The soft, golden glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains in Clara's penthouse. The city skyline lay stretched before her, bustling and glittering as if unaware of the storm she was about to unleash.
For weeks, she had been biding her time, weaving threads of deceit as skillfully as a spider spinning a web. Now, those threads were finally tightening—around Rhea's throat.
The plan wasn't just about humiliating Rhea. That would be too easy, too cheap for the level of betrayal she had suffered. No, this was about cornering her, leaving her with no escape, forcing her to expose herself in front of everyone that mattered in Damien's world.
And the bait?A business deal too sweet for a snake like Rhea to resist.
The Perfect Stage
Clara sat at her marble kitchen island, sipping an espresso as she reviewed the final details. Across from her sat Felix, her newly recruited "inside man" in Damien's company. His tie was slightly crooked, but the sharpness in his eyes made up for it.
"You're certain she'll take the bait?" Felix asked, tapping the folder in front of him.
"She's greedy," Clara replied simply, setting her cup down. "She's been waiting for a chance to steal from Damien without getting caught. I'm going to hand her that chance… gift-wrapped."
Felix smirked. "And the investors' gala?"
"That's where she'll hang herself." Clara's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts alluring and lethal. "In front of Damien. In front of every CEO in the city. She'll have no way to recover."
She stood and walked toward the window, her reflection faint in the glass. For a brief moment, her mind flickered to the past—the taste of betrayal, the humiliating weight of her former life. Back then, she had been powerless. This time, she was the one holding the knife.
Luring the Snake
The trap started with a phone call.
Rhea was lounging in the spa at Damien's estate when her phone lit up with an unknown number. Frowning, she answered.
"Miss Rhea," came a polite male voice, "I represent an overseas investor interested in acquiring a private stake in one of Damien Kingsley's subsidiaries. The profit margin is… substantial. Of course, discretion is required."
Rhea's eyes gleamed. "And why are you calling me?"
"Because you're the only one with the kind of access he needs," the voice replied smoothly. "A small favor for a large payout."
"What's the payout?" she asked, lowering her voice so the masseuse wouldn't overhear.
"Seven figures."
Rhea's pulse quickened. "Send me the details."
The call ended, and her mind was already racing. She didn't question the setup—not when the reward was that tempting. That was the beauty of greed—it blinded you to danger.
Felix's Part
Back in Clara's penthouse, Felix uploaded a fake investment dossier into Damien's internal system, one designed to look like a genuine high-stakes deal. It was laced with subtle inconsistencies that only a professional could detect—clues meant for Damien's board and the press later.
"Everything's ready," Felix confirmed. "Once she accesses it with her credentials, the system will log her IP address, timestamp, and location. We'll have her caught red-handed."
Clara's eyes narrowed. "Good. Make sure the news outlets get a tip—anonymously, of course."
Felix nodded. "By the end of the gala, she won't be able to show her face anywhere."
The Gala
Two nights later, the grand ballroom of The Corinthian Hotel sparkled under a thousand crystal lights. The air buzzed with champagne-fueled chatter and the subtle tension of high-stakes networking. The city's elite were out in full force—billionaires, politicians, and media magnates. Damien was there, looking devastating in a charcoal suit, his arm draped around Rhea like she was a prize he'd just won.
Clara arrived fashionably late.
Her gown was a statement—sleek black velvet with a daring slit, paired with a diamond choker that caught every light in the room. Conversations slowed as she entered, a ripple of curiosity and awe following her. Her arm was looped through Alexander's, his presence adding an extra layer of intrigue. The "fake engagement" rumor was still burning through social circles, and every glance they received was laced with speculation.
Damien's gaze found her instantly. His smile to Rhea faltered. Clara noticed—and savored it.
The Trap Tightens
An hour into the gala, Rhea slipped away from Damien's side under the pretense of taking a call. She headed toward one of the hotel's private lounges, clutching her phone. The "investor" had sent her the final step—log in, approve the transfer, and the money would be hers.
What she didn't know was that Clara and Felix were watching everything from a discreet balcony above. Felix had hacked into the lounge's security feed, and the live footage played on his tablet.
"She's in," Felix murmured.
On the screen, Rhea sat at a polished mahogany desk, her manicured fingers flying across the laptop keys. She didn't hesitate—not once. Greed had her in a chokehold.
"Three… two… one…" Felix counted.
The moment she hit 'Confirm,' the system flagged her. A hidden alert pinged Damien's private security team, the hotel's network, and several strategically chosen journalists.
It was only a matter of time.
Public Execution
Rhea returned to the main hall, her smile wide, her eyes glittering. She felt invincible—rich. Untouchable. She clung to Damien's arm again, not noticing that several heads were turning toward her, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Then the lights dimmed slightly, and the massive projector screen behind the stage flickered to life. It wasn't part of the scheduled program.
The feed showed security camera footage from the lounge. The image was crystal clear—Rhea's face bent over the laptop, her login ID on full display, the timestamp at the corner of the screen.
Gasps filled the room.
Damien's arm dropped from her shoulders. "Rhea," he said, his voice low and sharp, "what is this?"
"I—Damien, I can explain—" she stammered, color draining from her cheeks.
Before she could spin a story, a journalist in the crowd shouted, "Miss Rhea, are you aware you've just committed corporate theft? This footage has already gone public!"
Phones buzzed everywhere. The scandal was live.
Clara stood at the edge of the crowd, her lips curling in satisfaction. She didn't step forward. She didn't need to. The trap had already sprung.
The Aftermath
Security escorted Rhea out, her protests growing shrill and desperate. Damien followed, his face thunderous. The ballroom erupted into a frenzy—investors whispering, reporters making frantic calls, socialites buzzing over the drama.
Alexander leaned toward Clara. "You've outdone yourself."
She smiled faintly. "One snake down. Many more to go."
Later That Night
Clara returned to her penthouse alone. She removed her choker, set it on the vanity, and stared at her reflection. The night had been a victory, yes—but Damien's expression as he watched Rhea being taken away… it had been more than anger. It had been suspicion.
And Clara knew that sooner or later, his suspicion would turn toward her.
The game was far from over.