“Everyone’s seen it now.” Carmen Quinn steadied her breathing and pulled out a screenshot from Instagram Stories.

It showed Walter Grant’s car pulling into his private estate in Pacific Heights, and through the passenger-side window, Jada Brooks’ delicate profile was faintly visible.

Walter froze when he saw it.

It wasn’t a deliberate paparazzi shot—just an accidental capture in the background.

The post had been up for a while, and the comments below confirmed what Carmen had said—plenty of people had already seen it.

He rubbed his temples in frustration, guilt weighing on him again as he turned to Jada. “Jada…”

She sat up slowly, slipped into her dress from under the bed, and began smoothing it down.

“Jada,” Walter said, almost pleading.

Jada smiled faintly. “Since you and Ms. Quinn are both worried, I’d better not stay any longer.”

Her heels were tossed somewhere downstairs, so Jada left barefoot, pulling her skirt straight as she walked out.

Walter wanted to call her back, but Carmen’s hurt expression stopped the words in his throat.

“It’s late. I’ll drive you back,” Walter offered.

“No need,” Jada replied without turning. “If anyone saw us together, Ms. Quinn’s dignity would be gone for good.”

“You—” Carmen heard the bite in Jada’s tone and nearly snapped back, but Walter’s sharp glance stopped her.

Walter caught Jada by the wrist. “Tonight was my fault. Don’t be angry.”

“Mr. Grant and Ms. Quinn clearly have a special bond. What would I even be angry about?” Jada pulled free, her lips curved but her eyes cold. “It’s late. I won’t interrupt your quality time. I can call a ride myself. No need to trouble you.”

“Jada!”

But she didn’t look back. She went straight downstairs and left the estate.

Outside, she powered her phone back on, ignoring the flood of missed calls, and opened WhatsApp.

In her chat with Wendy Shaw, several messages were waiting:

[Posted the photo to Instagram Stories. Just like you asked—captured the estate gate, Walter’s license plate, and a hint of your silhouette.]

[Carmen’s lapdog follows me. She’ll see it and forward it to her. No chance of failure.]

[Carmen’s nearby. She’s heading over now.]

[Did she arrive?]

[You still alive?]

Jada had seen the earlier ones but hadn’t had the chance to reply. At the last, clumsy line of concern, she couldn’t help but smile, her eyes stinging.

She typed back:

[Everything went as planned. I’m out. Thanks.]

The reply came almost instantly:

[Good. Alive is all that matters.]

Nothing more.

Jada curved her lips faintly, exited WhatsApp, and opened her missed calls list, ready to reassure a business partner.

Before she could dial, a Rolls-Royce Cullinan parked at the curb flashed its lights.

Jada narrowed her eyes and saw Ethan Cole standing beside the car, beckoning her over.

As expected.

She locked her screen and walked toward the car.

The rear door opened, and she climbed in. The car pulled away, the privacy divider rising.

Caius Martino’s dark eyes were chilling. “You dare hang up on me.”

“Yes,” Jada said evenly. “I turned my phone off. Your call wasn’t exactly appropriate timing.”

His anger, barely restrained all day, exploded. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I do.” She looked at him calmly. “Carmen’s timing was perfect. I didn’t break our deal.”

That tone again—so detached, so calm.

Caius sneered coldly. “Always about Carmen. After all these years, he’s still hopeless. You’ve schemed this far—don’t end up losing everything, chasing an illusion.”

“You’re wrong.” Jada gave a short laugh and pried open his clenched fingers one by one. “This time, I’ll use Carmen’s favorite little charades to drag them both straight to hell.”

An eye for an eye.

If Walter liked to play the savior for a pitiful act, she could play the part too—better than Carmen ever could.

After all, she was no longer the pampered heiress Sophia Quinn everyone knew. She’d seen the darkness of the world, and pride and propriety no longer meant anything.

As long as the ones who hurt her lived happy lives, she could never rest—not even in death. Whatever it took, she’d drag them down with her.

The car turned into Caius’ mansion—a massive property with a front and back garden, a pool, even a neatly trimmed patch of lawn meant for pets.

Of course, Caius had no pets—at least, not yet. But the lawn was kept perfectly trimmed, empty, as if waiting.

Jada had lived here for some time before making her public reappearance in front of Walter.

She had studied the changes in the business world, approached Caius with an offer, and once he agreed to cooperate, she moved in—rarely returning to the Brooks family home.

Mr. Brooks was a workaholic. Jada’s absence didn’t raise suspicion.

She changed her shoes at the door and glanced at Caius sitting in the living room, his back to her.

When he didn’t speak, she called out a polite greeting and went upstairs.

Strangely, when they first struck their deal, Caius’ one condition had been that she move in with him. But since she’d done so, he’d given her a separate bedroom and had never tried to cross the line.

She couldn’t figure him out.

Not that it mattered. She didn’t care about the eccentricities of a business partner.

Caius’ mansion was coldly minimalistic—white, gray, black everywhere.

Her own room had started that way too, but over time small touches appeared: pale-blue curtains, warm star-shaped fairy lights, a plush white rug.

She hadn’t asked for any of it, but by the time she noticed, the room looked like a place she would have once loved.

After showering, she half-dried her hair, collapsed into bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.

Downstairs, Caius sat by the window, staring into the night. After a long silence, he took the cracked phone Ethan had retrieved and dialed.

“Any progress on what I asked you to investigate? The days when she was kidnapped three years ago—what really happened?”

The voice on the other end was faint. “All surveillance was destroyed. But per your lead, we found traces of the one kidnapper who escaped. Catch him, and we’ll have answers.”

“But he slipped away again. We need time to track him down.”

Caius’ hand tightened on the phone. After a pause, he said coldly, “Do it. At any cost.”

When the call ended, he dismissed his men and wheeled himself upstairs.

At Jada’s bedroom door, he hesitated, then knocked softly.

No answer.

He opened the door.

Warm light spilled from the bedside lamp. Jada was already asleep.

Caius stepped closer, took her hand gently.

All the emotion he had forced down during the day surged up. His dark eyes softened with unspoken love and pain—dangerous, burning, threatening to consume what little reason he had left.

Jada’s sleep was restless.

Ever since Sophia Quinn’s soul had awoken in this body, Jada hadn’t had a full night’s rest.

Her nightmares replayed every disappointment, every betrayal, every wound—alongside the memories of the real Jada Brooks, whose pain and hate now doubled her own.

Waking in the middle of the night again, she checked the time—3 a.m.

Her head ached. She touched her hair, surprised to find it completely dry—as if someone had dried it for her while she slept.

Strange, but she didn’t dwell on it.

Thirst drove her downstairs in search of water.

This part of Caius’ mansion was still unfamiliar to her. She rarely roamed the house at night, and she had never run into Caius at these hours.

Tonight, she stopped short when she saw a faint red glow by the window.

There he was—sitting in his wheelchair, a cigarette glowing between his fingers.

Jada froze, startled not just by finding him awake, but by the fact that he smoked at all.

The slight sound of her movement made him turn. The moment he recognized her, he crushed out the cigarette.

Jada hesitated only a moment before walking over. “Mr. Martino.”

As she approached, Caius studied her quietly. The cool edge in his voice softened. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Just thirsty,” Jada replied with a small smile.

“Drink something warm. The night’s cold.”

The unexpected concern made her pause before nodding. “I will. Thank you.”

She drank her water and returned upstairs without prying.

The next morning, she deliberately stayed in bed with her phone on silent.

When she finally got up and checked, there were sixteen missed calls—thirteen from Walter, three from Mr. Brooks.

She called her father first.

“Jada,” Mr. Brooks said immediately, “Mr. Grant came to the house first thing this morning.”

Jada had already told him she wouldn’t be coming home after the engagement party.

Mr. Brooks wasn’t the talkative type, and he didn’t interfere much in her love life.

He knew Caius had quietly helped save Brooks Materials Inc. from collapse and that Walter had publicly claimed her as his girlfriend before explaining to Mr. Brooks that his engagement to Carmen was a business arrangement.

Though Mr. Brooks disapproved, he said nothing—only urged her to keep Caius’ help secret and to be cautious.

He felt guilty that his daughter had been left unprotected after the car accident that left her in a coma for months. So now, he didn’t try to stop her from whatever she was planning.