Emily blinked at the message again.
"They’re using your past against you"
She shut her phone and excused herself from the gala floor, every instinct sharpened now. As she entered the quiet hallway outside the ballroom, her breaths grew slower, more focused. She'd buried that part of herself long ago—the ruthless, image-obsessed heiress who once mocked Jack for being "just Harmonfield's muscle" and laughed off Sarah as a girl who wore ambition like cheap perfume.
She thought she had burned that past.
But someone was resurrecting it.
Sarah showed up ten minutes later in her suite. No preamble.
"It’s Krane."
Emily didn't flinch. "How bad?"
"Audio clips. Emails. Video from that private yacht party in Reidsville. You remember it?"
Emily nodded slowly. "The one where I called Harmonfiel
