It started with a photo.
Slipped under the door in a plain black envelope. No name. No return address. Just a single image.
Arielle stared at it in silence.
It was her.
Before.
Before the betrayal. Before the fall. Before she died and rebuilt herself from glass and fury.
The photo showed her standing outside a hospital, weak and pale, holding a letter—that letter. The one that shattered everything.
Written on the back in sharp red ink:
"How much of your past will he love when he learns it all?"
Her fingers clenched.
Lucien was in the shower, unaware.
She tucked the photo into her robe and walked to the fireplace, her heart thunderous. Not from fear—but fury.
Who sent it?
Who was watching?
Who was foolish enough to threaten her now?
The paper burned easily. But the question didn't.
---
The Next Day – Charity Gala
The ballroom shimmered with fake smiles and forced apologies. Camille was back—red dress, red nails, red eyes.
She was slipping, losing grip. But still trying to pretend.
Arielle arrived alone this time, in a silver gown that draped like moonlight. She didn't need Lucien tonight.
She was the weapon.
As she walked past the crowd, whispers grew.
"Did you hear? She's blackmailing the Monroe family—"
"She ruined Camille—"
"I heard Lucien's obsessed with her—"
Arielle didn't blink. She made her way to the stage, where Camille was giving a shaky speech about "charity and second chances."
Pathetic.
Camille spotted her in the crowd—and lost her mind.
Mid-sentence, she stepped down from the stage, heels clicking hard. Her face twisted. Her voice broke.
"You think you've won?" she hissed.
Arielle tilted her head. "I'm not done playing yet."
Camille slapped her.
Right across the face.
Gasps exploded. Phones came out. Cameras flashed.
But Arielle didn't flinch. Didn't step back.
She slowly turned her head back, face unreadable.
And smiled.
"You missed harder than your father did the day he left your mother," she said softly, voice like silk dipped in venom.
Camille turned pale.
Security moved, but before they could get close—Lucien appeared.
He shoved past the crowd and reached Arielle's side in seconds, his body between her and Camille like a wall of fury.
His voice was ice.
"Touch her again," he growled, "and I'll bury your entire bloodline."
"Lucien—" Camille tried, but he didn't even look at her.
His hand gripped Arielle's waist.
"You okay?" he asked, voice quieter now.
"I've had worse," she whispered.
"Not anymore."
And then—
Right there in front of flashing cameras, gasping elites, and Camille's broken face—
Lucien kissed her.
Fierce. Possessive. Not soft. Not gentle. It was a claim.
His lips crushed hers like fire meeting frost. Her fingers clutched his shirt. For a moment, she forgot every enemy, every camera, every dark secret.
It was just him.
And her.
And everything unsaid between them.
When he pulled away, her breath was gone.
So was her armor.
---
Later That Night – Penthouse
Arielle sat in silence, fingers touching her lips.
Lucien stood across the room, watching.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
"I was tired of waiting," he said. "Tired of pretending."
"I'm not the kind of woman you fall for."
"I didn't fall." He walked closer. "I crashed."
Her heart stuttered.
She opened her mouth—to argue, maybe to lie—but her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A voice like acid hissed through the speaker:
"You think Camille was the final boss? You've made new enemies, Arielle. You just don't know it yet."
The line went dead.
---
The Next Morning – Monroe Mansion
Her father opened the door with shaking hands.
He looked older. Weaker. Less like the man who once shouted at her for "disgracing the family."
Now? He was desperate.
"Arielle, I—please—Camille's arrest warrant is real. The company is under fire. I need your help. You're the only one left."
She sipped the coffee his maid gave her. Slowly. Calmly.
Then she stood.
Walked to him.
And whispered—
"Get on your knees."
His eyes widened. "W-What?"
"You want my help?" she said coldly. "Kneel. Beg. Let the cameras see. Let the world see the man who once threw me away crawl for me now."
His pride cracked.
But she didn't flinch.
"Down," she repeated.
He knelt.
The sound of the click from her assistant's hidden camera was soft.
But the message?
Loud.