She looked at Grant, then down at the logo of The Maribel on her customized name tag.

The brand she was supposed to represent was no longer his.

She looked at the reporters, who were already typing furiously on their phones, their screens illuminating their faces in the darkened room.

Her social standing, her coastal lifestyle, and her highly publicized role as the face of the luxury development were evaporating in real-time.

She took a slow step away from Grant, her high heels clicking on the floor as she distanced herself from him.

Grant did not even notice; he was busy shouting at his lead attorney, who was packing up his briefcase with a grim expression.

Lila’s gaze drifted across the stage and locked onto mine.

There was no arrogance left in her face, only a desperate, calculating hunger for survival.

She clutched her designer clutch to her chest like a shield, her eyes darting toward the side exit.

Diane Cho stepped up beside me, her hand resting gently on my forearm.

“We need to step off the stage now, Vivian,” Diane whispered, her eyes scanning the room.