The air around the Bradley Penthouse shifted long before Samantha's car even came into view.
Inside the estate's private rooftop entrance — a broad, polished stone path that ran beside a sleek reflecting pool — the maids rushed to form two straight lines on either side. Vera, the head of staff, stood tall in the middle of the walkway, adjusting the fold of her uniform and inspecting every detail with the eyes of someone who understood Samantha Bradley did not tolerate imperfection.
Her sharp gaze caught sight of a single dry leaf drifting toward the stone. In one swift move, she stepped onto it and gently twisted her heel to hide the offense — a silent act of protection for the rest of the staff.
A low hum approached.
Then the sleek black Mercedes Benz turned the corner, its engine purring like a well-fed predator. It slid to a stop at the estate's upper entrance beneath the hanging steel awning.
The chauffeur rushed forward, opening the rear passenger door with precision.
A long leg emerged — dressed in a black stiletto with crystal trim — and touched down silently on the stone walkway, catching the faint reflection of the sky above. The other followed, and then Samantha rose to full height, tall and poised.
"Welcome home, ma'am," Vera said immediately, bowing slightly. The rest of the staff lowered their heads in sync.
One of the maids hurried to collect Samantha's bag. Samantha didn't speak — not right away. She lifted her head and cast a long glance up the length of the building, her face unreadable. The faintest smirk touched her lips.
Then, she walked forward — slow, graceful, commanding. The sound of her heels echoed softly across the stone, each step confident and unhurried. Her tailored coat swayed gently with the breeze, and Lynn followed at a precise distance behind her, along with the other waiting staff.
As they reached the main penthouse entrance, a suited man stepped forward from the side, removed a slim black card from his inner jacket pocket, and tapped it lightly against a sensor by the door. A quiet beep sounded. The frosted glass panels slid open automatically, revealing the interior.
Samantha entered.
The inside was still. Cool. Immaculate.
She stopped in the center of the grand hall, her eyes sweeping the space like a hawk circling its territory. Marble underfoot, crystal sconces glowing along the walls, a full panoramic view of the skyline behind a wall of glass.
The maids quickly formed position again, this time inside the grand foyer. The chauffeur followed discreetly, carrying a matte black briefcase.
Samantha gave a small nod to Lynn — silent instruction.
Lynn moved quickly, stepping forward to take the briefcase from the driver, then opened it before Samantha.
"There will be a new security system," Samantha said flatly, not looking at anyone in particular. "Starting today."
Lynn retrieved a silver keycard from the briefcase and held it up between two fingers.
"This will be your access pass," Samantha continued. Her voice was soft — but sharp enough to cut through silence. "Without this, no one enters this penthouse. No exceptions."
She reached forward and took the keycard herself, holding it up before the staff like a warning.
"This estate is no longer just a home. It's a headquarters," she added. "Treat it like one."
Lynn closed the briefcase.
"You may distribute the cards to every approved employee on-site," Samantha said, already turning her back and walking toward the elevator.
But just before reaching it, her eyes caught something.
A painting.
She slowed, taking a few steps toward the canvas hanging on the far wall. A modern art piece — abstract, expensive, layered with emotion. She stared at it for a moment, then stepped closer.
Her manicured finger gently traced the edge of the glass frame. Her fingertip came back dusty.
She turned slowly.
"Who is responsible for this?" she asked — not loudly, but every syllable was crystal clear, and full of ice.
The entire room froze.
No one dared to speak. Even breathing seemed risky.
Then Vera stepped forward, her voice barely holding together. "I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll have it taken care of immediately."
Samantha tilted her head slightly, eyes still fixed on her.
"Make sure it doesn't happen again," she said. "Or everyone standing here will be replaced before sunset."
A long pause. Then she turned toward the elevator.
Lynn, quick to recover, pressed the button. The doors slid open with a soft chime. They both stepped inside, and silence fell behind them.
The elevator rose without a sound, carrying them to the uppermost level — Samantha's private residence. When they arrived, the doors opened to reveal a pristine, serene space. She walked in, unbuttoned her coat, and dropped onto the plush sofa near the windows.
Crossing her legs, she looked at Lynn.
"Forward the remaining tasks to my email," she said. "I'll be working from home until we launch the project."
Lynn nodded. "Understood."
Samantha leaned her head back for a moment, eyes closed, lips pressed in a thin line of thought.
Outside, the skyline of New York gleamed, unaware that the woman sitting above it all wasn't just planning her next move.
She was planning her enemies' end — one quiet command at a time.