Chapter 4

The fallout from my interview and Julian' s canceled engagement was swift and brutal. My father, once a titan of the business world, was now a pariah. His photo was splashed across tabloids under headlines like "The Corporate Cheat" and "Betrayal in the Boardroom."

The company' s stock plummeted. He was forced to step down as CEO, a humiliating end to a celebrated career. He retreated into the mansion, a wounded lion in his gilded cage, refusing all calls.

The atmosphere in the city' s elite circles grew tense. People chose sides. Old family friends who used to greet me with warm hugs now crossed the street to avoid me. They saw me as a traitor, a daughter who had destroyed her own father for personal gain. Others, however, saw me as a hero.

I received messages of support from strangers, women who saw their own struggles reflected in my story. It was a strange and unsettling new reality.

The lawsuit Damien had filed was the talk of the town. It was a direct challenge to my father's power, and everyone was watching to see what would happen next. The threat I had received lingered in the back of my mind, a constant, low-level hum of anxiety. Who had sent it? What secrets did they know?

The pressure started to get to me. One evening, I was in Damien' s office, looking over legal documents until the words blurred together. The weight of it all suddenly became too much.

The public scrutiny, the hatred from my former friends, the impending court battle, the anonymous threat-it all crashed down on me at once.

My hands started to shake. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I dropped the papers, scattering them across the floor. The room felt like it was closing in on me. I stumbled back, knocking over a chair.

"Ava?" Damien's voice cut through the panic. He was across the room in an instant, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. "Breathe. Just breathe."

"I can't," I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "I can't do this. They all hate me. My own father... he looks at me like I' m a monster." The carefully constructed walls I had built around my emotions crumbled, and I sobbed, a raw, painful sound that echoed in the quiet office.

I was just a girl who had lost her mother, and now I had lost her father too, not to death, but to his own greed and pride. The weight of that loss was unbearable.

Damien didn't say anything. He just stood there, his grip firm on my shoulders, a solid anchor in my storm of grief. He let me cry until the sobs subsided into shuddering breaths.

When I finally quieted, he guided me to the sofa and sat beside me. He didn't offer platitudes or easy reassurances. He was just present.

Then, my phone buzzed again. Another message from the unknown number. This time, it was a picture. An old, grainy photo of my mother, looking young and happy, standing next to a man I didn't recognize. The caption beneath it read: "Some secrets are better left buried."

My blood ran cold. This was more than a vague threat. This was a direct warning, tied to my mother.

Clara chose that moment to escalate her attack. She agreed to a live television interview, a desperate attempt to win back public sympathy. She sat on a plush sofa, dressed in white, the picture of innocence.

"My father is a good man," she said, her voice trembling. "He has been crucified by my sister's lies. She was always unstable, prone to fantasy. This is a cry for attention, a cruel and vindictive act."

The interviewer pressed her. "But what about the document, the transfer of shares?"

"A misunderstanding," Clara said smoothly. "My mother was a dear friend to Ava's mother. She was helping her manage her affairs during a difficult time. Ava has twisted a gesture of kindness into something ugly and sinister." She looked directly into the camera, her eyes pleading. "I just want my family back. I want my sister back."

It was a brilliant, manipulative performance. She was using my pain against me, painting me as a mentally unstable liar.

But I wasn't going to let her win. Not this time. With Damien' s help, I formulated a response. We didn't issue a statement. We did something bolder. Damien called the television station and demanded they give me equal time to respond, live, on the same show.

It was an unprecedented request, but the scandal was so huge, the ratings so high, that the network agreed.

The next night, I sat on the same sofa Clara had occupied. The lights were hot, the cameras like black, unblinking eyes. I was terrified, but a cold determination had settled over me.

"My sister claims I am unstable," I began, my voice clear and strong. "She claims I am twisting the truth. Let me ask you this: why would a woman who was simply 'helping a friend manage her affairs' need to be given controlling interest in a multi-million dollar company for one dollar? Why, then, did my father, the CEO, allow her to liquidate key assets of that company for her own personal gain?"

I laid out the facts, one by one, calmly and rationally. I didn't cry. I didn't raise my voice. I presented my case like a prosecutor, using their own lies and inconsistencies against them.

"My sister speaks of family," I concluded, my gaze fixed on the camera. "But family doesn't steal from the dying. Family doesn't gaslight a grieving daughter. My father and my stepsister are not victims. They are predators. And I am not their victim anymore."

Then, I played my final card. "Clara wants to talk about truth? Then let's talk about the truth. I challenge her. Let's both take a lie detector test, live on television, and answer one simple question: Did you or your father knowingly and fraudulently take control of my mother's company? I'm ready. Is she?"

The challenge was audacious, a gamble. But it was a stroke of genius. It put Clara in an impossible position. If she refused, she would look guilty. If she accepted, she would be exposed. The studio was silent for a moment, then the producer's voice crackled in the host's earpiece.

The switchboard was lighting up. I had just turned their own game against them, and the entire city was watching. The war wasn't just about lawsuits and boardrooms anymore. It was about public perception, and I had just seized control of the narrative in the most dramatic way possible.