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."

The hum of the private jet's engines filled the cabin. They were thirty thousand feet in the air, leaving the glittering chaos of Los Angeles—and the "Blair Guzman" alias she’d used to hide her identity there—far behind.

Blair leaned back in the cream leather seat, her eyes closed. The makeup was wiped off, the diamond necklace was gone, and the sheer exhaustion of the night was etched into the hollows of her cheeks.

Tristan sat across from her. He reached into the galley and poured a glass of warm water, not champagne. He placed it on the small table beside her hand.

"Stop pushing yourself," he said quietly. "I know you didn't sleep at all last night."

Blair opened her eyes. The hazel irises were dull, guarded. She picked up the water, her fingers wrapping around the warmth. "Just had some loose ends to tie up."

Tristan sighed, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Is it about Alexis Ashley, or is it about Butler McIntyre?"

At the mention of the second name, Blair's fingers tightened around the glass. The knuckles turned white for a fraction of a second before she forced them to relax. "Both."

Tristan watched her, a deep frown pulling at his brow. "Blair, you don't have to live like this. You don't have to carry everything alone."

She turned her head, looking out the small oval window at the endless black sky and the clouds below. "It's the choice I made."

A heavy silence fell between them. Tristan rubbed his jaw, the stubble rasping under his palm. "I just can't believe them," he said, his voice laced with years of frustration. "After everything... after dumping you on my mother's doorstep because some crackpot psychic said you were 'cursed.' And now they want to drag you back for a family dinner? The hypocrisy is staggering."

Blair let out a soft, hollow laugh. "A trap?"

"More or less," Tristan said, his eyes dark. "Hughie and Georgiana are back. They've been talking to Aunt Joella. The main item on the agenda is your marriage."

The words landed without surprise. Blair had been raised by Joella, Tristan's mother and her aunt, learning to view the world through a lens of profit and loss. Her biological parents, Hughie and Georgiana, had showered their other daughter, Kiana, with love, while treating Blair like a leper they were forced to acknowledge on holidays. Love was a liability. Family was a balance sheet. And she was their most valuable, untapped asset.

"You knew?" Tristan asked, searching her face.

"Glover Group needs a European conglomerate alliance to expand," Blair said, her voice monotone, like she was reading a financial report. "I'm the most valuable asset they have to trade. It's simple math."

Tristan looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looked utterly defeated.

"Do you really plan to just accept whatever they decide?" Tristan asked, his voice tight.

Blair placed her glass down on the table with a soft click. "Do I have a choice?"

She didn't voice the thought that echoed in her mind: They want to trade me, but they don't know I've already sold myself to a much more dangerous master.

She had kept the secret of her marriage to Butler locked away, even from Tristan.

The plane banked, beginning its descent. Through the window, the dark outline of the Long Island coastline appeared, dotted with the lights of sprawling estates.

Tristan reached across the aisle and covered her hand with his. His palm was warm and solid. "Whatever happens, I'm on your side."

A flicker of warmth touched Blair's chest, but it was quickly smothered by the freezing reality of her life. "Thank you, Tristan," she whispered.

She looked out the window as the Glover family estate came into view. Her eyes hardened into chips of green ice. The war was just beginning.