The city was quiet that evening, but Amelia knew better.
Silence wasn't peace — it was the calm before the storm, the lull that came before devastation hit.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with an unknown number flashing. She hesitated, thumb hovering. Finally, she answered.
> "Miss Jones?"
A man's voice — smooth, professional, tinged with urgency.
> "I'm a journalist. I have information you need to see… about Elena Moretti. And about your children."
Amelia froze. Her heart slammed. "What do you mean?"
> "I can't explain over the phone. Meet me at The Observatory — the rooftop lounge near Nova Heights Tower. Midnight. Alone."
The line went dead.
Her hands shook. The triplets' laughter from the living room had never sounded so fragile.
She sank into the chair, mind spinning.
Elena had always been dangerous, yes. But this… this was something else entirely.
---
Across town, Christopher King was pacing his office at King Mansion.
The storm from the previous night had passed, leaving streets wet and glittering under the city lights. But inside, his mind was in chaos.
Mark had compiled everything — all the internal leaks, the offshore accounts, and, most alarmingly, whispers of board-level betrayal.
Even a few of his most trusted executives had been compromised, their loyalties questionable.
> "Sir, I recommend we bring her in for protection," Mark said cautiously.
Christopher's jaw tightened. "No. Not yet. I need to know who's behind this before I move."
He pulled up the latest threads of the social media frenzy — #KingDefendsJones had turned into #AmeliaManipulatesKing within hours.
The tide of public opinion was shifting fast, but it didn't matter.
He wasn't thinking about the headlines. He was thinking about her — Amelia.
---
At midnight, Amelia slipped out into the streets, dressed in black, hood up, gloves tight against her hands.
The Observatory loomed above, glass reflecting the city like a mirror of neon and rain.
She climbed the narrow stairs two at a time, adrenaline surging.
The rooftop was empty save for one man in a dark suit, his silhouette framed against the city skyline.
He turned as she approached, holding a tablet.
> "Miss Jones, you're about to see the full scope of what Elena's been planning."
He handed her the tablet. Her eyes widened.
The screen displayed documents, emails, and photographs connecting Elena Moretti not only to the leaks and doctored images but — shockingly — to her family.
There were receipts, tickets, and even surveillance photos: Elena had been monitoring Amelia's home, tracing her children's schedules, noting patterns.
Amelia's stomach churned. "Why… why would she…?"
> "Power," the journalist replied. "Elena doesn't play fair. She sees everyone as a pawn — your children included. If this goes public, you'll be cornered completely."
Her hands shook, gripping the tablet like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
> "You need to tell Christopher," he continued. "And you need to do it before she makes her next move. She's planning something — something that could ruin everything for him, and for you."
Amelia swallowed hard. Her mind raced — trust him, or trust her instincts?
She thought of the twins sleeping just hours ago, of Lydia's worried face, of Christopher stepping into the media storm for her sake.
She whispered to the wind: "I won't let her touch them. Not ever."
---
Meanwhile, in his mansion, Christopher's phone rang.
> "Miss Jones. Midnight. The Observatory. I'll explain everything."
His expression hardened. He didn't need proof yet — he knew the danger. Elena was escalating. But this time, Amelia wasn't alone, and he wouldn't let her fight blind.
> "Mark," he said, voice steady but cold, "get security ready. And prepare for everything."
Lightning cracked across the horizon — a warning, a promise, a storm gathering around Nova Heights.
Somewhere, Elena's smile stretched wider, confident in her plan.
But this time, the game had shifted.
And neither Christopher nor Amelia would go down without fighting back.
---