In a high-rise apartment overlooking the city, Elena Lewis sat huddled in Javier's arms, her eyes red from crying.
"How did the news spread so fast?" she sobbed. "Javier, someone is trying to ruin you!"
Since last night, the internet had been a digital firing squad, and Elena was the primary target. While she was being branded a "snake" and a "traitor," Amanda was being hailed as the tragic, betrayed victim.
Javier rubbed his temples, his head throbbing. His plan to destroy Quentin's reputation hadn't just failed—it had blown up in his face. Hearing Elena's whimpering only made his irritation boil over. He pushed her away abruptly.
"If you have the energy to cry, use it to find someone to bury these headlines," he snapped. "I'm going back to the main house."
Elena stared at his retreating back, her sorrow turning into a cold, sharp anger. She swept everything off the coffee table in a fit of rage, the sound of breaking glass echoing her crumbling dreams.
The Harris Estate
Quentin walked into the mansion with an aura so cold the servants scattered like autumn leaves. He strode directly into the study, where Old Mr. Harris was calmly sipping tea.
"Quentin? What brings you here so suddenly?" the old man asked, surprised by the thunderous expression on his son's face.
Quentin sat opposite him, his voice low and dangerous. "Father, you have a traitor in your circle."
The patriarch's hand faltered, the teacup clinking against the saucer. "What are you talking about?"
Quentin took a slow, steadying breath. "I was drugged last night. At your party. In your house."
Mr. Harris's brow furrowed. He knew his son wasn't one for hyperbole. If Quentin said he was drugged, someone close to the family had dared to strike. "And... the girl?" he asked, his eyes flashing with a sudden, pragmatic sternness. "Who was she? We need to handle this."
Quentin saw the look of "disposal" in his father's eyes and felt a bitter twist in his gut. He poured himself a cup of tea, his movements deceptively leisurely. "She's in the Solis family."
Cough!
Mr. Harris choked, a spray of tea hitting the desk as he spiraled into a coughing fit. "The Solis family? Don't tell me..."
There was only one daughter in the Solis family. Amanda.
Quentin met his father's shocked gaze. "Tomorrow, Father, I want you to prepare the betrothal gifts. You're coming with me to the Solis estate to apologize—and to propose."
As for the person who drugged him? Quentin knew exactly who it was. But for the sake of his father's fragile health, he held his tongue for now.
Mr. Harris regained his composure, sighing heavily. "But what about Javier? Amanda is his girlfriend. How do we explain this to him?"
Quentin stood up, his indifference returning like armor. "I'll handle Javier. You just focus on the gifts, Father. I want her to have the best. I have business to attend to."
He turned and left, giving the old man no room to argue. But as he stepped into the main hall, he collided with Javier, who looked like he was ready to commit murder.
"Quentin Harris! You're playing a dangerous game, aren't you?" Javier hissed.
He had spent weeks setting a trap to ruin Quentin's "perfect" reputation. He never imagined that not only would Quentin escape, but that he would end up with Amanda in his bed.
Quentin's eyes darkened. "Play? Javier, do you honestly think I have the time or the interest to play games with you?"
Javier let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "So you're saying you didn't leak those photos of me and Elena last night? You're saying you didn't orchestrate this entire 'accident' to steal her?"
Quentin raised an eyebrow. He had leaked the affair—it was a necessary counter-strike—but the sheer speed of the viral spread suggested Amanda had a hand in it too. He found himself admiring her ruthlessness.
"Don't try to play the victim here, Javier," Quentin said coolly.
"Victim? You're shameless!" Javier spat. "You're actually going to steal your own nephew's girlfriend? Have you no sense of decency?"
Quentin leaned in, a predator's smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Decency? Perhaps not. But here is a reality check for you, Javier: In the future, when you see Amanda, you will be polite. And you will call her 'Aunt'."
In the past, Quentin had stayed away because he thought Amanda was happy. But after seeing Javier's brutality and his betrayal with Elena, Quentin realized Javier wasn't just unworthy—he was a threat. He wouldn't let her go again.
Javier's face contorted. "You think she'll marry you? Don't forget how much she loves me. She'll crawl back to me the moment I whistle."
Quentin's hand tightened into a fist at his side, but his voice remained smooth as silk. "We'll see. Let's see which is more attractive to her: the position of a neglected 'Young Lady,' or the position of the Matriarch of the Harris family."
Seeing the sheer, distorted horror on Javier's face, Quentin decided he had wasted enough breath. He turned and strode out of the house, leaving Javier trembling in the hall.
In a fit of impotent rage, Javier punched the wall, the dull thud echoing through the mansion.
Amanda... Amanda! That woman was supposed to be his pawn, his obedient little doll. How had she become the very thing that was destroying him?