The private elevator doors opened directly into the top floor of the Potter Group headquarters.

Angelo stepped out wearing a sharp, dark grey bespoke suit. He walked with a commanding stride, leading Elba, who was dressed in simple jeans and a sweater.

The entire floor of executives and secretaries froze. They stared at Elba in shock, but no one dared to breathe a word of question.

Angelo led her into his massive CEO office. He guided her to the plush leather sofa by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He pressed a button on his desk. "Bring in a tray of pastries. Now."

He walked over and patted Elba's head. "Stay here. Do not move."

Elba picked up a macaron from the tray the secretary rushed in.

Whatever, she thought, chewing slowly. Everywhere is a dead end anyway. Might as well eat good food while waiting for Dax Mencher to come collect our corpses.

Angelo's lips twitched in annoyance at her pessimism. He walked behind his massive mahogany desk and slammed his finger onto the intercom.

"All core executives. Conference room. Three minutes. Initiate protocol alpha," he barked.

Ten minutes later, the glass-walled conference room was suffocatingly tense. The massive screen showed the stock price of a core Potter tech subsidiary plummeting violently.

The Chief Financial Officer wiped sweat from his neck. "Boss, it's Dax Mencher's hedge fund. They leaked fabricated documents claiming our tech division is cooking the books. It's triggering a massive panic sell-off!"

The room erupted into chaos. Executives shouted over each other, begging Angelo to halt trading or inject the company's cash reserves to save the stock.

Out in the office, Elba sat on the sofa playing a game on her phone. She could hear the yelling through the slightly open conference room door.

Idiots, she sneered in her mind. Pumping money into that stock right now is throwing cash into a meat grinder! Dax doesn't give a shit about the tech company. His real target is the Potter Group's overseas rare earth mineral mines! This is just a smokescreen to drain our cash!

Sitting at the head of the conference table, Angelo heard the intelligence loud and clear.

He slammed his hand flat onto the table. The loud crack silenced the room instantly.

His eyes were lethal. "Abandon the tech subsidiary. Let it burn."

The executives gasped. The CFO looked like he was going to have a heart attack. "But sir-"

"Shut up and listen," Angelo commanded. "Transfer all available liquid capital to our offshore accounts. Lock down every single equity trading channel for our rare earth mineral assets. Total freeze."

He turned his piercing gaze to the Head of Acquisitions. "Find the shell company Dax Mencher is using to hide his main capital. Prepare a hostile reverse takeover."

The executives were terrified, but Angelo's absolute authority forced them into motion. Keyboards clattered frantically.

Thirty minutes later, the bloodbath on Wall Street reversed.

Dax Mencher's fund, having drained its resources shorting the tech stock, pivoted to buy the rare earth mineral shares at rock bottom-only to hit a reinforced concrete wall. The channels were locked.

Simultaneously, Potter Group capital slammed into Dax's exposed shell company, gutting it.

The conference room erupted into deafening applause. They had won.

Angelo let out a long breath. He looked through the glass door. Elba was still sitting on the sofa, watching a funny cat video, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just saved a billion-dollar empire.

Angelo walked out of the conference room and approached the sofa. He looked down at her. " Why do you think my trust fund activation is being delayed?"

Elba paused her video, looking up in confusion.

Why else? she thought instantly. Because Dax bribed the lawyer on the trust committee to stall your paperwork! What was his name... Kevin.

Angelo's eyes darkened. The final puzzle piece snapped into place.

He pulled out his phone and texted his legal team: Investigate Kevin on the trust committee. Pull his offshore bank records immediately.

He slipped the phone into his pocket. He looked down at Elba. A rush of intense, overwhelming gratitude hit his chest.

He leaned down, bracing his hands on the back of the sofa. He cupped her face with both hands and pressed a brief, firm kiss to her forehead. "That is the Potter family's gratitude," he stated, pulling back quickly before she could even process the gesture.

Elba's entire body went rigid. Her phone slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet.

Ahhhh! her inner voice shrieked like a siren. The tyrant brother just kissed me?! Did the stress of the corporate war finally break his brain?!

Elba slapped a hand over her forehead, her cheeks burning bright red. "W-what are you doing?" she stammered.

Angelo realized what he had just done. He cleared his throat, straightening his posture, and walked briskly back to his desk to hide his sudden awkwardness. "A reward. For sitting quietly and not interrupting my work."

Elba rolled her eyes behind his back.

Psychopath, she grumbled internally. Slap me in the face one day, give me candy the next.

A sharp knock echoed through the room. Frank Baxter, Angelo's Chief Executive Assistant, walked in carrying a thick stack of folders.

Frank had been with Angelo for five years. He was fiercely loyal, meticulous, and quiet.

He set the folders on the desk. "Boss, the legal documents for the reverse takeover are ready for your signature."

Elba leaned over the back of the sofa, looking at Frank. A wave of deep sadness washed over her.

Frank is such a good guy, she sighed in her mind. It's a tragedy that next month, the CFO-who is secretly working for Georgina-is going to frame him for stealing corporate secrets. Frank is going to jump off the roof of this building.

Angelo had just uncapped his expensive fountain pen. He froze. The gold nib pressed so hard into the paper it tore a jagged gash through the contract.

He slowly raised his head. His eyes locked onto Frank, but his mind was spinning with violent rage. The CFO was Georgina's mole?!

Frank shifted uncomfortably under the intense stare. "Boss? Is there an error in the contract?"

Angelo forced his muscles to relax. He signed his name over the torn paper and handed the folder back. "No error. Frank, effective immediately, sever the CFO's access to the core encrypted database."

Frank blinked in surprise, but his training kicked in. "Understood. I'll handle it right now."

As Frank turned to leave, Angelo spoke again, his voice dangerously low. "And Frank... put a shadow team on the CFO. Track every cent moving through his personal accounts. Absolute secrecy."

Frank's posture stiffened. He realized there was a traitor. He nodded sharply and left the room.

Elba sat back on the sofa, scratching her head.

Did he take crazy pills today? she wondered. Why is he suddenly investigating the CFO? Did Frank secretly report something to him earlier? Or... does he have an even more terrifying intelligence network than I thought?

Angelo's heart skipped a beat. He quickly picked up his coffee mug, taking a sip to hide his face. He could never let her figure out he was reading her mind.

Suddenly, the private landline on his desk rang loudly.

Angelo looked at the caller ID. His jaw clenched. It was the Long Island estate.

He pressed the speaker button.

His mother's voice, Carla Potter, filled the room. It was shrill and vibrating with fury.

"Angelo! Bring Elba back to the estate this instant!" Carla screamed through the speaker. "Georgina was humiliated at the banquet today! You both owe her an apology, and Elba needs to be disciplined!"

The air in the office turned to ice.

Elba heard her mother's voice. Her body violently flinched. The visceral terror of her past life-being screamed at, dragged out of the house, abandoned to die-crashed over her.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, pulling herself into a tiny ball, shaking uncontrollably.

The Last Supper is here, her mind wept in absolute despair. If we go back to the estate, Georgina will find a way to kill me. The countdown to the Potter family's destruction starts tonight.

Angelo heard the raw, agonizing fear in her mind. His blood ran cold, then boiled with a protective rage so fierce it physically hurt his chest.

He leaned over the desk. His voice was terrifyingly calm, devoid of any filial respect. "Mother. We will come back tonight. But we are not coming to apologize. We are coming to settle the score."

Carla gasped on the other end, but before she could scream again, Angelo slammed his finger down, cutting the line.

He walked around the desk. He approached the sofa and slowly dropped to one knee, lowering his physical height until he was looking up into Elba's terrified eyes.

He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hands over her freezing, trembling fingers.

He stared directly into her soul, his voice a vow of absolute certainty. "Do not be afraid. I am here. No one is going to touch a single hair on your head. Not Georgina. And not our parents."

Elba looked at his fierce, unyielding eyes. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. The storm was coming, but for the first time in two lifetimes, she wasn't facing it alone.

Angelo wiped the single hot tear from Elba's cheek with his thumb. He stood up, his tall frame casting a long, protective shadow over her. He didn't say another word. He simply laced his thick fingers through her freezing ones and pulled her up from the leather sofa.

His grip was absolute. He led her out of the office and straight into the private elevator.

The metal doors slid shut, cutting off the view of the corporate floor. Elba stared at the digital numbers ticking down. Her chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks. The air in the small space felt too thin.

Angelo felt the violent tremors traveling up her arm. He stepped closer, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders, and pulled her flush against his chest.

He pressed her ear against his sternum. The steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat vibrated through his expensive suit jacket and into her skin, forcing her erratic breathing to sync with his calm rhythm.

They walked out into the underground garage and slid into the waiting Maybach. The heavy doors sealed them in the dark cabin. The car sped out of Manhattan, the city lights blurring into long streaks as they headed toward the Long Island estate.

Elba stared out the tinted window. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots.

Go ahead, drive faster, she thought, her internal voice dripping with absolute despair. Tonight is my execution anyway. That poisoned glass of red wine is definitely already poured and waiting on the dining table.

Angelo sat rigidly beside her. He heard the words echo in his skull. His jaw clamped shut. His fingers curled around the leather armrest, squeezing so hard his knuckles turned stark white. A flash of pure, unfiltered killing intent darkened his eyes.

The Maybach rolled to a smooth stop in front of the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate. The front doors of the mansion were wide open. The butler stood on the stone steps, his face a blank mask.

Angelo stepped out first. He turned, reaching his hand into the dark cabin. He grabbed Elba's wrist and pulled her out with a force that left no room for hesitation or retreat.

They walked side-by-side into the brightly lit foyer. The air inside the house was thick, suffocating, and heavy with unspoken accusations.

They stepped into the grand dining room.

At the head of the long mahogany table sat Douglas Potter, his face dark and unreadable. To his right sat Carla, her chest heaving with barely contained fury.

Georgina sat right next to Carla. She wore a plain, unadorned beige dress. Her eyes were swollen and red, the perfect picture of a traumatized victim.

Across from them sat Errol Foster, Elba's cousin, and his fiancée, Lacey Vane. Errol and Lacey had stopped by the estate earlier that evening to discuss their upcoming engagement party guest list with Carla, only to find themselves awkwardly trapped in the middle of this sudden, vicious family storm. Lacey wore a flashy sequined top, her lips curled into a subtle smirk.

The moment Elba stepped through the archway, Carla picked up her heavy silver salad fork and slammed it down flat against the polished wood table.

The sharp, metallic crack echoed off the high ceiling.

Elba's shoulders jerked up to her ears. Her breath hitched in her throat. She instinctively took a step back, trying to hide behind Angelo's broad back.

Angelo's large hand remained firmly, yet gently, on the small of her back. He guided her forward with an undeniable but fiercely protective stance, leading her to the empty chair across from Georgina. He pulled the chair out, ensuring she was safely seated, and immediately took the seat directly beside her, acting as an impenetrable wall between her and the rest of the room.

"Do you have any idea what you did?" Carla's voice was a harsh, vibrating whip. "You pushed your sister at the most important charity gala of the year! You made the Potter family a laughingstock in front of all of New York!"

Georgina sniffled loudly. She reached out, her pale fingers gripping Carla's silk sleeve.

"Mom, please don't be mad at Elba," Georgina choked out, forcing a fresh tear to spill over her lashes. "It was an accident. I just lost my balance. I don't blame my sister."

Lacey leaned forward, swirling her wine glass. "You are too kind, Georgina. Some people just lack basic breeding. It's obvious who the real blood of this family is, and who is just a charity case."

Elba sat frozen. She kept her head down, staring at her lap. Her hands gripped the fabric of her jeans, twisting the denim until her fingers ached.

Her stomach churned with a toxic mix of fear and rage. The fear vanished, swallowed whole by an explosive, reckless fury.

These absolute idiots! Elba's inner voice screamed, the sound vibrating with raw, unhinged anger. You are all being played by a plastic surgery monster! That paternity test in her designer bag is a complete fake! She isn't your daughter!

Carla's mouth was open, ready to deliver another scolding. The words died in her throat.

She snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes darted wildly around the dining room. She looked at the ceiling, then at the walls, her chest freezing mid-breath.

At the head of the table, Douglas's spine snapped straight. The crystal wine glass in his hand jerked violently. Dark red wine sloshed over the rim, bleeding into the pristine white tablecloth like a fresh wound.

Elba didn't notice. She didn't look up. Her eyes shifted slightly toward Lacey's sequined top.

Angelo felt the violent spike in Elba's heart rate beside him. He remained perfectly still, a silent observer. He had no idea how this strange ability of hers worked, only that it seemed to manifest when she was under extreme duress. He watched his parents' faces, calculating his next move.

And you, you cheap gold digger! Elba's mind continued to roar. You're sleeping with three different sugar babies behind Errol's back! Even the bastard in your stomach belongs to your personal trainer! Stop acting like you're high-class!

This time, the voice was unmistakable. It rang crystal clear, carrying Elba's distinct, crisp tone, directly inside Douglas and Carla's brains.

Carla's pupils dilated to the size of coins. She stared dead at Elba. Elba's head was still bowed. Her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin, pale line. She wasn't speaking.

Douglas slowly turned his head. He locked eyes with his wife. He saw the sheer, unadulterated terror in Carla's expression. The silent confirmation passed between them-they were both hearing the exact same impossible thing.

Angelo sat perfectly still. He caught the microscopic tremors in his parents' hands. He saw the spilled wine. He knew exactly what was happening. He calmly reached forward, picked up his water glass, and took a slow sip to hide the sharp curve of his lips.

Georgina noticed Carla's sudden, bizarre silence. She frowned. She shook Carla's arm gently.

"Mom? Are you okay?" Georgina asked, her voice dripping with fake concern.

Carla flinched at the touch. She slowly turned her head to look at Georgina. She stared at the face that looked so remarkably like her own youth.

Plastic surgery monster. Fake paternity test.

The words echoed in Carla's skull, bouncing off the inside of her head like a physical bell. A wave of intense, physical revulsion hit the back of her throat.

Carla violently yanked her arm back.

The movement was so sudden and forceful that Georgina lost her balance in the chair. She gasped, her hands flailing as she barely caught the edge of the table to stop herself from falling to the floor.

The entire dining room plunged into a suffocating, dead silence.