The golden envelope had arrived earlier that morning, sealed with Damien Lancaster's monogram in bold red wax. Clara didn't need to open it to know what it contained.
An invitation.
Not to a gala or a business event—this was personal.
Dinner. At his penthouse. 8 PM.
The old Clara would have hesitated, maybe even panicked at the idea. But this Clara—reborn from betrayal, bathed in fire, and refined by pain—was unshakable. If Damien wanted to play the game, she'd show him she'd already mastered it.
She stood before her full-length mirror in the suite of the luxury hotel she now resided in, eyeing her reflection with quiet confidence.
Her dress was a deep crimson silk that hugged every curve like a second skin, the slit riding dangerously high up her thigh. Her neckline was just modest enough to remain elegant but bold enough to remind him of everything he'd lost. Clara's makeup was minimal but lethal—smoky eyes, a sharp wing, and lips painted the color of blood roses.
Beside her, Natalia gasped. "You're going to kill him."
Clara smirked, slipping on a thin diamond necklace. "That's the plan."
Natalia bit her lip. "Are you sure about this? What if it's a trap?"
Clara turned, confidence sharp in her eyes. "Then I walk in like it's a stage and make sure I leave with a standing ovation."
The Penthouse – 8:01 PM
The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime. Clara stepped into the grand living room of Damien Lancaster's penthouse, her heels echoing on the marble floor.
Everything was exactly as she remembered—cold, clean, luxurious. But something felt different tonight.
Warmer. Tense. Expectant.
Damien stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at the glittering skyline. He didn't turn when she entered.
"Right on time," he said, his voice low and smooth.
"You're one minute early," she replied, walking past him without so much as a glance, "but I'll allow it."
He chuckled, finally turning to look at her—and the moment their eyes met, the room shifted.
Gone was the timid Clara he once controlled. In her place stood a woman who had danced with fire and emerged unburnt.
He walked over, offering his hand like they were strangers meeting for the first time.
"You look… stunning."
Clara placed her fingers lightly in his. "Flattery doesn't earn you forgiveness."
"I didn't come seeking forgiveness." He gave her a faint, unreadable smile. "Only dinner."
The Game Begins
The dining room was dimly lit, candles flickering between crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. A private chef moved like a ghost in the background, bringing out the first course.
Damien poured wine into her glass. "You haven't changed your drink, have you?"
"I have." Clara pushed the glass slightly away. "I only drink champagne now."
He raised a brow, mildly impressed, then poured a fresh flute for her himself.
"I see the headlines lately," he said as they began eating. "You've become quite the enigma. The mysterious heiress. The woman no one saw coming."
Clara dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "You didn't see me coming either."
There was a pause.
"I regret many things, Clara."
She tilted her head. "Including Rhea?"
His jaw tightened just slightly. "Especially Rhea."
Clara laughed softly, a sound that didn't reach her eyes. "Regret is a poor dessert."
He leaned forward. "Why did you come tonight?"
"Because I was curious," she answered coolly. "To see if you'd changed."
"And what do you think?"
Clara studied him like he was a museum exhibit. "You still wear tailored suits to mask the rot underneath."
His lips twitched, but not into a smile. "You're crueler than I remember."
"You trained me well."
Reversing the Power
Damien reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a sleek envelope. He slid it across the table.
"A proposal," he said.
Clara's expression didn't change, but her interest piqued. She let the envelope sit there, unopened.
"Let me guess," she said. "A merger. You want to combine Lancaster Corp's PR division with our brand. Or maybe… you want my influence with the foreign investors?"
He gave a slight nod. "Something like that. You're a public darling now. The press loves you. Investors trust you. I won't pretend I'm not impressed."
Clara leaned back in her chair, her voice soft but sharp. "You burned me to the ground, Damien. Now you want to build something on my ashes?"
"I want to rebuild something," he said. "Maybe not what we had… but something new. Mutually beneficial."
She picked up the envelope but didn't open it. Instead, she pulled out a lighter from her clutch, flicked it open, and watched as the flame danced.
Damien's eyes widened.
"I built myself without your name, without your money, without your help," she said. "And now you want to partner?"
She ignited the corner of the envelope. It curled and smoked.
Damien lunged forward, trying to snatch it—but she held it just out of reach until it burned into blackened flakes and dropped it into the champagne bucket beside her.
The tension in the room snapped like a piano string.
"I guess that's a no," Damien muttered.
Clara met his eyes, her gaze cold and calm. "I'm not your wife anymore, Damien. I'm your competition."
Twisting the Knife
He stood and moved to the window again, anger simmering under the surface.
"I shouldn't have let you go," he muttered. "I was blind. I thought I loved Rhea."
Clara stood as well, walking over with deliberate grace. She stopped a few feet from him.
"You never loved me," she said. "You loved control. You loved the version of me that worshipped you. The quiet, obedient, docile wife. But now?"
She stepped even closer, her voice like silk over steel.
"Now, you're terrified of me. And that's the sweetest revenge."
Damien turned to her. "You think you've won?"
Clara smiled. "I know I have."
A Final Blow
She handed him a flash drive from her purse. "Here's something for you to chew on."
"What is it?"
"A video," she said. "Your dear politician friend—Senator Halbrook. The one who funded Rhea's little sabotage campaign. It's a recording of him confessing everything. Under the influence, of course. Very poetic."
Damien's face paled. "You—"
"I got it last week at the charity gala," Clara said. "He didn't recognize me until it was too late. A little champagne, a little flattery, and he spilled everything."
Damien stared at her in disbelief. "You were always smart… but this is something else."
"I learned from the best," she replied with a smirk. "Now, you'll help me take Halbrook down—or I release the footage to the press and ruin not just him, but you too."
He looked at the flash drive like it was a live grenade.
Clara turned and walked toward the elevator, but paused at the door.
"One more thing," she said over her shoulder. "Next time you invite me to dinner, make sure you're the one holding the leash. Tonight, it was mine."
The elevator doors closed on her smile.
Outside – Freedom
The city lights were brighter somehow, the night air cool and sharp. Clara inhaled deeply, her heart calm, her soul steady.
This was what power felt like.
Not rage. Not vengeance. Not chaos.
Control.
She had walked into the lion's den—and tamed the beast.
And this… this was only the beginning.