entire life was being dismantled.
"Pack a bag," Ethan snapped, walking past her toward the stairs.
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Chloe blinked in shock, her voice rising in panic. "What? Pack a bag? Why? Where are we going?"
"We’re going to Blue Ridge this weekend," Ethan said coldly, not turning back. "And you are going to behave yourself, or I swear to God, you’ll be back serving coffee at the dockside diner by Monday morning."
