The ballroom of The St. Éclaire Hotel shimmered with wealth and secrets. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in golden light, clinking glasses echoed like gossip, and laughter was just a mask over a hundred power games.
Arielle entered on Dominic's arm, stunning in a backless silver gown that hugged her like it was sewn directly onto her skin. She was elegance dipped in attitude—chin high, eyes sharper than diamonds, completely unfazed by the many stares.
Including hers.
Charlotte.
Dressed in deep burgundy velvet, the color of dried blood, she looked like temptation personified. Her smile was honey-laced venom, and when Dominic excused himself briefly to take a call, she glided toward Arielle with the grace of a woman who had practiced every step in her heels.
"You've got nerve, I'll give you that," Charlotte said sweetly, her wine glass raised like a toast.
Arielle didn't blink. "You've got filler, I'll give you that. We all wear armor."
Charlotte's smile faltered. "How long do you think this little charade will last? He gets bored, you know. He always does."
Arielle sipped her champagne. "Then I guess you must've been exhausting."
Charlotte's breath hitched. Arielle didn't flinch, didn't give her an inch—and walked away like a queen who didn't need to look back.
But she felt Charlotte's glare burn holes in her bare back.
Later that night, after too many compliments and fake laughter, Dominic led Arielle into the back of his car, quiet and unreadable.
The moment they stepped into his penthouse, the tension broke.
Arielle spun on him, eyes flashing.
"So what was that?" she snapped, heels clicking across the marble as she tossed her clutch on a chair. "Her hands on your chest? Her leaning in like that? You were enjoying it, weren't you?"
Dominic arched a brow. "I didn't notice."
"Didn't notice?" she scoffed. "Oh, please. Her perfume could drown a city. She was marking you."
He stepped closer, loosening his tie with maddening calm. "And you sound like a jealous wife."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not jealous. I just don't like being made a fool of."
He smiled. "There it is."
"There what?"
"That fire." He cupped her face with both hands, soft but firm. "You could've scratched her eyes out and still looked like royalty."
"You're enjoying this," she growled.
"A little." Then he kissed her. Hard. Deep. Silencing the rest of her anger like only he could.
Her nails clawed lightly at his chest before she gave in, mouth matching his heat.
Meanwhile…
Charlotte watched from her apartment's balcony, wine untouched, eyes glued to her screen. A live feed from the gala's interior, captured by a discreet camera her planted associate wore.
Her jaw was tight. Her plan to provoke Arielle had failed.
Dominic hadn't flinched.
Arielle hadn't cracked.
And worse—Dominic kissed her like he wanted her. Like he was falling.
No. That couldn't happen.
If she couldn't have him… she would destroy everything he touched.
And she already had a plan.
Her phone buzzed. An email from a PR contact she paid well. Attached were records—falsified, but convincing.
Insider trading allegations.
Raine Corp whistleblower claims.
And Arielle's name connected to a fake bribery scheme.
"Oh, Dominic," she whispered, sipping her wine at last. "You shouldn't have broken my heart."
The next morning, Arielle woke wrapped in the softest sheets and the unmistakable scent of Dominic still lingering on her skin. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
Until her phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then nonstop.
Her brows furrowed. Texts. Notifications. Mentions.
She unlocked her screen and immediately froze.
BREAKING NEWS: Insider Scandal Rocks Raine Corp—Arielle Sinclair Linked to Bribery Ring?
Arielle sat up, sheets falling to her waist as she scrolled in disbelief. Her name. Dominic's company. Words like fraud, scandal, corruption—and even a fake video clip of her allegedly exchanging envelopes with a man in a suit.
"Are you kidding me?" she hissed, throwing the covers off.
She barely had time to process before the bedroom door burst open. Dominic strode in, already dressed in dark slacks and a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up, phone in hand.
His jaw was tight, eyes a brewing storm. "You saw it?"
Arielle was already pacing. "Saw it? It's blowing up every feed. My father just texted three question marks. That's never good."
He moved toward her. "They used a real lobby video and stitched in a different audio overlay. That 'bribery' moment? It's from a meeting I had with a legal consultant. They're trying to pin it on you to make it personal."
"Who would—" She paused. "Charlotte."
Dominic's expression didn't change, but his silence confirmed it.
"She has a mole," he said simply. "And we're going to find out who."
Arielle crossed her arms, biting the inside of her cheek. "So what now? What's the move?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Damage control. You can't respond. Not yet. I've got PR already crafting a response. But until then, you're off the grid."
She arched a brow. "You want me to hide?"
"I want you protected," he snapped, the steel in his tone impossible to ignore. "They're targeting you because they know it'll get to me."
Her lips parted. "So it does get to you."
His hand came up to cup her cheek. "You think I'd let anyone drag your name through the mud if you meant nothing?"
Her pulse spiked.
"And Charlotte?" she asked softly.
"I'll handle her," he promised darkly. "But not with gloves."
Meanwhile…
Charlotte stood in a private lounge at an upscale media studio, sipping a green juice like she hadn't just thrown two reputations into a furnace.
Her contact stood beside her, flipping through press traffic data.
"Leak's on fire," he said with a grin. "But Raine's camp is quiet. Suspiciously quiet."
Charlotte's red lips curled. "Let them try. By the time they put out one fire, I'll have started another."
She turned away from the window, her voice a cold whisper.
"And if I can't have him… I'll bury him. With her on top."