The private investigator slid the manila folder across Clara's marble dining table, his expression carefully neutral. He had seen too many powerful people react in too many dangerous ways to revelations like this.
Clara didn't move at first. She sipped her wine, eyes sharp as glass. "I trust you didn't waste my time."
"Not at all, Miss Hayes." His voice was low, steady. "The girl's background is… interesting."
Finally, Clara opened the folder. Photographs, documents, and neatly typed reports spilled across the table.
Her eyes scanned the first page. Unpaid debts. Old medical bills in her mother's name. Notices from collection agencies. Interest compounding, suffocating. Clara's lips curved faintly.
"She's drowning in financial baggage," the investigator continued. "Her mother tried to keep up after her father's disappearance, but… it wasn't enough."
Clara's brows lifted. "Disappearance?"
The man nodded. "Her father, Daniel Hart. Ten years ago, he vanished without explanation. Left behind rumors—embezzlement from the small firm he worked at, gambling debts, an affair. Nothing was ever proven, but the whispers never stopped. Some claim he ran to escape creditors. Others… that he abandoned his family."
Clara's eyes gleamed as she flipped through the photos—Lena's modest childhood home, her mother's tired face at the market, unopened letters stamped in red ink.
"This is gold," Clara murmured. "The perfect narrative. The poor little charity case… daughter of a criminal and a drowning mother. What will the board think when they hear Adrian's partner comes from such a family?"
The investigator hesitated. "With all due respect, Miss Hayes, none of this is confirmed. It's circumstantial—rumors, missing records. Nothing concrete."
Clara's laugh was soft, deadly. "When has the truth ever mattered in our world? Perception is everything."
She gathered the papers, tucking them back into the folder with meticulous care. Her reflection glowed against the polished glass of the window, the city twinkling behind her like stars bowing at her feet.
"Find me more. Anything. Even the smallest thread. But this…" she tapped the folder, "this is enough to shatter her. Adrian may protect her in the boardroom, but he can't erase her bloodline. He can't rewrite her past."
The investigator gave a curt nod and left, his footsteps fading into silence.
Clara stood alone, clutching the file. For the first time in weeks, she felt power humming in her veins again.
"Lena Hart," she whispered to the night, her smile venomous. "Let's see how you survive when the ghost of your father comes knocking."
*****
Clara sets the trap
Chapter 22 – Clara Sets the Trap
Clara Hayes never rushed her victories. She had learned long ago that true power lay not in the blow itself, but in the way it was delivered. Clean, public, irreversible.
The folder sat on her vanity like a prized jewel. Every detail about Lena Hart's family was etched in her memory now: the debts, the whispers, the father who vanished.
Tonight, she wasn't just beautiful—she was dangerous. Slipping into a sleek crimson gown, Clara studied her reflection. Perfect
Her phone buzzed. A notification from an online tabloid editor she had on retainer.
Clara: I have a story. Exclusive. But I want it published tomorrow night.
Editor: You know I don't run charity pieces.
Clara: This isn't charity. It's scandal. A vanishing father, debts piling up, the woman currently attached to Adrian Knight. You'll have the city eating out of your hands.
Editor: Send me proof.
Clara: You'll have it by morning.
She smirked, tossing her phone aside. The media would do what they always did—turn rumor into headline, whisper into thunder.
But that wasn't all. Clara wanted something more precise, more theatrical.
She dialed another number. The line clicked.
"Miss Hayes," a honeyed voice drawled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Clara's lips curved. "You'll be attending the Knight Foundation Gala, won't you?"
"Wouldn't miss it. The who's-who of the city, all under one roof."
"Good. Because I'll need you to bring up a certain name. Daniel Hart. Casually, of course."
There was a low chuckle. "Ah… you want whispers planted in the crowd. Consider it done."
Clara leaned back in her chair, satisfaction curling through her veins. The gala was only two days away. By then, Lena Hart's fragile little façade would be crumbling under the weight of her own bloodline.
She closed the folder and slid it into her safe, locking it with a soft click. Then she raised her glass of wine to the mirror.
"To Adrian," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with malice. "When you finally see who she really is, you'll come crawling back. And I'll be waiting."