“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.
