An hour had passed. In the cold silence of the marble bathroom, Blair had methodically repaired her composure. The silver gown lay discarded on the floor like a shed skin. She had slipped into a simple black silk dress from her travel wardrobe, reapplied her lipstick with a steady hand, and stared at her reflection until the woman looking back was no one but the unshakable CEO. The diamond necklace Butler had clasped around her neck remained, its cold weight a constant, brutal reminder. It caught the light with every step she took, drawing the eye, effectively distracting from any marks that might have been left on her skin. She wore her armor well.

Blair stepped back into the bustling ballroom of the Four Seasons. The noise of the Oscar after-party hit her like a physical wave-clinking glasses, booming laughter, the constant flash of paparazzi cameras in the distance.

She plucked a champagne flute from a passing waiter and glided through the crowd. A famous director stopped her, praising her business acumen. She smiled, a perfect, practiced stretch of her lips, and exchanged pleasantries. She looked like a queen holding court.

"Blair!"

Paige's voice cut through the music. Blair turned to see her assistant pushing through a cluster of agents, her face flushed with panic. Paige grabbed Blair's arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and pulled her toward a quiet service corridor away from the main floor.

"Blair, we have a problem," Paige panted, pulling out her phone. "It happened in the last thirty minutes."

She shoved the screen in Blair's face. It was the TMZ homepage. The headline blared in bold, red letters: Oscar Winner's New Romance? Alexis Ashley & Kiana Guzman Caught Kissing Backstage!

Blair took the phone. The photo was crystal clear, clearly taken by a hidden camera. In a dimly lit corner backstage, Alexis had his hands framing Kiana's face. Their lips were locked. Kiana's eyes were closed, a look of pure, theatrical ecstasy on her face.

"It's been five minutes," Paige said, her voice tight. "The servers are crashing. It's everywhere."

Blair used her thumb to zoom in on the image. She didn't look at Alexis. She looked at Kiana. She looked at the curve of her sister's smile, the deliberate tilt of her head toward the camera. The coldness in Blair's eyes deepened.

"The breakup statement from six months ago is trending again," Paige said, her voice trembling. "Everyone is saying Alexis left you for her. You're the punchline of the whole country right now."

Blair felt nothing. No sting of betrayal. No flush of embarrassment. Her focus narrowed on one single point: Kiana Guzman.

Kiana Guzman. The other daughter of the Guzman family. Her sister. Her rival.

This wasn't just an actor acting out. This was a declaration of war from inside her own house. Alexis hadn't just jumped ship; he had swum straight into the enemy's harbor.

"Where is he?" Blair asked, handing the phone back to Paige.

"He's still in the main hall with Kiana," Paige replied, glancing over her shoulder. "They're surrounded by reporters. He's eating it up."

Blair smoothed the fabric of her dress. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. Instead, a slow, chilling smile spread across her face. It was a smile that made Paige take a step back.

"Good," Blair said softly, her voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "I was just looking for an excuse to clean house."

Paige stared at her, stunned. "Clean house? What do you mean?"

"Let him enjoy his last moment in the sun," Blair said, her tone dropping to a freezing pitch. "When the party is over, bring him to me."

She turned on her heel and walked back toward the ballroom. Her posture was immaculate, her stride confident. She looked like a woman who owned the world, not one who had just been publicly humiliated.

A prominent producer intercepted her, raising his glass. "To your success tonight, Blair. You've done it again."

Blair clinked her glass against his, the crystal ringing clear. "Success always comes with a price, doesn't it?"

The producer laughed, missing the dark undertone completely, and moved on.

Blair's eyes scanned the room. Over the sea of heads, she found them. Alexis and Kiana were holding court near the bar, flashes going off in their faces. Kiana was laughing, playing the part of the blushing new muse perfectly.

As if sensing the weight of the stare, Kiana looked up. Her eyes met Blair's across the crowded room. A slow, taunting smile spread across Kiana's face. It was the smile of a victor rubbing salt in the wound.

Blair didn't flinch. She held her sister's gaze, her own expression calm, pitying, and utterly cold.

She pulled her phone from her clutch and typed a quick message to the head of security: Ensure Mr. Ashley is escorted to the private lounge after the event. Make it 'smooth.'

She added quotation marks around the word smooth. She hit send, slipped the phone away, and took a sip of her champagne. She turned and walked toward the opposite end of the ballroom, leaving Kiana's victory to rot in the flash of the cameras.

The private lounge was starkly bright compared to the ballroom. It was a space meant for quiet conversations and quick breaks, but right now, it felt like a holding cell.

Blair sat on the edge of a leather sofa, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. On the glass coffee table in front of her sat two glasses of water. No alcohol. This wasn't a celebration.

She had sent Paige away. This was going to be a private conversation.

The heavy door clicked open. Alexis Ashley stumbled in, still riding the high of the flashbulbs and the champagne. His expensive tuxedo was slightly disheveled; his bow tie hung loose around his neck. The faint, cloying scent of Kiana's perfume clung to his collar, right next to a smudge of crimson lipstick.

Blair's eyes locked onto the lipstick stain for half a second. Her nose wrinkled slightly, as if she had just smelled rotting garbage, before her face reset to neutral.

"Blair?" Alexis flashed his million-dollar smile, the one that made teenage girls scream. "You wanted to see me?"

Blair didn't speak. She simply lifted her chin, a micro-movement, gesturing toward the armchair opposite her.

Alexis's smile faltered slightly under the silence. He sat down, crossing his legs, trying to project confidence that was rapidly evaporating. "Look, about those photos... I'm sorry. I didn't think we'd get caught."

Blair finally spoke, her voice smooth and completely devoid of emotion. "Are you sorry you got caught, or are you sorry I found out?"

Alexis's mouth snapped shut. He shifted in his seat. "Blair, come on. Let me explain. Kiana and I... it's about business."

"Business?" Blair repeated the word, letting it hang in the air like a bad joke.

"Yeah," Alexis said, leaning forward, trying to sell the lie. "Kiana's family connections-she can get me top-tier fashion campaigns, luxury endorsements. Being linked with her maximizes my commercial value. It's good for the company in the long run!"

He was wrapping his own greed in a corporate bow. It was a trick she had taught him, but he was using it against her.

Blair looked at him. She didn't see a movie star. She saw a bad actor delivering a terrible performance.

"So," Blair said slowly, "you're telling me I should thank you?"

Alexis missed the sarcasm entirely. He thought the door was open. "No, no, of course not. I just want you to understand. I still care about you, Blair."

The words hit the air and instantly curdled. Blair felt a sudden, violent churning in her stomach. It was a visceral, physical disgust. She stood up, the movement sharp and sudden.

She walked over until she was standing directly over him, forcing him to look up at her.

"Alexis, do you think I spent three years building you into an Oscar winner so you could go suck up to another woman and tell me it's good for the company?"

Her voice was quiet, but each word was razor-sharp, slicing through his bravado.

Alexis flinched, his mouth opening and closing. He looked away, his eyes darting to the floor. "Kiana is a good person," he mumbled defensively. "She's innocent in all this. I just... I hope you won't make things hard for her."

Blair let out a laugh. It was a harsh, grating sound, completely devoid of humor.

"Make things hard for her?" She bent down, bringing her face inches from his. The smell of Kiana's perfume made her stomach turn again. "You use the fame I gave you to be her stepping stone, and now you're begging me to spare her feelings?"

She paused, letting the silence stretch. "Do you even know who she is?"

Alexis blinked, confused. "A Glover. A socialite."

"She is my sister," Blair said, enunciating each syllable with brutal clarity.

Alexis froze. The color drained from his face. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out. She had always kept her connection to the main Glover family a closely guarded secret, a toxic asset she never claimed. Kiana, in her social circles, often went by her mother's maiden name, 'Vance', to appear more exotic. It was a perfect, mutually beneficial separation.

He was utterly blindsided. Kiana had never mentioned being related to Blair. Not once.

Blair straightened up, looking down at him with absolute contempt. The power dynamic in the room had shifted permanently. She was the judge; he was the convicted.

"So, Alexis," she said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "do you still think she's innocent? Do you still think you're doing this for the company?"

Alexis looked like he was going to be sick. He slumped back in the armchair, his face ashen, his hands trembling slightly in his lap. The revelation had short-circuited his brain.

"She never said..." he muttered, staring blankly at the floor. "She never told me..."

Blair stood over him, her expression carved from ice. Watching him crumble, she didn't see the star he had become; she only saw the raw, desperate boy she’d rescued from that Brooklyn club three years ago. She had spent three years turning that gutter-born ambition into gold, only for the gold to try and melt the hands that shaped it.

The coldness in Blair's chest hardened into something impenetrable.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the silence. Before Blair could respond, the door swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode in. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit, his dark hair swept back, his features aristocratic and refined.

It was Tristan Cromwell. Her cousin.

Tristan was carrying her black cashmere coat over his arm—he must have intercepted her assistant on the way in. He walked straight past Alexis as if he were a piece of furniture. He reached Blair and draped the coat over her shoulders, his movements natural and protective.

"Blair," he said, his voice a low, gentle rumble. "Why are you hiding in here? The lobby is crawling with reporters." He reached up and ruffled her hair, a familiar, brotherly gesture that instantly softened the sharp lines of her face.

Blair felt the knot in her shoulders loosen just a fraction. "Tristan," she said, looking up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Butler is already back at the presidential suite, and he’s in a foul mood," Tristan said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "He sent me to fetch you before you did something the McIntyre family would have to pay to bury. Aunt Joella is on the other line with him now."

Alexis, still slumped in the chair, watched this interaction with wide eyes. A sharp, bitter spike of jealousy pierced through his shock. Who the hell was this guy? The way he touched her—it wasn't professional.

Tristan finally turned his head, acknowledging Alexis for the first time. His eyes were polite, but the look was utterly dismissive.

"Mr. Ashley," Tristan said with a curt nod. "Congratulations on your award. Enjoy it—it might be your last."

Alexis scrambled to his feet, his face flushing. Tristan turned back to Blair, his expression softening. "Let's go. The car is waiting at the private entrance. Don't waste another second on things that don't matter."

Blair nodded. She adjusted her coat, preparing to leave without a backward glance.

"Wait!" Alexis blurted out. "Who are you?"

Blair stopped. She turned her head slowly, looking at Alexis over her shoulder. Her eyes were empty, the gaze of a Glover looking at a spent resource.

Tristan smiled. It was a confident, predatory smile. He stepped closer to Blair, placing one arm securely around her shoulders.

"I'm her family," Tristan said, his voice dropping low and sharp. "And you're done wasting her time."