Morning came harsh and unforgiving.
Mirable sat in the Davis family living room, perfectly poised, the sunlight highlighting the sharp edges of her face. On the surface, she was calm—hair flawless, makeup untouched, a silk blouse catching the light just so. But beneath that polished exterior, her chest tightened and her hands twitched.
Nothing had gone as planned.
The plan had been simple. Drug Amy, humiliate her publicly, and finally claim the narrative that Amy was weak, reckless, and unworthy of the Davis name. The media had been prepped. Cameras positioned. Witnesses briefed. Every angle accounted for.
And yet…
She had failed.
Benson Harrington. The man's name alone carried power, wealth, and influence that she hadn't accounted for. He had walked into the scene, denied the accusations with a single calm sentence, and reversed the humiliation. The crowd had laughed at her, not Amy. Every whispered judgment, every incredulous glance, every flashing camera captured her fall—not Amy's.
Her fingers dug into her lap as she replayed the events in her mind.
How could he be here? Why was he even here?
The thought of Ethan addressing him as "Uncle" had thrown her off completely. That single word—the one that revealed their connection—had sent a jolt of fear straight through her chest. Benson's authority was undeniable, and she had no leverage over him. None.
Her reflection in the window stared back at her, unflinching. A flawless image, a perfect mask. But the reflection couldn't hide the sharp sting of defeat prickling in her gut.
I can't let this happen again, she whispered to herself, quiet enough that no one could hear. Not to me. Not to my family. Not to the world.
She clenched her jaw, nails leaving small crescents of red in her palm.
The Davis family had rushed to Benson, apologizing profusely. Their panic, their groveling—it had been satisfying, in a small, bitter way. They finally understood, if only for a moment, that she couldn't control everything. But that satisfaction didn't erase the embarrassment, the judgment, the public collapse of her plan.
Her lips curved into a smile, slow and dangerous. It was a predator's smile—the kind that comes before recalculation.
Amy had slept through it all. Completely unaware. The sedative had kept her unconscious while the world fell apart around her. That ignorance both infuriated and fascinated Mirable. Amy hadn't seen her downfall, hadn't known the tables had turned. It would make the next round sweeter—or more dangerous, depending on how she played it.
Mirable leaned back in the chair, letting herself breathe for the first time since the fiasco. Her mind was already racing, plotting the next moves:
How to regain control of the media narrative.
How to manipulate Ethan back to her side.
How to subtly undermine Amy without alerting Benson.
How to anticipate that Ember she hadn't yet seen flicker in Amy—the stubborn spark of resilience that might be growing beneath the surface.
And worst of all, Benson. That man was an enigma, calm and untouchable. She had underestimated him. Every step she took from now on would need to account for him. Not Ethan. Not her parents. Him.
Her phone buzzed. Three missed calls. Ethan's name flashed on the screen. She ignored it.
Instead, she focused on the cracks forming in her empire. Every whisper, every glance, every judgment was a warning. She had always been in control. Always. But now she was exposed—weak, vulnerable, vulnerable to Amy, to Benson, to chance.
She pressed her lips together. That could not stand.
I will recover. I will. And next time… Amy will be the one paying.
Her fingers tapped on the armrest, rapid and sharp. Her mind traced the edges of revenge, plotting meticulously. The Davis family, Ethan, the media, Amy—they all had roles to play in her next act. And this time, she would be untouchable.
Her eyes darkened, scanning the room. Every corner, every reflection, every window—the world was a chessboard, and she refused to lose.
Because Mirable had always won.
And she would again.