Amy stepped into the office the next morning with a careful, measured calm. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor, but inside, her chest felt tight, nerves humming like electricity. Every glance from colleagues reminded her of last night, of the whispers, of the stares that had made her feel small and exposed.
She tried to keep her head high, forcing a professional smile as she approached her desk. Her laptop was already open, emails piling up from the day before. Numbers, spreadsheets, reminders—all trivial in comparison to the sting still burning in her chest.
Mirable appeared in the hallway, leaning casually against the frame of a colleague's office. Her eyes flicked to Amy, a faint, satisfied smile tugging at her lips. "Good morning, Amy," she said sweetly, almost innocent. "I trust the auction was… enlightening?"
Amy froze for a moment, gripping the edge of her desk. "It was… fine," she managed, keeping her voice steady. But inside, every nerve was alight. Mirable's presence always carried a subtle threat, and Amy had learned the hard way that this was no accident.
Mirable's smile widened imperceptibly. "I hope you've learned to be… careful. You never know who might be watching—or what they might be looking for."
Amy swallowed, forcing herself to nod. She had no words for the venom hidden in that casual remark. She hated how easily Mirable manipulated her, and she hated even more that Ethan had left her humiliated at the auction, trusting Mirable over her.
Throughout the morning, whispers drifted across the office. Someone mentioned the auction in passing, another hinted at the "incident with the necklace," and Amy felt their eyes like tiny knives against her back. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed, every movement deliberate, cautious, trying to avoid any mistake that could give them another reason to judge her.Amy spent the morning at the office on edge, replaying the auction fiasco over and over in her mind. Her phone buzzed with Ethan's message:
Remember to prepare a gift for my grandfather's birthday this evening. You, me, and Mirable will be attending. Don't disappoint.
Her stomach churned. Mirable would be there, radiating perfection and malice, and she would have to act as if nothing had happened.
That evening, Amy carefully selected her outfit: a floor-length sapphire blue gown, silk that shimmered with every movement, delicate silver embroidery tracing her neckline. Her hair was swept into loose, cascading curls over one shoulder, and her makeup accentuated her striking eyes, soft but commanding. She hoped to appear composed, elegant, untouchable.
As she entered the grand hall, her breath caught. Crystal chandeliers glimmered like frozen stars, golden candelabras bathed the room in warm light, and guests in dazzling attire mingled with polite laughter. Cameras flashed at her arrival, but Amy barely noticed. Her attention was drawn to a tall, imposing man across the room. He exuded confidence, power, and calm authority—the kind of presence that made people instinctively respect him.
Whispers floated through the crowd: Benson… billionaire… Amy felt inexplicably captivated by him, though she had no idea who he was. She had no clue he was Ethan's uncle, and her curiosity and admiration tugged at her, mingled with a strange sense of comfort.
Her eyes flicked nervously to Mirable, who entered moments later, flawless as ever, flashing her radiant, calculated smile. Amy's chest tightened. She knew that smile all too well—her stepsister's weapon of choice.
Mirable sauntered over, tilting her head as if considering a fragile statue. "Oh Amy," she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I hope you've recovered from… the auction incident. I mean, the million-dollar necklace—didn't it just… slip from your grasp?" She let her words linger, watching Amy's reaction. "I was worried everyone might think the Davis family couldn't even afford a proper gift."
Amy's stomach churned, but she forced a polite smile, keeping her composure as best she could. Her legs wobbled slightly, the sedative mirable put in her drink is beginning to take effect.
Excusing herself to the restroom, Amy's legs faltered beneath her. She dabbed at her foundation, adjusted her curls, and tried to regain composure, but the room spun around her. Weak and dizzy, she misjudged the doors as she wandered, mistaking the Benson suite for a storage area. She pushed the door open and stumbled inside, swaying, barely able to stand, Benson was taking a shower when Amy entered ,when he came outside from the bathroom,he was shocked to see his nephew girlfriend there, understanding that this was a planned work.
In the party Mirable's eyes glinted with malicious satisfaction. "Perfect," she whispered to an assistant. Cameras, microphones, and the murmuring crowd immediately swarmed toward the suite after telling everyone she saw any going into a room with a man. She was sure Amy would be humiliated publicly this time.
Inside, Amy pressed a trembling hand against the wall, unable to focus. The haze of the sedative dulled her awareness. A tall, calm man—Benson—stood nearby, his presence commanding and quiet. She didn't know who he was, only that she felt safer with him near.
Benson's voice broke the mounting noise:
"what are you guys doing here,I didn't know that I wasn't allowed to have my privacy in the Harrington household "
The audience froze. Murmurs rippled: Benson… billionaire… Ethan's uncle…?
Ethan appeared shortly after, eyes wide in shock. "Uncle…?" he said, bowing respectfully. Cameras clicked, whispers spread, and the audience's attention shifted instantly.
Mirable's smirk vanished. She realized her plan had backfired spectacularly. Cameras and attention now focused on her. Guests whispered, She tried to set Amy up? Humiliate her? Gasps spread like wildfire. The crowd turned on Mirable, leaving her frozen and panicked.
Ethan stepped forward, voice firm: "We… apologize, Uncle Benson. This should never have happened."
Mrs. Davis and Mr. Davis also stepped forward, faces tight with embarrassment. "We apologize on behalf of mirable," Mrs. Davis said, bowing slightly. "It was never our intention for… this chaos."
Amy remained slumped on the sofa, still completely unaware. She didn't see the cameras, hear the whispers, or notice Mirable's horrified expression. She didn't understand the apologies or that the crowd now laughed at Mirable instead of her. The sedative coursing through her veins left her weak, restless, and foggy.
She murmured incoherently to herself, pressing her face into the plush cushions. The first flicker of hope—the ember of resolve that would one day burn—remained dormant, waiting for her to wake.
Outside the suite, the media snapped photos, guests whispered, and Mirable's carefully constructed public image crumbled. Her teasing about the auction necklace incident now seemed ironic and hollow; everyone saw the plan had completely failed.