Flashback ):
This is the memory Alessia never let herself revisit. Until now.
The night Serena died didn't begin with violence.
It began with truth.
An ugly one.
"You knew I loved him," Camille spat, her voice low but vicious. "Since university, Serena. You knew."
Serena froze in the doorway of her apartment, blood draining from her face.
"You were just friends back then—"
"Don't lie!" Camille shouted. "You always lied. With your pretty smiles and perfect life. He looked at you like you were a damn goddess and looked through me like I was a shadow."
Serena's fingers curled into fists.
"And now this? The will? The company? The legacy? You have always had every.
"It wasn't supposed to be a competition," Serena said softly. "I didn't steal Ethan. He chose—"
"SHUT UP!" Camille lunged forward, tears streaking down her cheeks, her makeup smudged into madness. "He should have chosen me. If you hadn't existed, he would have."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Serena whispered:
"You're not angry because I have him.
You're angry because he never even saw you."
Camille slapped her.
It wasn't hard, but it cracked the last thing between them.
Serena's eyes filled with a sadness too deep for tears.
"I loved you like a sister," she whispered.
Camille's chest rose and fell rapidly.
"That was your last mistake."
She turned, grabbed her purse, and stormed out of the apartment.
The door slammed.
And for a moment, all Serena heard was her own breath.
Then—
A click.
Her front door creaked open again.
But it wasn't Camille.
The man wore a hoodie, gloves. His face was hidden. No words. Just a blade.
Serena stumbled back. "What the hell—?!"
He rushed.
She fought, but not fast enough.
The knife pierced her abdomen. Once. Then again.
Blood soaked through her silk blouse. She fell.
The intruder bolted through the same door he came in.
And seconds later—
Another shadow entered.
Ethan.
He froze at the sight.
Serena struggled to lift her head. "Ethan—"
Then Camille appeared behind him,
And then… her stepmother.
Three people she once trusted, standing in her blood-soaked doorway.
"Help… me…"
No one did.
Camille looked away, trembling.
"Such a shame," Her stepmom said. "If only you'd signed that power of attorney."
Serena's heart cracked as her vision dimmed.
She saw Ethan watching her. Not in shock. But calculation.
Camille stepped forward
"You always get the fairy tale," she whispered. "Not this time."
Serena gasped once.
Then… silence.
Present Day.
Alessia sat alone in her study, bathed in the warm light of an antique lamp. The air smelled of old leather and lavender wax. Before her lay her father's will, encased in a heavy binder with gold edges.
She'd read it ten times since she came back.
But tonight, something was different.
Her fingers traced the final page—and caught a slight ridge beneath the cover lining. Curious, she peeled it back carefully.
A sealed envelope, yellowed by time.
She sliced it open with a paper knife and pulled out a hidden codicil. Her father's handwriting stared back at her—sharp, deliberate, unshakable.
"In the event of my death, should my daughter Serena perish under unnatural circumstances, a safety clause will activate, transferring all controlling shares of Vaughn Enterprises to an anonymous trustee. The identity of the trustee is protected until such time as the threat against Serena's life has passed or is avenged."
Her pulse quickened.
An anonymous trustee?
A ghost shareholder.
Someone who had been quietly holding power since the day they buried her.
She snatched her phone and called Lucian.
"I need to know who's been pulling the strings since my 'death.' I want a name. Tonight."
His voice, deep and calm, didn't flinch. "On it."
Meanwhile…
Ethan stood in the shadows outside Camille's penthouse.
Three years ago, he had watched Serena take her last breathe ; he believed her death. Believed the blood on his hands would fade if he buried it deep enough.
Now, the ghost he helped create was alive, walking, watching.
And worse… remembering.
Inside, Camille paced, barefoot on marble, a glass of wine forgotten on the counter.
"She knows," she whispered into the phone. "She's not Serena anymore—she's something worse. She's smarter. Sharper."
The voice on the other end was cold, male, unfamiliar.
"Then finish the job. Or I will."
Camille ended the call, shaking.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts," she muttered at her reflection. "But monsters like her? I made her. And I'll unmake her."
Back at Alessia's apartment.
Lucian returned two hours later. Wet from the rain, a file tucked under his coat. He handed her a single folded slip of paper. Said nothing.
Alessia opened it.
And stopped breathing.
A name stared back at her.
Her uncle.
Her father's brother.
The man who held her as a baby. Who cried at her mother's funeral. Who stood before cameras and wept for Serena.
Her voice broke into the silence. "That's not possible."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "It is. It always was. He's the one who lobbied against you in the boardroom. The one who said your death was 'a tragedy and that the perpetrator could not be caught even though he didn't try to'"
Her hand shook slightly, but she forced herself to stay still.
Lucian watched her quietly.
He understood betrayal—intimately.
"You still in this with me?" she asked softly, reading his silence.
Lucian nodded once. "Until the end."
Across the city, Ethan sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel like it might collapse in his hands.
He remembered the vote. The bribes. The night Camille cried and begged for Serena to disappear. And how he had signed off on it.
Not pushed. Not stabbed. But signed.
That was the difference between a knife and a pen.
He hadn't killed Serena.
He just gave permission for someone else to do it.
But when she returned, alive and colder than death, he'd seen the opportunity.
He found her in that hallway. Offered soft apologies. Swallowed his guilt and sold her a lie.
"I was blackmailed. I didn't know they'd actually hurt you."
And she believed him.
At least, he thought she did.
What Serena didn't know—what Alessia still hadn't uncovered—was that he had received money the next day. A quiet transfer to a hidden account. Blood money for silence.
And he never returned it.
As he stared at the skyline, he smiled bitterly.
"She still loves me. Somewhere inside, she still wants to believe I'm different. That gives me a chance."
Because if Serena forgave him… maybe he could forgive himself.
But deep down, he knew—
She was never going to forgive him.
That night, Alessia stood at the edge of the balcony—the same way Serena had years ago.
Wind whipped her hair. Lights blinked across the city.
But this time, she wasn't the girl being played with.
She was the one pulling the strings.
Camille's grip on the Vaughn name was slipping.
And Ethan?
He was about to find out what happened to traitors who tried to rewrite history.
She whispered to herself, almost reverently—
"Let the dead rest. But I'm not one of them."
But because of the letter she had seen which was written by her dad.
could there be more to her death?
She thought.