The days after the banquet collapsed into a living nightmare, one that tightened around Seraphina's throat and refused to let go.
Public outrage rose like a tidal wave, merciless and loud. Hate drowned out reason. Orders were canceled in droves. Stocks free-fell. Investors vanished overnight. Within days, the company she had built with blood and sleepless nights was teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.
Day and night lost all meaning. She worked until her hands trembled, until her vision blurred, desperately trying to gather the shattered pieces of what had once been hers. But effort meant nothing when fate had already passed judgment. No matter how hard she fought, everything slipped through her fingers.
In the silence that followed, Seraphina found herself hollowed out, sitting alone with a pain so deep it felt carved into her bones. She was mourning—but she didn't even know what for.
Was it the seven years she had given to a man who betrayed her without hesitation? The fiancé who cheated on her and had the audacity to become engaged to her own sister? Or the sister she had shielded all her life, only to be stabbed in the back? Worse still was the truth she couldn't escape- her mother—the woman she had loved, revered, and trusted—had never once stood by her side.
The door to her sleek Manhattan office swung open, and Samantha—her executive assistant and someone she now considered a best friend — stepped inside. Dressed in crisp business casuals, a tailored blazer over a silk blouse, she carried a glass of water and a small plate of fresh fruit and pastries. Her expression was soft, laced with quiet concern.
"The stocks have fallen over fifty percent," Samantha said gently, setting the tray on the desk. "If we don't act soon, there's a real chance you'll lose control of the company. Your stepmother is already positioning herself to swoop in."
Seraphina rubbed a weary hand over her face, her head throbbing from sleepless nights and endless damage control. She would never let her father's family take what was hers.
Hale Lumina had been built from the ground up with her own money—the savings she'd scraped together over years, the shares she'd quietly accumulated, the investments gifted to her on birthdays and milestones. Every cent, every design, every late night had been hers. She refused to watch it turn to ash in Clara Weston's hands.
Clara—her stepmother—had married Edmund mere months after the divorce. The perfect, polished daughter of old money, she'd always been overly polite, overly caring, with smiles that never reached her eyes. Seraphina's mother, Victoria, had warned her early on when she was five.
Clara's sweetness was a mask, a slow scheme to win favor and redirect the family fortune toward her own daughter from a previous marriage. Like a cuckoo bird pushing eggs from the nest.
Seraphina had never fully trusted her. The warnings had stuck, a quiet ache in her chest whenever Clara cooed over her "like a real daughter."
Her inbox pinged. An email from her father.
My dearest Sephy,
I'm so sorry for what happened at the banquet. I know you must be heartbroken and disappointed. I've heard things aren't going well with the company. I'd love to help in any way I can—if you'll let me.
Love, Dad
She stared at the screen, jaw tight. Help from Edmund always came with strings—strings that led straight to Clara.
"I'll take care of it," she said aloud, closing the laptop with a soft click.
Though her words seemed confident, she herself wasn't sure how. The stocks would have to be bought again—someone, anyone, had to step in and start purchasing shares to stop the free-fall and signal confidence to the market. But as of now, no one wanted to touch Hale Lumina.
The office fell silent again.Samantha fidgeted by the desk, twisting her fingers.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Seraphina asked, raising an eyebrow.
Samantha glanced up, eyes wide and hesitant. "There… there is someone who is ready to invest. Golden Enterprises. They've been quietly inquiring about investment opportunities in luxury brands. Word is, they're looking for a partner who's bold, resilient… someone exactly like you."
Seraphina looked up from her desk, a flicker of hope shining in her eyes for the first time in days. "They're willing to buy in?" she asked, voice steady but edged with urgency. "Ask for the contract. Bring the legal documents—now."
Samantha nodded, already pulling out her phone. "I'm on it. Their team said they're ready to move fast."
Over the next week, the deal unfolded with breathless speed—late-night calls, encrypted emails, NDAs thicker than a Manhattan phone book.
Golden Enterprises acquired 20% of Hale Lumina, injecting enough capital to stabilize the bleeding stock price and scare off the vultures circling for a hostile takeover. Another 30% went to a discreet Hale family trust (one her father couldn't touch, structured quietly through old allies who still believed in her). Victoria—her mother—took 3%, a symbolic stake that sent a clear message to Clara and anyone watching. Ten percent stayed firmly in Seraphina's hands: controlling interest, veto power, her name on every decision. The remaining shares were distributed among smaller companies and individuals.
By the end of the week, the company was saved. Stocks rebounded 18% on the news of the "strategic partnership with visionary investors."
But her public image? That was still in shatters.
She scrolled through her private browser sitting in her car—incognito, always now—and the headlines hadn't softened.
"Seraphina Hale's Mystery Bailout: Desperate or Calculated?"
"From Jewellery Heiress to Crazy Sister: The Rise and Fall of Seraphina Hale"
"Derek King & Evelyn Hale Spotted at Pre-Wedding Gala—Living Their Best Life While Sister's Brand Scrambles."
Photos of Derek and Evelyn dominated the society pages: laughing at a charity auction, Evelyn's hand sparkling with that damned ring—Seraphina's own design. Comment sections brimmed with the same venom as before.
"Money can't buy class."
"Still team Derek 💍"
"Karma's coming for her."
Seraphina closed the tab, jaw tight. The company was safe, yes. But the narrative? That still painted her as the unhinged villain. The jealous sister. The entitled heiress who couldn't handle rejection.
She glanced out the tinted window of the black town car, watching the glittering Athena skyline fade into the distance. Golden Enterprises had saved her business, but they'd been careful—anonymous in public filings, no named faces, no press conference handshakes. Smart. Mysterious, even.
The car turned off the main highway, winding onto a private road flanked by dense, lush greenery that felt more jungle than New York suburb. Towering trees arched overhead, blocking the late-afternoon sun. The GPS had gone silent twenty minutes ago; the driver—a silent, suited man—hadn't uttered a word since picking her up.
Unease prickled at the back of her neck. This wasn't the glass-and-steel penthouse she'd expected.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. The caller ID read Aurora.
In normal circumstances, Seraphina would have let it ring out. Aurora—her half-sister, Clara's daughter—was the last person she wanted to hear from. The girl who'd grown up in the mansion, who'd always looked at Seraphina's successes with quiet envy, who benefited every time Clara whispered poison into their father's ear. Blood was thicker than water, and Aurora's ran straight through Clara's schemes.
But the crawling dread in her gut made her thumb swipe to answer.
"Hello? Sephy?" Aurora's voice was soft, unusually concerned. "I just wanted to check if you're alright. You've been so quiet lately."
Seraphina forced her tone cool and even. "I'm fine, Aurora. You don't need to worry about me, sister."
The word sister tasted like ash.
The car slowed before massive wrought-iron gates that swung open without a sound. Beyond them lay a sprawling modern estate—sharp angles, dark stone, half-swallowed by manicured vines. Beautiful. Isolated.
Aurora pressed on, voice tightening. "It's just… I'm graduating from business school next Tuesday. I hope you'll come?"
Before Seraphina could decline, the driver killed the engine in front of towering double doors. They opened before she could move.
Two men in dark suits emerged. One opened her car door; the other stood a step behind, hand inside his jacket—grip unmistakable on the butt of a gun now aimed low at her torso.
"Miss Hale," the first said, voice flat. "This way. Your phone, please."
He extended a gloved hand.
Aurora's voice rose from the speaker, sharp with alarm. "Sephy? What was that? Who's with you? What's happening?"
Seraphina's heart slammed against her ribs. "Aurora—"
The man with the gun stepped closer. "Phone. Now. Or we take it."
Seraphina stood frozen, eyes darting for escape, for anything she could use as a weapon.
But the first guard lunged, snatching the phone from her grip. Aurora's frantic "Sephy? Sephy!" echoed tinnily before he ended the call and powered it off.
"Get out," he ordered.
In a split second, Seraphina rammed her forehead into the nearest man's nose. Cartilage crunched; he screamed, staggering back with blood spraying.
She spun toward the second, adrenaline surging, ready to fight—
But he was faster. A sharp, explosive pain erupted at the base of her skull.
The world tilted, darkened. A sharp voice echoed through the spinning haze around her.
The last thing she heard was Aurora's distant, panicked scream lingering in the severed call—and then nothing.