The heavy oak door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Austen pushed Evelyn inside, his hands already roaming all over her. He pinned her against the doorframe, his mouth crashing down on hers. The sound of their wet kisses and heavy, ragged breathing sliced through the wooden slats of the closet door, hitting Alaia's ears.

Alaia stood in the dark, her face entirely devoid of emotion. There was no jealousy. No heartbreak. Watching them felt like watching two pigs rolling in filth. It just made her stomach churn with disgust.

Evelyn let out a breathy moan and placed her hands on Austen's chest, gently pushing him back.

"Wait," Evelyn whispered, her voice dripping with fake concern. "What about Alaia? Won't she be looking for you?"

She was testing him. Playing the innocent victim.

Austen scoffed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Forget about that boring piece of wood. She's clueless. I'm dumping her the second this press tour is over."

The words echoed in the quiet room, feeding directly into the hidden microphone.

Austen grabbed Evelyn's waist and pulled her toward the center of the room. They collapsed onto the leather sofa, directly in the camera's line of sight. The sound of fabric tearing and zippers unzipping filled the air.

Alaia looked down at her phone screen. The live feed showed their faces in high definition, completely exposed under the dim lights.

She watched for another ten seconds, ensuring there was no mistaking their identities. Then, she hit the stop button. She swiftly severed the connection to the hidden camera, closing the application entirely, and immediately disabled her phone's Bluetooth and Wi-Fi to prevent any stray signal detection in the quiet room.

Outside, the two of them were completely consumed by their lust, making enough noise to cover any sound she made. Alaia reached for the back handle of the closet door.

The back door opened into an abandoned maintenance shaft. She squeezed her body through the narrow opening. A cloud of thick dust hit her face. Her throat tickled, threatening a cough. She clamped both hands over her mouth and nose, her eyes watering as she forced the urge down.

She moved quickly down the concrete stairs of the shaft. Her heels clicked faintly against the stone, the sound echoing upward, pushing her to move faster.

She pushed open the fire exit door on the fifth floor and slipped back into the brightly lit, carpeted hallway of the guest wing.

She power-walked back to her suite, swiped her card, and threw the door shut. She locked the deadbolt and leaned her back against the solid wood, exhaling a long, shaky breath.

She walked over to the desk and flipped open her laptop. She plugged her phone in and transferred the video file. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, expertly adjusting the exposure and highlights to make their faces impossible to deny.

She isolated the audio track where Austen called her a "boring piece of wood" and amplified the volume. Every single word was crystal clear.

She opened a newly registered, untraceable encrypted email account she had set up on a secure server just minutes before.

She attached the video file. In the recipient line, she typed the public tip-line email for Vinnie Kowalski, the most notorious paparazzi in Hollywood.

To guarantee maximum destruction, she added a second recipient: Alex Stone, a top-tier private investigator. She typed a single sentence in the body: Consider this half the down payment.

Alaia stared at the screen. She clicked send.

The progress bar shot across the screen. A cruel, bloodthirsty smile stretched across Alaia's face. Austen, you think cheating is your biggest sin? Wait until Alex Stone digs up the rest of your filthy, buried secrets. The video was just the appetizer; the private investigator would serve the main course.

She wiped the laptop clean, stood up, and walked over to the minibar. She poured two fingers of straight whiskey into a glass and downed it in one gulp.

The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, sharpening her senses. She grabbed her lipstick, touched up the red on her mouth, and turned toward the door. It was time to go back to the battlefield.

Across Los Angeles, in a cramped basement office, Vinnie Kowalski was mindlessly refreshing his inbox. A zip file titled Hollywood's Golden Boy Exposed popped up.

Vinnie clicked the video. As Austen and Evelyn's faces filled his monitor, he jumped so hard his knee slammed into his desk, knocking his coffee cup onto the floor.

Less than five minutes later, TMZ's homepage flashed a massive, red breaking news banner. The video was pushed to millions of phones simultaneously.

Alaia had just stepped out of the elevator and approached the grand double doors of the banquet hall when her phone began to vibrate violently against her palm. Twitter notifications flooded her lock screen like a waterfall.

She glanced down. The number one trending topic was already Austen Cheats on Alaia. A little explosion emoji sat next to the hashtag.

Inside the banquet hall, the elegant string quartet was drowned out by a sudden, chaotic wave of whispers. People were gasping. Heads were turning. The atmosphere shifted from celebratory to toxic in seconds.

Alaia pushed the heavy doors open. The bright chandeliers illuminated her red dress. She looked like a walking flame.

Every single pair of eyes in the room snapped toward her. The gazes were heavy with pity, mockery, and morbid curiosity. The whispers swelled into a loud hum.

A rival actress, a woman who had always hated Alaia, practically sprinted over. She held her phone out, her face twisted in a mask of fake sympathy.

"Oh my god, Alaia," the actress cooed. "Have you seen what's on the internet?"

Alaia snatched the phone from the woman's hand. She stared at the screen, watching the video she had filmed herself.

She forced her breathing to hitch. Her eyes widened, and within seconds, tears pooled in her eyes, spilling over her lashes. She let her lower lip tremble, delivering the performance of a lifetime as the utterly broken, betrayed victim.

Alaia shoved the phone back into the actress's chest. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently. To everyone watching, she looked like a woman whose entire world had just collapsed.

Suddenly, the side doors of the banquet hall were violently thrown open.

Austen stormed into the room. His hair was a mess, his tie hung loose around his neck, and a sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He looked feral.

His wild eyes scanned the room and instantly locked onto Alaia standing in the center of the crowd. A flash of panic and pure rage crossed his face. He marched toward her, his heavy footsteps echoing over the whispers.

The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. Camera flashes erupted from the dark corners of the room as hidden paparazzi documented the meltdown.

Austen reached Alaia and grabbed her wrist. His fingers dug into her delicate skin with bruising force, feeling like a steel vice trying to snap her bones. He yanked her forward, trying to drag her away from the audience.

Alaia let out a sharp gasp of pain, her brow furrowing. She let her body stumble weakly against his pull, playing the fragile victim perfectly.

"Did you do this?" Austen hissed in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Did you set me up, you crazy bitch?"

Evelyn jogged into the hall right behind him. Her eyes were red and puffy. She looked like a terrified deer, desperately trying to garner sympathy from the staring elites.

Austen dragged Alaia out through the side doors and onto a secluded, private balcony. He slammed the heavy glass door shut behind them, cutting off the noise and the prying eyes of the banquet hall.

He shoved Alaia backward. Her lower back slammed hard against the cold marble balustrade. A sharp, piercing pain shot up her spine.

Alaia dropped her hands from her face. The tears were gone. She lifted her chin and stared at the man who had ordered her heart cut out in her past life. Her eyes were as cold and dead as a graveyard.

Austen froze for a fraction of a second, unsettled by the sheer emptiness in her gaze. But his panic quickly morphed back into rage.

"Who did you hire to film that?" he roared, stepping into her space.

Evelyn rushed forward, grabbing Alaia's arm. "Alaia, please," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "We didn't mean to hurt you. We're in love. Please, you have to tell the press it's a misunderstanding."

Alaia looked down at Evelyn's tear-stained, hypocritical face. The memory of her chest being sliced open flared in her mind. Her blood boiled.

She didn't say a word. She just raised her right hand.

Smack.

The sound cracked like a whip in the night air. Alaia put her entire body weight into the slap, striking Evelyn across the left cheek. The force threw Evelyn's head to the side.

Evelyn let out a high-pitched scream and stumbled back, clutching her rapidly swelling cheek. She stared at Alaia in pure shock, a flash of genuine malice breaking through her innocent facade.

Austen's eyes bulged. "You bitch!" he bellowed. He shielded Evelyn with his body, pulled his arm back, and aimed a closed fist straight at Alaia's face.

Alaia didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She stared right at his incoming fist, already calculating how much she could sue him for the assault.

The fist was one inch from her nose.

Suddenly, a large, masculine hand shot out from the shadows. Long, elegant fingers wrapped around Austen's wrist, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. The glint of a Patek Philippe watch caught the moonlight.

Austen grunted, trying to pull his arm back, but the grip was like iron. He couldn't move an inch. He snapped his head around, ready to curse out whoever was interfering.

His eyes met a pair of deep, icy blue eyes.

The man stepping out of the shadows wore a perfectly tailored, bespoke black suit. His aura was suffocating, radiating a terrifying, predatory coldness. It was Gabriel Alvarado, the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street.

The air on the balcony instantly froze. Austen's aggressive posture crumbled the second he recognized the man holding his wrist.

"M-Mr. Alvarado," Austen stuttered, the color draining from his face.

Gabriel looked at Austen's wrist with utter disgust. He released his grip, shoving Austen's arm away as if he were discarding a piece of trash. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and slowly wiped his fingers.

Alaia leaned against the marble railing. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the Wall Street titan. She had only ever seen him in financial magazines in her past life.

Gabriel didn't even look at Austen. His piercing gaze dropped to Evelyn, who was still cowering on the floor, holding her cheek.

Evelyn was trembling violently. She wouldn't meet his eyes. She forgot to cry, looking up at Austen in sheer panic.

Gabriel's lips parted. His voice was low, smooth, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Well," Gabriel said, the word slicing through the tension. "If it isn't my shameless fiancée."

The words hit the balcony like a bomb. Austen's jaw dropped. He whipped his head toward Evelyn, his eyes wide with absolute betrayal. He clearly had no idea.

Alaia's eyes widened slightly. Evelyn had hidden her tracks perfectly in the past life. Alaia had never known Evelyn was engaged to the Alvarado empire.

Gabriel finally turned his head. His icy blue eyes locked onto Alaia. For a split second, a flicker of dark amusement and intense calculation flashed in his gaze.

Gabriel pulled his gaze away from Alaia and looked back down at Evelyn. The mockery in his eyes was absolute.

"Your family begged for a capital injection from the Alvarado Group," Gabriel stated, his voice a slow, lethal drawl. "They offered you up like cheap takeout to secure the deal. And this is how you repay the investment?"

Evelyn's face turned the color of ash. She had spent months convincing Austen she was the heir to a pristine, old-money dynasty. Gabriel had just ripped her clothes off in public, exposing her as a desperate pawn.

Austen stumbled backward, putting distance between himself and Evelyn. He pointed a shaking finger at her. "You... you lied to me?" His face contorted with a mix of humiliation and rage.

Evelyn scrambled forward on her knees, reaching for Austen's pant leg. "Austen, no, let me explain-"

Austen kicked his leg out, violently shaking her off. "Get off me!" he spat. Evelyn fell hard onto the floor, one of her designer heels snapping off in the struggle.

Gabriel stood with his hands casually shoved into his suit pockets. He watched the two of them tear each other apart with the detached amusement of a man watching monkeys in a cage. A cruel smirk played on his lips.

Alaia watched Gabriel. She saw the dark entertainment in his eyes. Her mind raced. He wasn't just here to break off an engagement; he was here to watch the Montgomery family burn. He was the perfect weapon.

She stood up straight, intentionally sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth. She reached around and pressed her hand against her lower back, right where Austen had slammed her into the marble.

Her voice cut through the pathetic sobbing on the floor. It was cold and sharp.

"Austen," Alaia said, staring dead into his eyes. "That was assault."

Austen snapped his head toward her, his chest heaving. Habit took over. He opened his mouth to scream at her, to force her into submission like he always did.

Alaia didn't back down. She took a step toward him. "There are fifty reporters right outside those doors. If I walk out there right now and call the police for a medical exam, you won't just be a cheater. You'll be a domestic abuser."

Austen's face went from pale to a sickly green. His public image was his entire life. The threat hit him right in the jugular.

Gabriel raised a single, dark eyebrow. He looked at Alaia, a spark of genuine interest igniting in his cold eyes. He liked her bloodless, transactional approach. No screaming. No tears. Just leverage.

Alaia turned her head and met Gabriel's gaze. Her tone shifted, becoming the calm, measured voice of a negotiator.

"Mr. Alvarado," Alaia said softly. "Do you mind if I collect a personal debt first?"

Gabriel didn't say a word. He simply took one step to the side, clearing her path to Austen. His silence was a heavy, undeniable permission. It was an indulgence.

Alaia turned back to Austen. "You hurt my back. You're going to pay for it with your own body."

Austen let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. "You're insane! I'll blackball you in this industry! You'll never work again!"

Alaia smirked. She pointed a manicured finger at Evelyn, who was weeping on the floor. "If you don't satisfy my terms right now, I will walk out there and tell the press that your little true love is a corporate bargaining chip for the Alvarado Group."

Evelyn shrieked. "No! Austen, please!" She wrapped her arms around Austen's calves, sobbing hysterically.

Austen looked down at the crying woman, then up at Gabriel, who was watching him with dead eyes. Austen knew if he didn't submit, these two would bury him alive.

Every muscle in Austen's body shook. He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together. "Fine," he growled. "Do it."

Alaia looked at his pathetic, trembling form. The hatred in her chest demanded blood, but she didn't want to break her own hand on his face.

She looked down at her expensive silk gown and her stiletto heels. She frowned slightly. Hitting him herself would be messy.

She turned her head. Her eyes landed on Gabriel's large, powerful hands. A reckless, brilliant idea formed in her mind.

She walked right up to Gabriel. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, lowering her voice so only he could hear.

"Would you do it for me?" she whispered.

Gabriel stared down at the audacious woman in front of him. A dangerous, thrilling light flared in his blue eyes. No one had ever dared to use him as a weapon before.

Alaia held his gaze. She didn't flinch. Her eyes sent a clear message: Help me, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

The air between them went dead silent for three agonizing seconds.

Then, Gabriel let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound was deep and magnetic, vibrating straight through Alaia's chest.

He slowly reached up and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He slid it off his broad shoulders and tossed it carelessly onto a nearby wicker chair.

Gabriel rolled up the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing thick, corded forearms. He turned and took a slow, deliberate step toward Austen.