The maid's daughter slapped her own face hard,then pointed a trembling finger at me,accusing me of h

The maid's daughter slapped her own face hard, then pointed a trembling finger at me, accusing me of hitting her. My two personal bodyguards immediately turned on me. Their faces twisted with righteous anger. Blair, so what if we didn't stay to watch the stars with you last night? How dare you lay a hand on Phoebe? Exactly. Get on your knees and apologize to her right now, or we are done with you. A cold laugh escaped my lips. These two bodyguards have been trained by my family since they were kids. They grew up alongside me. And now they actually thought they ran this house. I stepped forward and delivered a vicious backhanded slap across both of their faces. The sharp crack echoed through the massive foyer. Since when do two stray dogs get to bare their fangs at their master? I asked, my voice dripping with ice. Arthur, I called out without looking back. Doesn't our diamond mine, in the blistering heat of the Australian Outback, have a severe labor shortage? Pack these two blind, ungrateful mutts onto the next cargo plane, and send them straight there. Arthur. Our silver-haired butler broke into a wide, deeply satisfied smile. Right away, Miss Blair. The two bodyguards froze, touching their stinging cheeks. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. Seeing Carter and Jackson get slapped, Phoebe immediately threw herself in front of them, acting like a martyr. Blair, it is fine if you want to hit me, but how could you strike them? She let out a pathetic, breathless sob. I know this is all my fault. Twisted my ankle last night. I never should have called them away. Listening to Phoebe's manipulative, sugary whining, my mind rapidly processed the plot of the world I had just awakened. In the original, Blair was the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar corporate empire, yet she was written as a pathetic, cowardly doormat. Last night was her birthday. Carter and Jackson had promised to take her camping in the wilderness to watch the meteor shower. But the moment the tent was pitched, the two brothers received a frantic call from Phoebe, the live-in maid's daughter. Hearing that Phoebe had slightly twisted her ankle, the two men panicked. They jumped into the only SUV and sped off, abandoning the heiress in the middle of a pitch-black, freezing forest. Since Blair's parents died in a tragic car accident, this was far from the first time they had ditched her for the maid's daughter. They had promised to take Blair to a sold-out stadium concert. She waited at the gates, clutching the VIP tickets until the stadium went dark. They never answered their phones. Later, she saw their social media posts. They had spent the entire day at Universal Studios, flanking Phoebe with wide smiles. The caption read, "Spending a magical day with our little princess. Always keep smiling, Phoebe." The comments beneath were filled with sickeningly sweet inside jokes. Blair had stood in the empty, windswept plaza, freezing and entirely alone. When Blair and Phoebe both caught severe pneumonia last winter, the two bodyguards stayed by Phoebe's hospital bed for seven days and seven nights. They never once checked on Blair. And last night they left her completely stranded in a dangerous, howling wilderness. Terrified of the rustling shadows and wild animal cries, she had to call the estate butler to send a rescue team. By the time she made it back to the mansion, the sun was rising. She walked through the doors, only to be met by the smug, triumphant face of the beloved heroine. Without a word, Phoebe slapped herself and started crying, perfectly framing Blair just as the bodyguards walked in, which all led to this exact moment. Carter and Jackson were technically employees, but Blair had always treated them like family. She never spoke a harsh word to them. Now her palm had left bright red welts on their jaws. They stared at me, their eyes wide with utter disbelief. Blair, you actually hit us. Jackson's voice trembled with absolute fury. All because we went to take care of Phoebe last night. Carter's eyes darkened, stepping forward aggressively. It seems we have spoiled you too much, Blair. It has made you arrogant and utterly toxic. Seeing the tension, Phoebe immediately dropped to her knees on the marble floor. Her tears falling perfectly on cue. It is all my fault, Blair, please. I know I do not deserve their attention. Please do not take your anger out on them. Before anyone could stop her, she raised her hands and slapped her own cheeks, creating a loud, dramatic smacking sound. The two brothers looked like their hearts were being ripped out. They rushed to her sides, desperately grabbing her wrists. Carter pulled her into his chest, glaring at me. Stop it, Phoebe. It is not your fault. Blair is just an entitled brat who thinks she owns the world. You're just too kind and pure. Carter whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. That is why she always gets away with bullying you. Jackson turned to me, his jaw clenched so hard a vein popped in his neck. Blair, get on your knees and apologize to Phoebe right now, or we will never speak to you again. Phoebe's eyes were red and swollen. She weakly tugged at their sleeves. Jackson, Carter, please do not ruin your relationship with Blair over me. It is my fault. I am just the daughter of a maid. Jackson shushed her gently, then shot me a look of pure venom. Are you deaf, Blair? I said, get on your knees. Coming out from Carter's embrace, Phoebe shot me a fleeting, arrogant smirk. I looked at these two ungrateful parasites, and the rest of the novel's plot flashed through my mind. In the original story, these two exact bodyguards teamed up with Blair's adopted brother and her fiancé to murder her the day after her wedding. The four men locked her in a pitch-black basement and tortured her to death. After she died, her fiancé inherited her billion-dollar empire as her widower and happily married Phoebe. The adopted brother and the bodyguards stood at the altar, smiling and clapping. A perfect happy ending. When I read that trash ending in my past life, I cursed the author for being a sociopath. And then I woke up in Blair's body. Watching the two brothers continue to bark at me like rabid dogs, a dark, dangerous smile spread across my face. Jackson, Carter, you two are nothing but leeches. You eat my food. You live in my house. My family paid for your education and your clothes. And now you want me, your employer, to kneel to a maid's daughter? I turned my gaze to the silver-haired man standing quietly by the door. Arthur, back in the old days, what happened to disloyal servants who forgot who owned the house? Arthur was a veteran of the estate. He had watched Blair grow up and had always secretly despised her tragic weakness. Hearing my cold, authoritative tone, his eyes lit up with a dangerous spark. His posture straightened instantly. Miss Blair, a betrayal like this would normally result in them being beaten to a bloody pulp. I let out a soft, regretful sigh. Shame we live in modern times. Suppose a severe lesson and respect will have to do. Slap them. Do not stop until they finally remember their place. A deeply satisfied grin stretched across Arthur's weathered face. With pleasure, Miss. He had loathed these two arrogant brats for years. They constantly paraded around the estate, treating the actual staff like garbage, never showing him an ounce of respect. He always wanted to put them in their place. But the old Blair would have just cried and forgiven them. Now the true heiress was finally awake. Arthur raised his hand. Instantly, eight massive, heavily muscled security guards stepped out from the shadows. They grabbed Jackson and Carter, pinning their arms behind their backs with bone-crushing force. What are you doing? Get your hands off us. Jackson thrashed wildly, but he could not move an inch. Carter glared at me, his eyes burning with defiance. Blair, have you lost your damn mind? You wouldn't dare touch us. A sharp, explos...

last night? How dare you lay a hand on Phoebe? Exactly. Get on your knees and apologize to her right now, or we are done with you. A cold laugh escaped my lips. These two bodyguards have been trained by my family since they were

kids. They grew up alongside me. And now they actually thought they ran this house. I stepped forward and delivered a vicious backhanded slap across both of their faces. The sharp crack echoed through the massive foyer. Since when do

two stray dogs get to bare their fangs at their master? I asked, my voice dripping with ice. Arthur, I called out without looking back. Doesn't our diamond mine, in the blistering heat of the Australian Outback, have a severe

labor shortage? Pack these two blind, ungrateful mutts onto the next cargo plane, and send them straight there.

Arthur. Our silver-haired butler broke into a wide, deeply satisfied smile. Right away, Miss Blair. The two bodyguards froze, touching their stinging cheeks. This wasn't how the script was supposed to go. Seeing Carter and Jackson get slapped, Phoebe immediately threw herself in front of

them, acting like a martyr. Blair, it is fine if you want to hit me, but how could you strike them? She let out a pathetic, breathless sob. I know this is all my fault. Twisted my ankle last night. I never should have called them

away. Listening to Phoebe's manipulative, sugary whining, my mind rapidly processed the plot of the world I had just awakened. In the original, Blair was the sole heir to a multi-billion dollar corporate empire, yet she was written as a pathetic,

cowardly doormat. Last night was her birthday. Carter and Jackson had promised to take her camping in the wilderness to watch the meteor shower.

But the moment the tent was pitched, the two brothers received a frantic call from Phoebe, the live-in maid's daughter. Hearing that Phoebe had slightly twisted her ankle, the two men panicked. They jumped into the only SUV and sped off, abandoning the heiress in

the middle of a pitch-black, freezing forest. Since Blair's parents died in a tragic car accident, this was far from the first time they had ditched her for the maid's daughter. They had promised to take Blair to a sold-out stadium

concert. She waited at the gates, clutching the VIP tickets until the stadium went dark. They never answered their phones. Later, she saw their social media posts. They had spent the entire day at Universal Studios, flanking Phoebe with wide smiles. The

caption read, "Spending a magical day with our little princess. Always keep smiling, Phoebe." The comments beneath were filled with sickeningly sweet inside jokes. Blair had stood in the empty, windswept plaza, freezing and entirely alone. When Blair and Phoebe

both caught severe pneumonia last winter, the two bodyguards stayed by Phoebe's hospital bed for 7 days and 7 nights. They never once checked on Blair. And last night they left her completely stranded in a dangerous, howling wilderness. Terrified of the

rustling shadows and wild animal cries, she had to call the estate butler to send a rescue team. By the time she made it back to the mansion, the sun was rising. She walked through the doors, only to be met by the smug, triumphant

face of the beloved heroine. Without a word, Phoebe slapped herself and started crying, perfectly framing Blair just as the bodyguards walked in, which all led to this exact moment. Carter and Jackson were technically employees, but Blair had always treated them like family. She

never spoke a harsh word to them. Now her palm had left bright red welts on their jaws. They stared at me, their eyes wide with utter disbelief. Blair, you actually hit us. Jackson's voice trembled with absolute fury. All because

we went to take care of Phoebe last night. Carter's eyes darkened, stepping forward aggressively. It seems we have spoiled you too much, Blair. It has made you arrogant and utterly toxic. Seeing the tension, Phoebe immediately dropped to her knees on the marble floor. Her

tears falling perfectly on cue. It is all my fault, Blair, please. I know I do not deserve their attention. Please do not take your anger out on them. Before anyone could stop her, she raised her hands and slapped her own cheeks,

creating a loud, dramatic smacking sound. The two brothers looked like their hearts were being ripped out. They rushed to her sides, desperately grabbing her wrists. Carter pulled her into his chest, glaring at me. Stop it, Phoebe. It is not your fault. Blair is

just an entitled brat who thinks she owns the world. You're just too kind and pure. Carter whispered, brushing a tear from her cheek. That is why she always gets away with bullying you. Jackson turned to me, his jaw clenched so hard a

vein popped in his neck. Blair, get on your knees and apologize to Phoebe right now, or we will never speak to you again. Phoebe's eyes were red and swollen. She weakly tugged at their sleeves. Jackson, Carter, please do not

ruin your relationship with Blair over me. It is my fault. I am just the daughter of a maid. Jackson shushed her gently, then shot me a look of pure venom. Are you deaf, Blair? I said, get on your knees. Coming out from Carter's

embrace, Phoebe shot me a fleeting, arrogant smirk. I looked at these two ungrateful parasites, and the rest of the novel's plot flashed through my mind. In the original story, these two exact bodyguards teamed up with Blair's adopted brother and her fiance to murder

her the day after her wedding. The four men locked her in a pitch-black basement and tortured her to death. After she died, her fiance inherited her billion-dollar empire as her widower and happily married Phoebe. The adopted brother and the bodyguards stood at the

altar, smiling and clapping. A perfect happy ending. When I read that trash ending in my past life, I cursed the author for being a sociopath. And then I woke up in Blair's body. Watching the two brothers continue to bark at me like

rabid dogs, a dark, dangerous smile spread across my face. Jackson, Carter, you two are nothing but leeches. You eat my food. You live in my house. My family paid for your education and your clothes. And now you want me, your

employer, to kneel to a maid's daughter? I turned my gaze to the silver-haired man standing quietly by the door.

Arthur, back in the old days, what happened to disloyal servants who forgot who owned the house? Arthur was a veteran of the estate. He had watched Blair grow up and had always secretly despised her tragic weakness. Hearing my

cold, authoritative tone, his eyes lit up with a dangerous spark. His posture straightened instantly. Miss Blair, a betrayal like this would normally result in them being beaten to a bloody pulp. I let out a soft, regretful sigh. Shame we

live in modern times. Suppose a severe lesson and respect will have to do. Slap them. Do not stop until they finally remember their place. A deeply satisfied grin stretched across Arthur's weathered face. With pleasure, miss. He had loathed these two arrogant brats for

years. They constantly paraded around the estate, treating the actual staff like garbage, never showing him an ounce of respect. He always wanted to put them in their place. But the old Blair would have just cried and forgiven them. Now

the true heiress was finally awake. Arthur raised his hand. Instantly, eight massive, heavily muscled security guards stepped out from the shadows. They grabbed Jackson and Carter, pinning their arms behind their backs with bone-crushing force. What are you doing?

Get your hands off us. Jackson thrashed wildly, but he could not move an inch.

Carter glared at me, his eyes burning with defiance. Blair, have you lost your damn mind? You wouldn't dare touch us. A sharp, explosive smack echoed through the room. Arthur stood directly in front of them, lowering his stinging palm. You

do not address the young miss by her first name, Arthur said, his voice dropping to a lethal gravel. You lack basic manners. Miss Blair was kind enough to treat you well, and you confused her grace for weakness. You

forgot who the master is and who the servant is. Arthur stepped back and looked at the guards. Hit them. Keep hitting them until they learn the rules of this house. Smack. Smack. Smack. The heavy hands of the estate's elite

security detail swung without mercy. These two had never experienced an ounce of physical discipline in their lives.

At first, they were just stunned. Then sheer humiliation and rage boiled over. Blair, you are going to regret this. We will never forgive you. Ah, you psycho.

Make them stop. When your brother gets home, he's going to destroy you for this. Oh, Preston, the adopted charity case. I am the true bloodline of this family. I hold the keys to the empire.

No matter how loud they cursed or struggled, it only earned them a harder, more brutal strike across the mouth.

Soon, the pain finally broke through their massive egos. Their arrogant glares morphed into genuine, panicked terror. Blair, please stop. We won't ask you to apologize anymore, okay? Just make them stop. Ah. Seeing their faces swell with dark purple bruises and blood

trickling from the corners of their mouths, Phoebe was entirely paralyzed with shock. This was completely wrong.

Usually, Blair would be weeping right now, desperately trying to explain herself. She would be offering them expensive watches or cars just to make them smile again. But today, Blair was sitting in an armchair, watching them bleed with eyes as cold as dead winter.

Panic seized Phoebe's chest. She threw herself toward my feet, crying hysterically. Miss Blair, please, it is all my fault. Have mercy on them. Please do not hit them anymore. Martha, the head maid and Phoebe's mother, rushed out from the kitchen. Seeing the

violence, she dropped to her knees beside her daughter, wailing, "Miss, please stop this madness. When the young master returns, he will be furious with you." I ignored her crying. My eyes locked onto the glittering diamond bracelet wrapped around the maid's

wrist. That bracelet was worth $10 million. It was my late mother's absolute favorite piece of jewelry. And now it was casually strapped to a servant's wrist. Seems they really thought this mansion belonged to them. How fascinating, Martha, I said slowly,

letting and command the room. If my memory serves me right, that bracelet is my mother's heirloom. I am just terribly curious. How did it end up on your arm?

My father fought a ruthless bidding war at Sotheby's to win that for her. It cost $10 million.

The transaction records and certificates of authenticity are locked in the family vault. You certainly have expensive taste. What? $10 million? The other maids and staff gathered in the hallway gasped, covering their mouths in shock.

Is Martha insane? Oh my god. She is a thief. How dare she steal something that expensive? It belonged to the late madam. Martha froze. All the color drained from her face. She had only stepped out to play the loyal

servant and beg for mercy, never expecting the fire to instantly catch her own clothes. She desperately tried to pull her sleeve down over the diamonds, her eyes darting around in sheer terror. She slammed her forehead against the marble, sobbing wildly.

Miss, miss, I am so sorry. I swear I did not know it was worth that much. I just borrowed it to feel pretty for one day.

Please, considering how many years I have served you, please forgive me this one time. I swear I will never do it again. I did not even blink at her. I turned my head to the butler. Arthur, take a team to Martha's living quarters.

Tear the place apart. Let us see what else she decided to borrow. A sharp, vindictive glint flashed in Arthur's eyes. He bowed deeply. Right away, miss.

I always suspected this woman had sticky fingers. But in the past you would never allow me to cross the boundaries of your hospitality. You always said we must treat them like family. Arthur's smile was wolfish. It will be my absolute

pleasure to rectify that oversight. Martha scrambled toward me, her hands leaving bloody smudges on the pristine marble floor from where she had scraped her knuckles. Miss Blair, no. Please, you can't do this. I raised you. When your mother died, I was the one who You

are an employee who is paid three times the market rate to do a job, I interrupted, my voice dropping the temperature in the room by 10°. Do not ever compare yourself to my mother. I gestured to the guards holding Carter

and Jackson. The two bodyguards were now unrecognizable. Their lips were split, their eyes swelling shut, blood dripping from their chins in thick, crimson ropes. The fire in their eyes had been entirely extinguished, replaced by a hollow, primal panic. Gag them, I

ordered smoothly. Their whimpering is giving me a headache. And Arthur, the butler paused at the doorway. Call the authorities. Tell them we have a grand larceny case and prep the private cargo jet. Our two loyal guard dogs here

are leaving for the Australian outback tonight. I want them in the mines with pickaxes in their hands by tomorrow evening. Carter violently thrashed, a muffled scream ripping through the cloth gag the guards shoved into his mouth.

Jackson's eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the sheer, terrifying reality of what I was doing. They weren't going to just get fired. I was disappearing them into a private hell. Phoebe watched the guards drag the two bleeding men out the

back doors, her chest heaving in hyperventilation. The heroine of this twisted novel was utterly breaking down.

Her perfect, innocent facade was cracking under the weight of sheer, unadulterated terror. She looked at me not as the pushover she had bullied for years, but as a monster. Good. Let her fear me. Fear is a much better leash

than love. 15 minutes later, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase. Arthur descended, followed by four guards carrying five massive, velvet-lined steamer trunks. They dropped them in the center of the foyer.

The locks had been forcibly snapped. Arthur kicked the lid of the first trunk open. A collective gasp rippled through the remaining staff. The trunk was overflowing with haute couture, Chanel jackets, limited-edition Hermes Birkins, Gucci dresses still bearing the tags.

Arthur kicked open the second. Piles of glittering jewelry cascaded out. Sapphire necklaces, emerald earrings, tennis bracelets, and several custom diamond pieces my mother had locked in her private vault. The third trunk contained stacks of cold, hard cash, and

bearer bonds. A rough estimate, Miss Blair, Arthur said, casually nudging a $50,000 Patek Philippe watch with the toe of his polished shoe. Puts this hoard at around $25 million.

She hasn't just been borrowing. She has been systematically looting the state for the last 6 years. Martha slumped against the floor, entirely catatonic.

Phoebe's face was ashen. Mom, she whispered trembling. You You said Preston bought you those things. Uh Preston, I murmured, leaning back in the leather armchair. The adopted brother.

The charity case my father brought in when he was 12, hoping to give him a better life. Preston had repaid that kindness by plotting my murder, stealing my company, and handing it to Phoebe.

The wail of police sirens pierced the night, growing louder as the cruisers sped up the winding mountain driveway of the estate. When the police burst through the doors, the scene was already set. The stolen goods were meticulously cataloged by Arthur. The $10 million

diamond bracelet was safely detached from Martha's wrist and placed in an evidence bag. Martha was handcuffed, read her rights, and dragged out of the mansion screaming my name, begging for a mercy I did not possess. Phoebe tried to

run after the police officers, tears streaming down her face, but Arthur stepped in her path, an immovable wall of immaculate tailoring. My mother, please, where are you taking her? Phoebe sobbed. I stood up, smoothing the invisible wrinkles from my silk slip

dress. I walked slowly toward her. Phoebe shrank back against the wall, trembling like a wet leaf. Phoebe, I said softly. She looked up, her red, swollen eyes meeting my cold gaze. Your mother is facing 20 years in a federal

penitentiary for grand larceny. As for you, you are trespassing. Her breath hitched. What? This is my home. You are no longer welcome here. I looked at Arthur. Throw her out. She can keep the clothes on her back. Everything else in

her room stays. It was bought with my money anyway. Blair, you can't. Phoebe shrieked, her sweet, breathy voice finally shattering into an ugly, desperate pitch. Preston will never forgive you for this. Julian will hate you. They love me. You can't just throw

me onto the street in the middle of the night. At the mention of Julian, my supposed fiance, a dark chuckle rumbled in my throat. Oh, Phoebe. You still think this is a high school drama. You think some boys being mad at me means

anything when I hold the keys to the kingdom? I waved my hand dismissively. Throw her out. Two guards grabbed Phoebe by her arms. She kicked. She screamed.

She cursed my name, stripping away every ounce of that pure, angelic persona she had cultivated. The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut, cutting off her wails, leaving the foyer in a profound, heavy silence. I exhaled a long breath. Arthur

approached, holding a silver tray with a crystal glass of bourbon. A remarkable evening, Miss Blair, he said quietly, a genuine warmth in his usually stoic eyes. I took the glass, the amber liquid burning pleasantly down my throat. The

trash has merely been taken out to the curb, Arthur. The real rats are still in house. The next morning, the storm broke. I was sitting at the head of the impossibly long mahogany dining table, sipping black coffee and reading the

Financial Times. Arthur stood perfectly still behind my chair. The front doors of the estate violently slammed open.

Heavy, furious footsteps marched across the foyer and into the dining room. Blair. I didn't look up from the newspaper. Use your inside voice, Preston. You're giving me a migraine.

Preston stormed into the room. He was a tall, conventionally handsome man in his late 20s wearing a bespoke Brioni suit.

But right now, his usually arrogant, aristocratic face was twisted into an ugly snarl. He slammed both his hands down on the dining table, rattling the fine china. Where is she? He roared.

Where is Phoebe? And what the hell did you do to Martha? I just got a call from the precinct saying she's being held without bail. I slowly folded the newspaper and took a sip of my coffee.

Martha is exactly where a thief belongs. And Phoebe was evicted. The estate is not a charity shelter. Preston's eyes darkened with a violent, unrestrained fury. He had been so used to the original Blair cowering at his anger, crying and apologizing whenever he

raised his voice. He reached out, his hand flying toward my face to strike me.

Before I even had to blink, a heavy, silver coffee pot smashed brutally into the side of Preston's head. Clang.

Preston screamed, stumbling backward and clutching his bleeding temple. Arthur stood there, calmly setting the now dented silver pot back onto the serving tray. Arthur, you old bastard. I'll kill you. Preston bellowed, blood dripping down the side of his face. You attempted

to strike the head of the family, Mr. Preston, Arthur said, his voice devoid of emotion. My only regret is that the pot was not filled with boiling water.

Head of the family? Preston spat, wiping the blood from his eye, glaring at me.

You're a weak, pathetic little girl. Dad only left you the company because of blood. I run the business. I make the deals. You're nothing without me and Julian. Now tell me where Phoebe is or I swear to god. Or you'll what, Preston? I

stood up, my heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. I walked around the table until I was standing inches from him. He tried to glare down at me, but the sheer, glacial hatred in my eyes made him falter. You think you

run my company? I asked softly. Let's test that theory. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the number for the chief financial officer of my corporate empire. I put it on speaker. Miss Blair, the CFO's nervous voice crackled through

the phone. David, freeze all corporate accounts linked to Preston. Cancel his black cards. Revoke his access to the executive floor and draft a press release stating he is indefinitely suspended from the board pending an internal audit for embezzlement.

Preston's face drained of color. What? You can't do that. I'm the vice president. Done, Miss Blair, David said immediately. Should I also freeze the offshore accounts he opened in the Caymans? Preston physically staggered.

How did she know about those? Yes, I smiled. Freeze everything. Have security escort him out if he tries to enter the building. I hung up. Preston stared at me, his chest heaving, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. The

arrogant, untouchable golden boy had just been financially neutered in less than 30 seconds. "You, you're insane." he whispered. "Julian won't stand for this. When your fiance finds out you've lost your mind, he'll have you committed." Speaking of Julian, I

checked my Cartier watch. He should be arriving right about now. As if on cue, the dining room doors swung open again.

Julian, my supposed fiance, rushed in. He was the quintessential novel male lead. Sharp jawline, piercing blue eyes, an aura of old money. In the original plot, Julian had married Blair to merge their companies, only to drain her assets, throw her in that basement to

die, and marry Phoebe. Julian took one look at Preston's bleeding head and my cold demeanor, and instantly put on his mask of gentle disappointment. "Blair, darling." Julian sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He approached me with open arms, trying to

project the aura of a weary, but loving partner. "What is going on here? I got a frantic call from Phoebe. She's crying in a motel room. You kicked her out? And Carter and Jackson are missing. You're spiraling, sweetheart. Your parents'

death is finally breaking your mind. Let me take control. I'll handle everything." It was the classic gaslighting tactic.

Make the victim feel crazy, so they surrender their power. I looked at his outstretched arms, then let out a sharp, genuine laugh. "Julian, do not touch me.

You might infect me with whatever cheap perfume Phoebe left on your clothes last night." Julian froze. His arms slowly dropped to his sides. Preston shot him a shocked look. "I I don't know what you're talking about." Julian stammered,

though a bead of sweat formed at his hairline. I walked back to the table, picking up a thick manila folder I had Arthur prepare hours ago. I tossed it onto the mahogany surface. It slid across the table and stopped right in

front of Julian. "Inside that folder," I said, crossing my arms, "are 72 high-definition photographs of you and Phoebe entering and leaving the penthouse you rented for her under a shell corporation. There are also the bank statements showing your family's

shipping company is essentially bankrupt, surviving only on the bridge loans my company quietly provided you." Julian stared at the folder as if it were a venomous snake. His suave demeanor shattered into pieces. "You needed my money to save your pathetic

family legacy." I continued, my voice echoing in the dead silence of the room. "So, you pretended to love me while sleeping with the maid's daughter and plotting with my charity case brother to siphon my assets. It really is a

tedious, unoriginal cliche." "Blair, wait. It's not what it looks like." Julian took a desperate step forward.

"The engagement is off." I declared cleanly, brutally. "Arthur, release the statement to the press. The wedding is canceled due to irreconcilable financial and moral discrepancies on the groom's part. Furthermore, call in all the loans we gave to his family. I want them

repaid in full by Friday." Julian's eyes widened in sheer, absolute horror. "Friday? Blair, that's $200 million.

We don't have that kind of liquidity. If you call in those loans, my family's company goes into receivership. We'll be ruined." "Then I suggest you start liquidating your assets. Maybe sell some of your fancy cars, or that penthouse

you bought for your little whore." I tilted my head, smiling sweetly. "You both have 5 seconds to leave my house before Arthur's guards break your legs and drag you out." Preston and Julian exchanged terrified, desperate looks.

The weak, crying girl they had manipulated for years had vanished overnight, replaced by a ruthless tyrant who held all their lives in the palm of her hand. "You'll regret this, Blair." Preston hissed, clutching his bleeding head. "You think you can take on the

board of directors alone? You think you can run the empire without us? You're going to crash and burn, and when you do, I'll be the one sweeping up the ashes." "Five." I counted softly. Arthur snapped his fingers. Six heavily armed security

personnel stepped into the dining room, their hands resting on their batons. Preston and Julian backed away, their faces pale, before turning and practically sprinting out of the mansion. A month passed. The high society of the city was completely

upended. The news of the broken engagement and Julian's family bankruptcy sent shockwaves through the elite circles. Without my company's backing, Julian's shipping empire collapsed. They were forced to sell off their assets at pennies on the dollar just to avoid prison for tax evasion.

Julian was reduced to living in a cramped apartment, his reputation in ruins. Preston tried to stage a coup at my corporation. He gathered the board of directors, claiming I was mentally unfit. He didn't realize I had spent the

last month ruthlessly auditing every single department. During the board meeting, I didn't just present his embezzlement records. I presented blackmail material on three of the oldest board members who supported him.

I fired them all on the spot, replaced them with loyalists, and cemented my absolute control over the multi-billion dollar empire. Preston was officially ousted, facing dozens of civil lawsuits I filed against him just to drown him in legal fees. As for Phoebe, without my

wealth to fund her, and with Julian and Preston now entirely broke, the pure, innocent love between them rapidly soured. Poverty is a fantastic mirror for true character. Rumors circulated that Phoebe was caught screaming at Julian in public because he couldn't

afford to buy her a designer bag, and Preston had turned to heavy drinking, lashing out at her. But I knew the plot of the novel. I knew these people. They were parasites, and parasites don't just die off quietly. They get desperate, and

desperate men do incredibly stupid things. It was a stormy Tuesday night. The rain lashed against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of my private office at the estate. The mansion was eerily quiet. I had given the majority of the staff the night off. I sat in the

dark, the only light coming from the crackling fireplace and the glowing ember of the fine cigar I was smoking, a habit from my past life, one I found incredibly soothing. Suddenly, the power in the mansion cut out, plunged into

total darkness. I didn't flinch. I just took another slow drag of my cigar. They're here. In the original plot, this was exactly how they murdered Blair.

They cut the power, snuck into the house, tied her up, and dragged her to the basement. They tortured her for the access codes to the offshore trusts, and once she gave them up, they left her to rot. Heavy, muffled footsteps echoed in

the hallway outside my office. The door slowly creaked open. Three figures crept into the room, holding suppressed pistols and a length of heavy zip ties.

"Grab her." a voice whispered in the dark. It was Preston. "Hold her down. Don't let her scream." They lunged toward the high-backed leather chair facing the fireplace. Preston grabbed the figure in the chair, violently yanking them around to slap the zip ties

on their wrists. "Got you, you crazy bitch." Julian sneered, stepping forward. But the figure in the chair didn't scream. It just slumped forward, revealing itself to be a mannequin dressed in one of my old coats. Preston froze. "What the hell is this? Looking

for me, boys?" My voice echoed from the far corner of the room. Before they could turn, the lights in the office violently snapped back on, blinding them. Preston, Julian, and a soaked, terrified-looking Phoebe stood in the center of my office. They were dressed

in black, holding restraints and guns. Surrounding them in a perfect circle were 12 men dressed in tactical combat gear, aiming suppressed automatic rifles directly at their heads. These weren't estate guards. These were private military contractors Arthur had hired

from overseas, unregistered ghosts who wouldn't hesitate to paint the walls with their blood. Arthur stood beside me, impeccably dressed as always, holding an umbrella even though we were indoors, purely for the aesthetic. "Drop the guns." I said calmly, stepping out

of the shadows, "unless you want to be mopped up by the cleaning crew tomorrow morning." Julian's hands shook violently. The suppressed pistol clattered to the floor. Preston, realizing they had walked directly into a fatal trap, slowly dropped his weapon,

his face an ashen mask of pure horror. Phoebe immediately collapsed to her knees, screaming and crying. "Blair, please. They made me do it. I didn't want to come here." Phoebe wailed, instantly throwing the two men under the bus. Preston looked at her in shock.

"Phoebe, shut up. You were the one who said we needed to force her to sign the bearer bonds." I walked forward, my heels clicking against the mahogany floor. I stopped right in front of Preston. He was shivering, staring down the barrels of a

dozen rifles. "You broke into my home with weapons, with the intent to kidnap and extort a multi-billionaire." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Did you really think I wouldn't see you coming? You're so incredibly stupid, it

almost offends me." "Blair, Blair, listen." Julian pleaded, dropping to his knees beside Phoebe. "We were just We were desperate. We weren't going to hurt you. Just sign over a small fraction of the company. Just enough for us to live.

We're family. You can't kill us. If we disappear, the police will know it was you." I laughed, a cold, hollow sound that made Julian flinch. "Kill you?

Julian, why would I kill you? Death is a release. Death is easy." I took a final puff of my cigar and handed it to Arthur. "I have something much, much better planned for you." I looked at the commander of the

mercenary team. "Strip them of all identification. Phones, wallets, watches, everything. Then sedate them." "No. Wait. Blair." Preston screamed, lunging forward. A mercenary brought the butt of his rifle down hard on the back of Preston's head. He crumpled to the

floor, groaning. Two other guards grabbed Julian and injected a heavy sedative into his neck. He slumped over in seconds. Phoebe tried to run, but a guard simply caught her by the hair, pinned her to the ground, and delivered

the injection. As their eyes rolled back and the darkness took them, I leaned down, whispering into Preston's fading consciousness. "Enjoy the heat, brother." Epilogue. The sun beat down with apocalyptic fury. The temperature hovered around 115° in the shade, but

there was no shade in the massive, open-pit diamond mine in the heart of the Australian Outback. Red dust coated everything. It choked the lungs and stung the eyes. Deep in the bottom of the pit, amidst the deafening roar of

heavy machinery, five figures swung pickaxes at the unforgiving rock. Carter and Jackson were entirely unrecognizable. Their bodies were emaciated, their skin blistered and peeling from severe sunburns. The arrogant, handsome bodyguards who once paraded around in designer suits were

now filthy, broken shells of men. Their hands were a mass of bleeding calluses. Next to them, swinging a pickaxe with weak, trembling arms was Preston. He coughed violently, spitting up red dust.

He looked older, his hair graying from the sheer stress and physical torment of the last 6 months. Julian was on his hands and knees, sifting through the sharp gravel with his bare hands, weeping silently. His once perfect face

was scarred from the overseer's whip. And a few yards away, carrying buckets of heavy rocks up a steep, treacherous incline was Phoebe. She wasn't the beautiful, delicate heroine anymore. She was gaunt, her hair chopped short and matted with dirt. She stumbled, dropping

a bucket. The heavy rocks spilled back down the hill. Immediately, an enormous, heavily muscled overseer walked over and cracked a leather whip against the dirt next to her. "Pick it up, maggot. You don't eat until you haul 20 loads," the

overseer barked. Phoebe sobbed, her hands bleeding as she scrambled to pick up the rocks. "Please, please, I can't." "Pick it up." Carter and Jackson didn't even look at her. The men who had once betrayed their master for a single tear

from this girl now despised her. In the squalor of their barracks, they blamed her for their downfall. There was no love left, only mutual hatred and the endless, crushing reality of their enslavement. They were ghosts, erased from the world. Officially recorded as

missing persons back in states, their identities completely scrubbed, they belonged to the mine now. And the mine would never let them go. Thousands of miles away, in the cool, air-conditioned penthouse overlooking the glittering skyline of New York City, I sat on a

velvet sofa, sipping a glass of Dom Perignon. On the massive flat-screen TV in front of me was a live satellite feed. Arthur stood nearby, holding the remote. "The overseer reports that Mr.

Julian attempted to escape last week," Arthur noted mildly, pouring me another glass of champagne. He made it 3 miles into the desert before the heatstroke brought him down. They dragged him back and docked their water rations.

I watched the grainy footage of the five of them toiling in the dirt. A profound sense of peace washed over me. The original Blair's soul could finally rest. Her murderers were living out an eternity of suffering, exactly where

they belonged. "Let them have their water, Arthur," I smiled lazily, taking a sip of the vintage champagne. "We wouldn't want them dying on us too soon.

They have a lifetime of work left to do." "As you wish, madam," Arthur bowed deeply, a satisfied glint in his eye. I turned off the screen, dismissing them to the dust and the heat. The novel was finally over, but my life, my empire,

and my absolute reign had only just begun.