Estela's private study was a sanctuary of dark wood and heavy velvet. The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows across the walls. But the warmth did nothing to thaw the icy tension in the room.

Baron stood before his mother's massive oak desk, his chest heaving. He threw a copy of Forbes onto the polished surface. The headline read: Burnett Heiress MIA: Trouble in Paradise?

"The media is having a field day!" Baron shouted, his voice echoing off the bookshelves. "Frances refusing to attend the charity gala? Everyone is speculating about our marriage!"

Estela sat behind the desk, calmly sipping her tea. She didn't even glance at the magazine. "I assumed you had handled her," she said, her tone dripping with disappointment.

Baron began to pace, his shoes wearing a path into the expensive rug. "She's changed! She's like a block of ice. I can't read her. I can't predict her. She just... stares."

He stopped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He looked at his mother, his eyes burning with a desperate, selfish need. "Bring Gia back. Now. Today."

It wasn't the first time he had made the demand, but this time, there was a violent edge to his voice.

"Jagger needs his mother," Baron argued, his tone shifting to a whine. "With Gia here, she can comfort Jagger. And she can help me 'manage' Frances."

Estela slammed her teacup down. The delicate porcelain clattered against the saucer. "I said no! The timing is wrong."

She stood up, her small frame seeming to grow larger in the firelight. "Gia Hobbs's background is a minefield. Her father is a drunk. Her mother is a gambler. And Gia herself? She left a trail of scandals in the art world just to climb the social ladder."

She pointed a bony finger at Baron. "The moment she steps foot in this estate, the press will dig up every piece of trash connected to her. And when they do, Jagger's true parentage will be exposed!"

Baron scoffed, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "So what? Are you going to just stand by and watch Frances put that street rat Arvel on the throne?"

He leaned over the desk, getting in his mother's face. "We have to strike first! Bring Gia home. Let Jagger feel the warmth of a real family. That is our greatest weapon! Blood. A mother. That's what will win this."

Estela's face hardened. "While the legal documents are not finalized, any accident could ruin everything! Frances is a snake in the grass. She is waiting for us to slip up."

"Then we make her slip up!" Baron roared. "We can't just sit here defending! She is attacking us!"

Across the hall, hidden in the shadows of her own sitting room, Frances sat perfectly still. A tiny, flesh-colored earpiece was lodged in her left ear. A wire ran down to a receiver tucked into her waistband.

Phoebe had planted the bug in Estela's study . It was a risky move, but it was paying off in spades.

Frances listened to every word. Gia Hobbs. The name was a key turning in a lock. The background, the scandals-it was all falling into place.

In the study, the argument reached a boiling point.

"Baron," Estela warned, her voice like gravel. "I will not allow you to destroy generations of Burnett legacy over a woman."

Baron stared at his mother, his eyes dark and dangerous. He knew he had to play his trump card. He had to force her hand.

He went quiet. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then, he spoke, each word slow and deliberate.

"If you don't bring Gia back," Baron said, his voice barely a whisper, "I will go to the press myself and 'clarify' Jagger's parentage. Your choice, Mother."

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the study. Estela stared at her son, her face a mask of fury, disappointment, and bone-deep exhaustion.

He had done it. He had threatened to burn the house down just to stay warm. He was willing to destroy the Burnett name, the legacy, everything, just to have his way.

She slowly lowered herself back into her chair, the fight draining out of her. She closed her eyes. "You threatened me just to expose your own son?a Burnett by blood，but he is an illegitimate child, did you really do something detrimental to the family just to achieve your own goals?" she whispered.

Baron didn't back down. "I am protecting my son. Jagger is a Burnett. The only real Burnett. He is more important than reputation."

The words hit Estela where she lived. She could lose the money, the power, the respect. But she could not lose the bloodline. She could not let the Burnett line die out.

Baron saw her hesitation. He pressed his advantage, his voice gaining strength. "When Gia gets here, we will show Frances what a real family looks like. We will document every misstep, every outburst. We will prove she is mentally unstable and unfit to raise a child."

He began to pace again, his movements sharp and animated. "Once everyone believes she is crazy, we will send her to the best sanatorium in Switzerland. She can 'rest' there for the rest of her life."

He turned to Estela, a cruel smile on his face. "Then, I will divorce her. And Gia will become the new Mrs. Burnett. The new mistress of this house."

In her room, Frances felt the blood drain from her face. Her fingers, resting on the arm of the chair, curled inward, her nails biting into the fabric.

A sanatorium. Switzerland. That was the fate they had planned for her. A living death. A silent, forgotten end.

She forced herself to breathe. In and out. Slow and steady. She would not panic. She would not be a victim.

In the study, Estela opened her eyes. The fire was gone, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. She had made a deal with the devil, but she would make sure she controlled the terms.

"Fine," she said, her voice like ice. "But she does not enter as Gia Hobbs. We give her an airtight identity. One that allows her to move freely and 'guide' Frances."

Baron's smile widened. "We can say she's an old college friend."

"Too easy to verify," Estela snapped. She thought for a moment, her mind racing. Then, a calculating gleam entered her eyes.

"The family trust is looking to acquire a new collection for investment and tax purposes," Estela said slowly. "Gia worked in a gallery, didn't she? She has the knowledge."

"She can be the family's 'art consultant'," Estela continued, the plan taking shape. "She will evaluate the collections and advise the lady of the house on her artistic taste."

It was perfect. It gave Gia a legitimate reason to be in the house, to attend meetings, and to lord over Frances under the guise of professional superiority.

Baron nodded, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Do it. I'll have her here tomorrow."

The conversation was over. The deal was struck.

Frances pulled the earpiece from her ear. Her hand was steady, but her heart was a drum in her chest. She walked over to her laptop and quickly uploaded the audio file to a secure, encrypted cloud server.

It was her insurance policy. It was her weapon. And when the time came, it would be the rope she used to hang them all.

The door opened softly. Phoebe slipped in, her face pale. She had been waiting in the hallway, keeping watch. "Ma'am?" she asked, her voice trembling. "What did you hear?"

Frances looked up from the computer screen. Her eyes were calm, a still pool hiding a riptide underneath. "Phoebe, get me my lawyer on the phone. Tell him the plan is a go."

She stood up, squaring her shoulders. "They want to bring the wolf to the door? Fine. But I'll be waiting with a loaded gun."

She wasn't going to sit back and wait for Gia to arrive. She was going to hit them where it hurt-right in the Burnett bank account. And she was going to do it before Gia even unpacked her bags.

The conference room at Burnett Group headquarters was a cathedral of corporate power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of Manhattan. A long, polished table reflected the faces of the board members.

Estela sat at the head, looking smug and regal. Today was the day. The legal documents for the one-year observation period for both boys were to be signed. She believed she had regained control. She believed Frances had been chastised.

Frances sat quietly at the other end of the table. Her face was a mask of polite indifference. But inside, her mind was a steel trap.

Before the lawyers could even open their folders, Frances spoke up. "Before we begin, there is a matter of housekeeping to address."

She looked toward the back of the room, where a middle-aged man in a cheap suit was sitting. He was a junior staffer, one of Estela's spies.

"Mr. Fletcher," Frances said, her voice cutting through the room. "According to your employment contract, spreading false information about your employer is grounds for immediate termination."

The man paled. "I... I don't know what you mean-"

"Security," Frances called out. Two burly men in suits stepped forward. "Please escort Mr. Fletcher out. And inform the HR department that he is blacklisted from every top-tier agency in New York."

The man was dragged out, sputtering excuses. The room fell silent. Herta, standing behind Estela, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Estela's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. It was Frances's right as mistress of the house.

"Now," Estela said, her voice tight, "let's proceed."

The lead lawyer slid the folder across the table. Frances didn't even look at it. Instead, she turned to the woman sitting beside her-her personal attorney, a sharp-eyed woman in a severe gray suit.

Frances nodded.

The lawyer stood up. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of papers. She walked around the table, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and stopped directly in front of Estela.

"Dowager Burnett," the lawyer said, her voice ringing with authority. "This is a copy of the divorce petition filed by my client, Ms. Frances Salinas, against Mr. Baron Burnett."

The room exploded. Gasps. Murmurs. The clatter of a dropped pen. Estela shot to her feet, her face a mask of disbelief.

"You... what?" she sputtered.

The Burnett family's legal counsel snatched the papers from the lawyer's hand. He flipped through them, his face growing paler by the second. He looked up at Estela, his eyes wide.

"It's true, Dowager," he stammered. "Citing 'irreconcilable differences'."

Estela glared at Frances, her chest heaving. The prenup was ironclad. If Frances filed for divorce, she walked away with nothing. She would be destitute. Why would she do this?

Frances met her gaze head-on. "I believe we do have some irreconcilable differences," she said calmly.

Her lawyer stepped forward again. "Of course, if the Burnett family prefers to litigate on grounds of 'adultery'," the lawyer said, her voice smooth as silk, "we are more than happy to oblige. We have ample evidence."

The word 'adultery' hung in the air like a bomb. It was a direct threat. It meant Gia. It meant Jagger. It meant the scandal of the century.

Estela's breath hitched. She realized the trap. A divorce wasn't just a personal matter; it was a corporate event. Discovery. Subpoenas. The exposure of financial records, of offshore accounts, of secret payments.

It would be the end of the Burnett empire.

"Out," Estela barked at the room. "Everyone out. Now."

The board members scrambled for the exits. The lawyers packed their bags. Within minutes, the room was empty, save for Estela, Frances, and their respective counsel.

Estela walked to the door and locked it. Then she turned, her eyes like chips of ice. " We are going to discuss exactly what you want."