The USB drive felt like a loaded weapon in my pocket for the rest of the day, it's weight a constant, thrilling reminder that I was no longer fighting unarmed. What is in the USB? How much is there do I not know about Diana?
"Elara, a few of us are going drinking tonight, care to join?" Lily, a junior business analyst in thick dark rimmed glasses stretched her neck and peered from her cubicle at me. "Sorry Lily, I have something on today, you guys have fun!" Lily sighed, "okay! Be sure to come the next time! Have a good weekend, Elara!"
I grinned at her, "See you Monday!"
That night, after the Sterling mansion finally sunk into a tomb of quiet opulence, I got out from bed, locked my bedroom door, and took out my laptop. As my laptop whirred to life, its blue glow painted my face in the darkness, casting long, dancing shadows that felt like the ghosts of my past life urging me on. The USB drive, a sliver of obsidian, felt alive in my hand. I plugged it in.
Inside, were 3 folders, named "Lumiere Events", "Atelier Blanc", and "Crestwood Printers". I took a deep breath and clicked into each of those folders.
The files unfolded not as dry data, but as a gallery of horrors. "Lumiere Events" and "Atelier Blanc" were not just failed companies; they were crime scenes without bodies. I saw the ghost of "Crestwood Printers"—a third-generation family business, their pride and legacy, reduced to a line item in a liquidation report. The son, Michael Crestwood, had poured his inheritance into it, only to watch Diana systematically bleed it dry, siphoning funds through phantom vendors before abandoning the hollowed-out shell. "Atelier Blanc," a sanctuary for emerging artists, was left with worthless contracts and a mountain of debt, while Diana walked away with their exclusive client list and copyrights.
That's how she has been living her luxurious life.. Stepping on the men that trusted or fell for her.
My fingers trembled, not with fear, but with a cold, clarifying rage. This wasn't just about me anymore. My vengeance was now a thread in a larger tapestry of justice, woven with the stolen dreams of all the people Diana had devoured.
I spent the night crafting my weapon. Anya Petrova's gossip column was a firecracker; what I needed was a depth charge. I composed an anonymous email to the Financial Daily's investigations editor, providing them with some general information that was available to public, but if put together, tells another story. No hysterical accusations. Just cold, hard, verifiable facts—dates, public statements, the specific suit conjured against Crestwood. I painted a picture of a pattern and pointed him to Michael Crestwood, a man whose bitterness was a live wire waiting for a spark. I hit 'send' as the first grey light of Saturday dawned.
I was deep asleep when my phone erupted with Sienna's personalized ringtone—a cheerful, insistent sound that felt alien in my grim new world.
"Elara!" Sienna's voice came through my speaker, "Where are you?" I let out a yawn as I stretched my arms, "In bed." "It's twelve. Have you been partying without me?" Sienna asked, playfully. I chuckled, "my dear Ms Reed, would I dare?"
Sienna's laugh came through the phone, jolting something deep in my heart. "Pretty sure you won't! But oh my God, Elara! What's with this new sister of yours? I'm telling you, you will not believe the audacity!" Her voice was a hushed, dramatic shriek. She launched into the story of seeing Chloe with Isabelle Laurent at the Orchid Conservatory. "She's everywhere! Like a beautifully dressed plague. The Windsor Mall, the Azure Club… My mother ran into her at a charity luncheon. She's doing a full-court press, 'accidentally' bumping into every woman who matters!"
A sharp, painful memory lanced through me: my past life, Sienna's concerned face, her warnings about Diana and Chloe that I'd dismissed as jealousy. "They just want to be part of our family, Sienna. You're being paranoid." I had pushed her away, my most loyal friend, and dived straight into the welcoming arms of my betrayers.
"Sienna," I interrupted, my voice softer than I intended. "Breathe. Meet me at The Gilded Leaf. Now. My treat."
An hour later, nestled in a quiet corner of the elegant tea room, the scent of bergamot and fresh scones between us, Sienna studied me, her brow furrowed. "Elara, I don't know what they have been telling you, but you have to be careful. She is literally everywhere! It's like she's worried people might not know her name, that she is also a Sterling now. You-" She looked at me intently, "Why aren't you a bit affected? Your father hasn't even had her introduction party and she's going all over publicising her status!"
I poured her tea, the steady stream a contrast to the turmoil inside. "I know, Sienna. I see all of it. She's desperate. But now is not the time. I have recently learnt that we need to know when to sharpen our blades, and when to strike." I met her gaze, letting the mask slip just enough for her to see the steel beneath. "Thank you. For telling me then, and for telling me now. I… I'm sorry I didn't listen before."
Her eyes widened with confusion, "What before? Are you alright?" I merely smiled at her, "It's nothing, I guess I just had a deja vu moment." Wanting to change the topic, I signalled for a waiter to come, "Can you please get us an order of Manyokan Hitachi and Caviar Ice Cream please? Thank you." As the waiter walked away with our new orders, I reached across the table and squeezed Sienna's hand. "Thank you for always having my back. I really appreciate it." Sienna smiled, her eyes lighting up, "Of course, dear. Always."
I felt a warm sensation spreading in my heart. I missed this. I missed having a true friend. I know my faults now, Sienna. I won't push you away again.
The first ripple from my Friday-night email hit on Monday afternoon. The office air was thick with the scent of ambition and stale coffee. I was at the printer island when Diana's voice, usually a masterclass in controlled modulation, sliced through the hum from her partially open door.
"A what?" The word was a shard of ice. "Who?" A long silence. I held my breath. "From the Financial Daily? About Crestwood?" Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "That name was buried. I paid to have it buried."
Another pause. I could feel her fury radiating from the room. "No, you listen to me," she hissed. "This isn't a negotiation. Make it go away. I don't care what it costs, just handle it. Permanently."
Permanently. The word hung in the air, heavy with the promise of bribes, threats, and dark solutions. She slammed her phone on the table. I gathered my papers and fled, my heart hammering a savage rhythm of victory.
I never heard another similar call for the rest of the week. Did they really put the issue to bed? What is Diana really capable of?
Two days later, an invitation arrived. The Pemberton Foundation's Annual Autumn Gala. Another yearly event that we were invited to. It's a bigger event than the Vance's and many socialites will be in attendance. As my father beamed, talking about what it entails and what fun we will have, I looked at Diana's perfectly composed face and Chloe's barely concealed glee.
My mind, however, drifted past them. It drifted to a pair of cool, gunmetal-grey eyes. Would he be there? I blushed slightly as I realised that my thoughts have drifted to him. What am I thinking. My blind belief in love has cost me one life. Do I really want to go through all that again?
I shook my head slightly, wanting to shake him out of my head. "Elara, Chloe dears, I'll get the designers to prepare your outfits for the events. It will be great!"