Gemma didn’t knock. She shoved the heavy oak door open with both hands.

Keyshawn Vargas sat behind his massive desk, a phone pressed to his ear. His head snapped up, face creasing into a scowl. He clamped a palm over the mouthpiece and shot her a look that screamed get the hell out.

Gemma stepped inside. She pushed the door shut and twisted the brass lock until it clicked.

She walked straight to the wall and ripped the telephone cord clean out of the socket.

The line went dead.

Keyshawn slammed both hands on the desk and exploded to his feet, his face flooding a violent, purplish red. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Gemma pulled out the leather guest chair, sat down, and crossed her legs. “Shut up if you don’t want the stock to crater at the opening bell.”

Keyshawn froze. The authority rolling off his daughter hit him like a physical blow. He blinked, scrambling to drag his arrogance back into place. “Stop this nonsense right now and get downstairs. You are embarrassing this family.”

Gemma picked up the heavy steel cigar cutter resting on the edge of his desk. She flipped it open and closed. The blades snapped with a clean, metallic bite.

“I can walk out the front door right now and cancel the merger.” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

Keyshawn’s jaw tightened. “If you run, the cash flow for Vargas Holdings dries up by tomorrow afternoon. You’ll ruin us.”

A dry, humorless laugh scraped out of Gemma’s throat. “So you admit you’re selling me to cover your own failures.”

“It is for the future of the family trust!” Keyshawn jabbed a thick finger at her.

“You mean the trust that’s currently hiding three hundred and forty-two million in toxic offshore debt?”

Keyshawn’s pupils blew wide. The blood drained from his face so fast his lips turned gray. “Who told you that?” His voice dropped to a panicked whisper.

Gemma slammed the cigar cutter point-down into the mahogany desk. The blade bit deep, splintering the expensive wood.

“I want the trust terms amended. I want ten percent of the voting shares transferred to my name. Now.”

Keyshawn barked a desperate laugh. “You can’t even read a balance sheet, you stupid girl.”

Gemma pulled her phone from her clutch. She tapped the screen twice.

A voice filled the quiet study—Keyshawn’s voice, slurring, calling the Hubbard family a pack of uncultured thugs he was going to bleed dry.

Keyshawn lunged across the desk, hands clawing for the device.

Gemma leaned back effortlessly, letting him snatch nothing but air.

“I have this set on a five-minute delay.” Her thumb hovered over the screen. “Sign the shares over, or this goes to the Wall Street Journal.”

Keyshawn shook with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at her. “You ungrateful bitch. You are no daughter of mine.”

A sharp, phantom pain pierced Gemma’s chest. The hidden truth of her real bloodline pulsed like an old wound. She crushed it down instantly.

She pulled a printed document from her clutch and slid it across the desk. She placed his favorite fountain pen right next to it.

The intercom on the wall buzzed. The MC’s voice filtered through, politely requesting the bride make her way to the stairs.

The ticking clock hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Keyshawn stared at the paper. He knew what Brion Hubbard would do to him if that recording leaked.

He snatched the pen, uncapped it with his teeth, and spit the cap onto the floor. He pressed the nib against the paper and signed his name with enough force to tear through the top sheet.

Gemma picked up the document. She checked the inked signature, confirmed the transfer, and canceled the email timer.

A genuine, predatory smile touched her lips.

She stood and smoothed the front of her silk dress.

“A pleasure doing business with you.”

She turned her back and walked toward the locked door.

Gemma pulled the door open and stepped out of the study.

Katelyn was pacing the carpeted hallway, chewing her lower lip raw.

She rushed forward the second she saw Gemma. “Did he yell at you? Are you okay?” Her eyes crawled over Gemma’s face, hunting for tears.

Gemma casually tapped the tablet in her hand. “I just got ten percent of the family trust.”

The mask of concern on Katelyn’s face cracked clean open. The muscles around her mouth twitched violently.

“How… how could you possibly get trust shares?” Katelyn’s voice pitched up, sharp and entirely out of bounds for a mere friend.

Gemma looked down at her, eyes flat and cold. “Since when is my family’s money any of your concern?”

Katelyn’s breath hitched. She dropped her gaze instantly, biting her lip harder, forcing a look of wounded innocence.

Gemma didn’t wait for an apology. She walked past her, heading straight for the powder room at the end of the hall.

Katelyn waited until the footsteps faded. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms until the skin nearly split.

She darted into a small utility closet across the hall and pulled the door shut.

She dug into the lining of her purse and yanked out a cheap, prepaid burner phone. Her fingers shook as she dialed.

“Mom.” Katelyn’s voice was a strangled hiss the second it connected. “She didn’t run. She just took ten percent of the company.”

Miles away, Donia Bruce sat up so fast she knocked a bottle of essential oil off her massage table. Glass shattered against the tile.

“Calm down.” Donia’s voice was tight as a wire. “It’s a fluke. She’s an idiot.”

“She looked at me like she wanted to kill me!” Katelyn’s chest heaved. “She’s not acting like herself.”

“Then we move to Plan B.” Donia’s voice went ice-cold. “Ruin her tonight. Make sure the Hubbard boy sees it.”

“How?”

“Use the artist. Tell her he’s going to kill himself. Get her down to the side entrance where the paparazzi are grouped.”

A dark, venomous light sparked in Katelyn’s eyes. “I will. She’s going to lose everything.”

Katelyn ended the call. She took a deep breath, staring at her warped reflection in the metal surface of a mop bucket. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a soft, supportive smile.

She pushed the closet door open and stepped out.

Gemma was walking back down the hall, adjusting the heavy diamond necklace.

Katelyn hurried over and gently linked her arm through Gemma’s.

Every muscle in Gemma’s body screamed to snap the girl’s neck. She forced herself still. She noticed the fine sheen of sweat on the bridge of Katelyn’s nose, the too-bright glint in her eyes.

“Gemma.” Katelyn’s voice trembled perfectly. “Jair is freezing out there. He’s waiting in the rain just to see you one last time.”

Gemma kept her face blank. She hadn’t gone far. She’d leaned against the wall just a few feet away and caught the muffled vibrations through the door—the suppressed, frantic pitch of Katelyn’s voice. “Plan B.” “The Hubbard boy.”

She stopped walking. She let her shoulders slump slightly, manufactured a look of deep, painful conflict.

Katelyn saw the hesitation and pounced. She shoved her own phone into Gemma’s hands. “Look. He sent a suicide note. He’s going to end it if you don’t come.”

Gemma stared at the screen. The pathetic, manipulative texts made her stomach churn.

“What do I do?” Gemma made her voice small and fragile.

Katelyn’s eyes gleamed with suppressed triumph. She pointed toward the grand staircase. “Go to the side door by the media pit. He’s hiding behind the hedges there.”

Gemma gave a slow, hesitant nod.

She lowered her lashes, hiding the absolute bloodlust burning in her pupils. The trap was set.

Gemma grabbed Katelyn’s wrist and pulled her into a small, empty lounge room just off the hallway.

Katelyn followed eagerly, assuming Gemma wanted to finalize the escape route away from the security cameras. She quickly locked the door behind them.

Gemma collapsed onto the velvet sofa. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as if she were sobbing.

Katelyn poured a glass of warm water from the side table and pressed it into Gemma’s hands. “You have to be brave, Gemma. Go to him.”

Gemma peeked through the gaps in her fingers. She saw the raw contempt pulling at the corners of Katelyn’s mouth.

Gemma reached for the glass. She let her hand jerk deliberately, spilling half the water down the front of her silk dress.

“Oh no!” Katelyn gasped, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the fabric. “Don’t worry about Brion. He’s just a heartless tyrant anyway. He doesn’t love you.”

A hot spike of pure rage shot through Gemma’s veins at the insult to Brion. Her fingers twitched, fighting the urge to crush the glass in her hand.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “But if I leave… what happens to the Vargas family?”

“Your dad is rich.” Katelyn waved a dismissive hand. “He’ll figure out how to handle Wall Street.”

Gemma pulled her own phone from her clutch. “I need to text Jair. I need to make sure he’s really there.”

Katelyn immediately leaned over, eyes glued to the screen, desperate to monitor the prey.

Gemma tilted the phone slightly. The chandelier’s glare hit the privacy screen protector, turning the display pitch black to anyone not staring dead center.

Her thumbs flew across the digital keyboard at blinding speed.

She wasn’t texting Jair. She wasn’t hacking anything. She was inputting Katelyn’s backup email address and the password Katelyn had drunkenly let slip in her past life—a combination of her mother’s birthday and her first love’s name. One of the countless messes Gemma had cleaned up for her. Katelyn’s cloud drive swung wide open.

“I’m just so scared.” Gemma kept her voice a whisper, eyes locked on the loading bar.

Katelyn stomped her foot in frustration. “If you don’t go right now, he’s going to die, Gemma!”

The progress bar hit one hundred percent.

A flood of hidden bank statements and encrypted chat logs populated Gemma’s screen.

She tapped twice, compressed the files, and sent them directly to her secure offshore email server. The evidence was locked down.

She set the phone face down on the velvet cushion.

When she lifted her head, the tears were gone. The trembling had stopped. Her face was carved from ice.

Katelyn took a step back, startled by the sudden drop in temperature.

Gemma stood. She slowly brushed the water droplets off her dress. Every movement was precise, calculated, terrifying.

“Are… are you ready?” Katelyn’s voice faltered. “The media is waiting.”

“How are you liking the new limited-edition Hermès Birkin?” Gemma asked.

The color drained from Katelyn’s face so fast it looked like a special effect. That bag was bought with money she’d siphoned from Gemma’s PR budget to fund negative press.

Gemma didn’t stop. She recited a string of numbers. “Four, zero, nine, two. Cayman Islands.”

Katelyn’s body jerked like she’d been electrocuted.

Gemma took a slow step forward. “Using my money to fund my boyfriend. Tell me, Katelyn, does it feel good?”

Katelyn’s knees gave out. She stumbled backward until her spine slammed hard against the lounge door. Her eyes were wide, white, filled with absolute terror.