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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1 — The Night I Fell

POV: Selene Hart

I never thought betrayal had a sound—until I heard the applause fade into whispers and the snap of handcuffs behind my back.

It was meant to be the most triumphant night of my life.

The Evercrest Charity Gala—my stage, my coronation. The night the city's elite would finally see me not as the girl from Queens who clawed her way up, but as one of them. And for a moment, standing at the center of that glittering ballroom, drowning in the warmth of applause, I believed I had made it.

I caught sight of Ethan through the sea of faces, my fiancé, my supposed anchor in this world of sharks. His smile was polished for the cameras, white and perfect, the way it always was. But when he walked up to me before my speech, his hand tightened on my elbow just a fraction too much.

"Remember to thank the board," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "And smile, Lena. Tonight is about winning."

It should have sounded like encouragement. Instead, it felt like a warning.

I shook it off, the way I'd been shaking off little moments like that for months. "What is the problem Ethan."

He chuckled, "Problem…" a short smile hung at his lips.

"You don't seem to say that, there is absolutely problem."

I locked my eyes with his, my fingers twitching at my flank, "Ethan, please talk to me. What is happening?"

He didn't reply to my question, rather giving me an unreadable expression, "Lena, take the stage." His voice cold and tick.

I took the stage. My speech flowed like silk. I spoke about resilience, innovation, and giving back. I told them about the scholarship fund in my father's name, and my voice caught just slightly—enough to seem human but not weak. The applause swelled, a wave of approval that lifted me higher.

Then the double doors at the back of the ballroom slammed open. "All heads down now." Voices screamed.

The next was the chaos that erupted. "Get those hands down," They continued as the handcuffed my personal security that stood at the door

"What is happening," I asked myself, as I sprawled on the floor.

They were two men in dark suits strode in, their badges flashing under the crystal lights.

The room fell into a total chaos, panic hung in the air as to it was the gathering of hidden mafias that had just been revealed. My pulse quickened, my smile frozen in place.

"Get up," the taller agent's voice rang out, deep and unwavering.

My hands still hung on the air as he dragged my suit, "Are you Selene Hart?" he asked.

I could feel my breathe escaped my lungs for a flick moment, "Yes, I am Selene Hart."

"Oh wow," he snapped, "She doesn't even look like it."

I turned confused, as I turned to the man who had once promised to always stand by me. This time his expression unconcerned and unwavering.

"Look like what?" I snapped with last ounce of confidence in me.

"You're under arrest for corporate theft, insider trading, and fraud."

The words didn't make sense as they floated in the air, meaningless syllables, until the applause turned into murmurs, and murmurs into sharp, eager whispers.

The pendant I held in m hands slipped from my fingers and broke on the floor.

"What—?" My voice cracked, but they were already moving toward me.

I glanced at Ethan. He didn't move. He didn't even look surprised. Just the same pity and distance. The same expression he wore when we saw a homeless man on Fifth Avenue.

The agents' hands were firm as they turned me around. The cold bite of handcuffs wrapped around my wrists, and the click echoed in my ears louder than the gasps.

Flashes exploded—photographers capturing my humiliation like it was a goddamn red-carpet moment.

"What was the reason you choose insider trading."

"Would you advise young entrepreneurs to choose the part."

"So what next after Jail terms."

"Were you blackmailed to do this?"

And that's when I saw him.

Damon Blackwood. I'd never met him, but I knew who he was. Everyone in New York did. The Billionaire and corporate predator. The man who could buy and destroy companies like they were toys. He stood at the far side of the ballroom, half in shadow, steel-grey eyes locked on me. His face gave nothing away—no shock, no pity. Just… calculation.

And for a split second, I felt like I was exactly where he wanted me.

The agents led me out, past people I'd once toasted champagne with.

"She climbed too fast," someone whispered.

"I heard she hacked the accounts herself," another murmured.

The words clung to me like wet ash.

The night blurred after that.

Mugshots. Fingerprints. The itch of polyester against my skin as they made me trade my gown for a holding cell bench.

The whole memories filled my entirety as I sat the far end of the bench. I could still taste the champagne, now sour in my mouth.

Hours passed. Ethan didn't come. No one did. The only sounds were the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional cough from the other cells down the hall.

I sat there, replaying every moment—trying to figure out how the hell my perfect life had detonated in front of the entire city. And in that replay, I saw it—something I hadn't noticed before. Damon, leaning toward Ethan at the bar minutes before the agents arrived, his lips moving. A brief glance in my direction.

This was becoming something fishy I hadn't yet known, or possibly I was about to know.

A metallic clink drew my attention. The officer on night duty stood outside my cell, tossing something through the bars like a folded slip of paper.

"Anonymous drop-off," he said with a shrug. "The person said it was urgent."

My hands shook as I unfolded it. Just one line, written in precise, deliberate ink:

Sorry Selene, you were never the target. He was. But you'll burn for him.

I stared at the words until they blurred.

I didn't know who "he" was. Was it Ethan? Was it Damon? Or was it my dead father, Hart?

But the note's weight was heavier than the cuffs had been.

And in that cold, fluorescent cell, I realized—I hadn't just fallen.

I'd been framed and pushed.

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