The night Clara decided Rhea needed to be erased, the city skyline was glowing gold under a spring sunset, the kind of view that once made her feel untouchable.
But she'd learned the truth—no one was untouchable. Not her. Not Rhea. Not even Damien.
Especially not Rhea.
The Decision
She sat at her desk in the Lancaster Corp penthouse office, a file open before her. It wasn't thick—three photographs, two signed witness statements, one confidential report. But the weight of it was enough to shift the balance of the entire war.
Rhea Valmont. Damien's lover, occasional business front, and the woman who'd smirked across the gala floor when Clara's identity had been leaked weeks earlier.
If Damien was the blade, Rhea was the poison.
And tonight, Clara was going to drain it from his arsenal.
Intel
Alexander had given her the starting point—a whispered trail of shell companies, charity galas, and "consulting projects" that looked pristine on paper but reeked of fraud in practice.
Clara had built the rest herself. Long nights of quiet phone calls. Subtle bribes. One tense meeting in a dim parking garage with a man who refused to remove his sunglasses, even in the dark.
It all led here.
A luxury hotel in Geneva. An account in Rhea's name. And a transfer of half a million dollars from a medical charity's relief fund to her personal offshore holdings—signed two days before she'd been photographed clinking champagne flutes with Damien.
The Plan
Destroying someone like Rhea required precision. If Clara went too fast, Rhea might spin the story, play the victim. If she went too slow, Damien would sense the attack and shield her.
No, Clara needed a single strike that hit every level at once—corporate, social, legal.
She picked up her phone.
"Evan," she said, her voice calm. "We're moving tonight."
Phase One – The Leak
It began at 8:04 a.m. the next morning.
A small but well-read financial gossip blog published a story titled:
"Charity Darling Under Fire: Rhea Valmont Accused of Misappropriating Funds"
The details were vague—enough to make it clear something was coming, but not enough for Rhea to refute it cleanly.
By noon, two larger outlets had picked it up. By 2 p.m., the phrase Rhea Valmont Scandal was trending in three countries.
Phase Two – The Social Cut
Clara made no public moves. That was the beauty of it—Rhea wouldn't see her hand in this at all.
Instead, Clara quietly called three event organizers. Charity boards. Private clubs.
"Do what you like," she told one particularly influential hostess. "But if you seat her at your table next month, your sponsors will be reconsidering their involvement."
The disinvitations came fast. The social calendar that Rhea curated like a weapon began to crumble in real time.
Rhea's Panic
At 4:15 p.m., Clara got the first sign the blow was landing.
A text from an unknown number.
I know this is you. Call me.
She didn't respond.
At 5:22, a second message:
You're making a mistake. Damien won't forgive this.
Still, she said nothing.
Phase Three – The Corporate Kill
At 7 p.m., the true strike fell.
An anonymous email hit the inboxes of every board member tied to Valmont Consulting—Rhea's flagship company. Attached were the scanned documents: the bank transfer, the falsified expense report, the internal memo where she'd ordered staff to hide the accounting irregularity.
The message was simple:
Your liability clock is ticking.
By 9 p.m., three senior executives had resigned.
The Call with Damien
Her phone lit up at 9:42. Alexander's name appeared first—then Damien's, seconds later.
She took Damien's call.
"You think this will make me drop you?" His voice was low, almost amused. "You've only made me angrier."
"This isn't about you," Clara said evenly. "It's about her."
"You're playing a dangerous game."
"I learned from the best."
For the first time in years, she heard him exhale without control. A crack in the armor.
Rhea's Collapse
By morning, the story had moved beyond gossip into hard news.
Swiss authorities had announced a preliminary investigation. Valmont Consulting's website was offline. Former clients were issuing statements about "reviewing past dealings."
And Rhea herself—once polished, untouchable—was caught by paparazzi leaving her penthouse in sunglasses and a hoodie, her hair unkempt, her jaw tight with barely suppressed rage.
The Confrontation
Clara didn't expect Rhea to come to her. Which is why, when her receptionist called up to say "Miss Valmont is here to see you," she was almost impressed.
Rhea strode into the office like a panther in silk—until Clara noticed the small tremor in her hands.
"You've made your point," Rhea said without sitting.
"I don't think I have," Clara replied. "You're still standing."
Rhea's lips curled. "This was Damien's idea, wasn't it? Send the ex to ruin the new favorite."
Clara smiled faintly. "You were never the favorite. Just the placeholder."
The Last Cut
As Rhea turned to leave, Clara spoke again.
"Oh, and Rhea?"
The other woman paused.
"I wouldn't bother trying to rebuild under another name. The bank accounts you thought were hidden? They won't be hidden much longer."
For the first time, Rhea's mask cracked entirely. "You'll regret this," she hissed.
Clara leaned back in her chair. "I doubt it."
The Twist Ending
An hour later, Alexander appeared in her office.
"You enjoyed that," he said.
"I did," she admitted.
He handed her a manila envelope. "Then you might enjoy this less."
Inside was a single photograph.
Rhea. Sitting in a café. Laughing—across from a woman Clara didn't recognize.
But the caption, scrawled in black ink across the bottom, made her stomach turn cold:
She's not finished. And neither is Damien.