At We Care Private Hospital.
The captain of the cops shouted, "Surrender yourself!"
Selene inhaled sharply.
'Okay! I changed my mind!'
Her mind raced. Her blood boiled. Her system... must be giggling in its mind!
The captain rattled the handcuffs like a kid showing off a new toy.
For a second, Selene seriously considered flipping the nearest chair into the captain's face. Then, she considered her options. Was there any way out of the situation, even as the system refused to help her?
Fighting was tempting.
Running would be impossible.
Beg? Over her dead body.
Selene glanced outside the glass windows and noticed that Bianca had not only brought the police, but also a crowd of hungry reporters!
Selene took another deep breath and decided. Fine. If she had to go down, she refused to let them see her panic. She was going to look damn good doing it.
'Yeah. No point in changing my mind!'
With an exaggerated, put-upon sigh—as if this whole thing was mildly annoying at best—Selene stretched out her wrists.
"Let's get this over with," she said, voice flat but clear.
The captain didn't waste time. The cold metal snapped shut around her wrists — unnecessarily tight — but Selene didn't flinch.
She just tilted her chin higher, letting the bloodied sleeve of her jacket hang like a battered flag.
Across from her, Bianca's lips curled into a sugar-sweet smile.
Selene scoffed and looked away.
The glass doors exploded open as she was escorted outside. Reporters flooded closer, shouting over each other:
"Selene Sinclair—did you really try to kill your stepmother???"
"Is it true you stole billions from the Sinclair fund?!"
"Did you really sell Atlantis' royal jewels on eBay?!"
Selene said nothing.
She let herself be marched through the chaos, head high, eyes half-lidded in cool boredom, like a queen being led to a very disappointing ball.
Inside? Her heart was pounding. Her palms were sweating under the cuffs.
One of the officers patted Selene's clothes and retrieved the only thing she had. Her phone with a shattered screen. The moment he did that, his face contorted into confusion.
Because the screen was lit up.
The screen glowed faintly.
Caller ID: Unknown Number
Call Duration: 00:27:14
Bianca frowned. She plucked the phone from his hand gently and asked, "Who is this?"
Selene tilted her head slightly, meeting Bianca's confused stare.
And smiled innocently.
. . . . .
Meanwhile, Across Town...
The Hamilton Group headquarters stood like an arrogant glass monolith—tall, clean, and vaguely judging you for your lack of a few private jets.
On the top floor, in an office bigger than most apartments, Blake stood silently before Reynolds' enormous mahogany desk.
Behind the CEO, a newsfeed blared on the massive wall screen:
BREAKING: SELENE SINCLAIR ARRESTED — BROKE, BANISHED, AND NOW A CRIMINAL?
Blake silently glanced at the TV.
Reynolds clicked his pen against the desk, looking bored out of his mind.
"Good riddance," Reynolds muttered, not even glancing up. "That woman bought my company like she was ordering takeout."
For some reason, Blake said nothing.
His fingers simply moved across his tablets swiftly.
When Reynold raised an eyebrow at him, Blake's mouth opened slightly as if he was thinking hard and long for something to say.
Reynold frowned. Hard.
And after a long moment, Blake got up from his seat.
"I need to go," Blake said quietly. "I'm requesting emergency leave."
Reynolds narrowed his eyes. "Denied."
Silence stretched between them.
Blake cleared his throat. "My grandfather just died."
Reynold stared in disbelief, "You told me your grandfather died last month."
Blake. The loyal secretary who would never even dare to lie to his boss that he had known for years, hesitated once again. After a long silence, he repeated in a low voice.
"My grandfather really… died…"
The office sank into tense, awkward silence, only the sound of the muted TV flickering in the background. Finally, Reynolds muttered, "Fine. Get out before I regret it."
Blake didn't waste a second.
He strode outside the office, already making a dozen calls that might make him regret everything. But being the secretary of the ex-chairman of Hamilton Group meant he also had a lot of power.
The second he stepped out of the building, black SUVs drove before him. Armored vans roared to life. A black chopper lifted off from the private helipad.
Reynold watched everything unfold with an expression of someone who was sucking lemons. His second secretary approached timidly, clutching a tablet nervously.
"Sir… is this about Miss Sinclair?"
Reynold refused to answer.
The woman glanced out of the window, more confused than shocked. "You have always been strict, Mister Hamilton. But why is it that… you always let Blake get away with things…?"
Reynolds' expression darkened.
He did not speak for a long moment. When he finally did, his voice was low, cold, and full of something that bordered on a strong hatred and regret.
Reynold grumbled coldly, "He is already paying for what he did."
The secretary blinked. Confused, "What do you mean?"
But Reynold just turned back to the window. His hands were clasped tightly behind his back. Blake would not return that day, and Reynold's office would remain suffocatingly silent.
And far underneath it all, an old grudge was stirring awake.