A swarm of reporters crowded the gates of the Carter residence like vultures circling fresh prey. Cameras flashed relentlessly. Microphones dangled between iron bars. Voices overlapped, shouting questions, accusations, and demands.
The truth was out.
Lennox Corp—the construction giant—had been scammed. And the one responsible for leading the company into a public catastrophe?
Its own heir.
Dean Carter.
Inside the house, chaos mirrored the scene outside. Phones rang nonstop. Statements were being drafted, deleted, redrafted. Employees scrambled to salvage what remained of their reputation, desperately trying to soothe clients and partners.
Dean pushed his way through the front door looking like he hadn't slept in days—hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, tie crooked. Matt hurried behind him, clutching a stack of folders and looking equally distressed.
"Sir," Matt began breathlessly as he followed Dean through the hallway, "I've compiled a list of clients who want responses immediately. And legal wants you to release an official company statement—something assuring everyone we're cooperating and committed to resolving things."
Dean didn't respond. He only walked faster.
Reaching his office, he sank into his leather chair. Overwhelmed. Frustrated. But his eyes weren't full of fear for the company, nor the media, nor the lawsuits.
His only concern was Celine.
Celine… and the Rosenfields.
"Did Celine call here?" Dean asked abruptly. "She hasn't called my phone. Maybe she reached me here instead."
Matt shook his head. "No, sir. Ms. Celine hasn't contacted us. None of the Rosenfields have. The last call we received was from Mr. Rosenfield's secretary—to check on your father."
Dean's jaw tightened.
"I guess they really don't care anymore…" he muttered, staring blankly at the computer screen. Pride, ego, and denial flickered through his eyes. All roads had led here—and he knew exactly why.
Matt cleared his throat. "Sir… you have a meeting with the head of Apex. They're not happy with our delays. They said your father made commitments we failed to meet. They've already begun transferring their contracts to another firm."
Dean shot up from his seat, furious.
"They can't do that! Do they know who we are?! A contract binds them—they'll be hearing from our lawyers!"
Matt flinched at his outburst but remained professional. "Sir, with respect… please remain calm. It might be wise to resolve this with dignity."
He set a note on the desk. "Here's the address. I managed to secure a meeting with the company's head."
Dean glanced at the note, then at his phone. Still nothing from Celine. No texts. No calls.
He dialed her number immediately.
Letty answered.
"Good morning, Mr. Carter. Ms. Celine is busy."
Dean's disappointment seeped into his voice. "Can you have her call me back?"
Letty gave a soft, uncomfortable pause. "Of course, sir."
Dean hung up and marched out, heading to the meeting.
⸻
The address led him to a prestigious, discreet executive club tucked between two old oak trees—its exterior unmarked, its entrance guarded by deep navy curtains and polished brass fixtures.
He hadn't even known this place existed.
Inside, rich mahogany walls held framed oil paintings; the smell of aged whiskey and leather wafted in the air. Gentle piano music drifted softly between rooms. It was a sanctuary for power—quiet, exclusive, refined.
A staff member greeted him. "Mr. Carter? Please, have a seat anywhere you prefer—the bar, or the study lounge."
Dean nodded stiffly and settled into a seat near the bar, trying to gather his nerves.
A few minutes later, he saw two familiar silhouettes approaching—one painfully recognizable.
Nathan.
He walked alongside another man—sharp suit, sharper presence. They spoke quietly, serious and composed, radiating confidence.
Dean straightened his posture and plastered on his trademark arrogant smile.
"Nathan," he called out smugly. "Fancy seeing you here. I guess we have similar tastes in everything. Only difference is—" he chuckled—"in the end, I get to keep it."
Nathan slowed down, staring at him for a moment. A sigh slipped out.
Even now, with his life collapsing, Dean was still petty.
Still childish.
Still oblivious.
"It's nice to see you, Dean," Nathan replied calmly. "I heard about the scam. That's rough. Hope you recover."
The polite sting hit Dean exactly where it hurt.
"We'll handle it," Dean shot back quickly. "Thanks for your concern. But honestly? With Celine by my side, I'll get through it just fine."
Nathan's fist tightened. His jaw clenched. He didn't show it—but fire roared in his blood. Every muscle in him screamed to knock Dean onto the polished floor.
He breathed through it.
Dean smirked, sensing an opening. "You know what surprised me the most? How easy it was to get her back. You didn't even fight for her. I didn't have to lift a finger."
He leaned in, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"Thanks for making it easy, man. Maybe we'll invite you to the wedding."
Nathan stepped aside just before Dean could pat his back. His patience was razor-thin. Another word and he would lose it.
The man beside Nathan finally stepped forward.
"Hi," he said coolly. "Adam."
He extended his hand. "You must be Dean Carter."
Dean looked at the hand, then looked away—eyes narrowing with superiority.
Adam slowly withdrew his hand, unfazed.
"I see," he said calmly. "I guess the rumors are true. You're nothing like your father."
Dean blinked. "I—I didn't know—"
"Save it," Adam interrupted. "You're here to meet me."
Dean's eyes widened. His stomach dropped.
Adam.
The head of Apex.
The very client Lennox needed to keep.
"I guess," Adam continued with a polite, razor-sharp smile, "we don't need to discuss anything further. The conclusion is already clear."
Nathan and Adam began walking past him, but panic surged through Dean.
"Wait—wait! You don't have to be so sensitive. We can work this out!"
His voice cracked, slipping into desperation.
Nathan paused and leaned close—so close Dean could feel the heat of his breath.
"Just so we're clear," Nathan said in a dangerously quiet voice, "it's not that I don't want to fight for Celine. I just know she can handle herself. I'm not going to fight her battles."
He stepped back, eyes sharp.
Then he turned away and walked off with Adam, leaving Dean standing alone—pissed, humiliated, and utterly defeated.