August 9th, 2025
At The Langham New York - 10:40 AM
The light of dawn slipped through the cracks of the velvet curtains that adorned the penthouse suite. Manhattan stretched awake outside, its towers catching fire with the rising sun.
Inside, the silence of luxury hung heavy - thick carpets muffling every sound, polished marble floors reflecting faint golden light, and the faint hum of the city below creeping up from the streets like an echo of another world.
Ruth stirred beneath the sheets of the king-sized bed. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of the room.
For a moment, she simply lay still, savoring the lingering warmth of the sheets, the faint scent of high-grade detergent, the comfort of being far above the chaos of the streets.
But then, her mind began to replay last night. The glass of champagne raised in celebration. The endless smile of a South Carolina CEO whose name already blurred into irrelevance.
Another deal secured. Another pawn brought under her hand. Her lips curled faintly at the memory - one more notch in her climb toward the pinnacle she had envisioned for herself.
It had been exhausting, yes, but fruitful. And yet… as the memory surfaced, so too did another, like a poison seeping through her thoughts. Elizabeth Ravenglass.
Ruth's eyes narrowed at the ceiling. Elizabeth's name tasted bitter on her tongue, yet electrifying all the same. The CEO had spoken her name with reverence, as though Elizabeth were not a woman but an institution.
Ravenglass Beauty and Brain Co. - a towering empire of influence and intellect. Ruth admired her, even envied her. But what consumed her most was the knowledge that Elizabeth had once belonged to Ian. Or Ian had once belonged to Elizabeth.
Ian.
Ruth inhaled sharply and rolled onto her side, staring at the man beside her. Leo. Her husband slept soundly, his breaths steady, his chest rising and falling with a peace Ruth herself hadn't known in years.
But in her exhausted, frayed mind, he wasn't Leo. She blinked, and in the shadows of dawn, she saw Ian. His smile. His eyes. The way his face softened whenever he looked at her in those visions she could not control.
"My love," Ruth whispered before she could stop herself. Her hand drifted to caress Leo's cheek. She traced the line of his jaw with a tenderness she rarely displayed, her heart betraying her reality. For a moment, she basked in the delusion. And then…
"Ian…" she whispered again.
And suddenly, Ian's eyes in her vision opened, gazing at her warmly. His lips curved into the smile she remembered from years ago.
"Good morning, my love." he said, his voice velvet, deep, comforting.
But the sound shattered like glass. Because it wasn't Ian's voice.
It was Leo's.
"Good morning," Leo mumbled sleepily, opening his eyes and smiling faintly at her. "What was that for?"
Ruth froze. The illusion crumbled. The warmth vanished. Her expression hardened, the softness in her touch gone as she pulled her hand back like it had been burned.
Leo's brows furrowed as he propped himself on his elbow, looking at her. "What the hell was that for? You touched me like that and then, Ugh… like I was someone else."
Ruth turned away without a word, sitting up, pulling the sheets from her body and stretching languidly as though his question didn't matter. She exhaled deeply, masking her turmoil.
"You were imagining Ian, weren't you?" Leo's voice cracked the air like a whip.
Ruth's body stiffened. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes darkening with displeasure. "Grow up, for godsake," she muttered, her tone sharp and dismissive.
She swung her legs out of the bed and stood, her silk nightgown flowing against her skin as she crossed the room to the vanity.
Leo sat in silence for a moment, staring at her back as she brushed her long dark hair. His reflection met hers in the mirror, his eyes tired, hollow. "I keep asking myself," he said finally, his voice carrying both pain and exhaustion. "Why did you even marry me if it went down like this?"
The brush paused mid-stroke. Ruth's gaze in the mirror flicked to his, cold and detached. She didn't answer.
"Just - please," Leo continued, his tone growing desperate. "Be honest with me for one damn second. Do you still love him? Was I ever more than a replacement?"
Ruth set the brush down carefully on the vanity, her movements deliberate. She rose to her full height, her presence suddenly commanding, as though the weight of her silence could crush him.
"There are things you aren't allowed to know," she said softly, her voice laced with venom and mystery. "Things that would drive you… mad."
Leo swallowed hard, anger and confusion colliding in his chest. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded, his voice rising.
"It means," Ruth said, turning to him with eyes like sharpened steel, "stay the hell out of my way if you know what's good for you."
"I mean it, Leo."
The venom in her words cut deeper than any blade. Leo flinched slightly, his face contorting with pain he tried to mask with anger. "You can't just keep hiding behind riddles and threats, Ruth," he shot back. "I'm your husband. Or does that mean nothing to you?"
Ruth smirked faintly, cruelly, and crossed to the door. Her heels clicked against the marble like gunshots in the silence. She paused with her hand on the golden handle, her back to him.
"I have to be somewhere else," she said, her tone ice. "Stay here. Do your thing. I'll text you when I'm coming back."
Without another glance, she opened the door and stepped out, the soft thud of it closing behind her echoing like a final verdict.
For a long moment, Leo sat in stunned silence. His chest rose and fell heavily, his hands trembling slightly with rage and despair.
Finally, he muttered under his breath, "Tsk. Goddammit."
He buried his face in his hands, his thoughts spiraling. He had endured Ruth's coldness, her dismissive attitute, her secrecy, but this morning, something broke. His father's voice whispered from the depths of his memory, a voice he had long tried to ignore.
"If you don't trust her, follow her. Capture evidence. Prove she's having an affair. A man can't live blind in his own marriage."
Leo lifted his head slowly, his father's words burning into him like iron. His fists clenched. "Follow her…" he repeated under his breath.
A minute passed. Then another. His breathing steadied. His eyes hardened with resolve.
He knew what he had to do.
He wouldn't sit idle in that penthouse like a loyal dog waiting for scraps of attention. He wouldn't continue being made a fool of.
If Ruth had secrets, if she was betraying him, if she was dragging his name through shadows he couldn't see - then he would uncover it all.
He stood, threw on a shirt and slacks hastily, and grabbed his phone. His hands shook not with fear, but determination. He was done being blind.
Whatever Ruth was hiding, wherever she was going, he would follow. He would know the truth. And if the truth destroyed him… so be it.
Back at The George Hotel - Georgetown, South Carolina - 10:50 AM
The early afternoon sun over Georgetown pierced the curtains of the lavish penthouse, spilling golden streaks across velvet rugs and polished mahogany tables.
The suite was pristine, immaculate - like a cathedral of luxury designed to hide last night's chaos. Yet inside, silence weighed heavy, almost unbearable, as Madison Hart sat curled on the edge of a leather couch, staring at the steaming cup of untouched coffee her bodyguard had placed before her.
She hadn't touched it. She couldn't. Her hands trembled too much. Her head throbbed in dull, vicious pulses, the aftermath of alcohol, cocaine, and mistakes.
The faint sound of heels clicked across the marble floor. Elizabeth Ravenglass appeared, tall, sharp, composed as ever, her jet-black hair cascading neatly down her shoulders.
In her right hand was her phone. She didn't speak right away - her presence alone commanded the room. Madison looked up, her bloodshot eyes narrowing in cautious confusion.
"Liz?" she croaked, her voice rough, tired.
Elizabeth didn't answer. She sat down opposite Madison, crossed one long leg over the other, and with deliberate calm tapped her phone screen. The sound of upbeat music erupted from the speakers - music from the bar.
Madison's stomach sank.
On screen, she watched herself. The video was raw, cruel, unflinching. Madison Hart - the regal, pure Queen of Hollywood - was reduced to a drunken mess. She was laughing, shrieking, spilling shots of liquor as she let strangers grind against her on the dance floor.
Her body swayed uncontrollably, sweat shining against her dress as she staggered from man to woman, kissing one, sloppily embracing another.
Every second Madison watched, she winced harder. She couldn't reconcile the woman on screen with the person she believed herself to be. She wanted to scream, to throw the phone, to erase the memory forever.
Elizabeth's eyes, however, never left Madison's face.
"Well?" Elizabeth finally asked, voice calm but razor sharp.
Madison tried to breathe. She tried to find words. But her throat tightened, and all she managed was silence. She could only watch as the video continued.
Then it happened - the five men. They appeared behind her in the footage, circling like wolves. Three of them grabbed her arms and pulled her in, laughing as though she were some prize to be fought over. Madison's gut twisted violently.
The memory clawed its way back. She remembered.
The rough hands pulling her out of the bar. The alleyway reeking of trash and piss. Her legs barely able to carry her. Their laughter, cruel and hungry. The whispers of what they would do to her.
And then - him.
The stranger. The man who came out of nowhere. Fists slamming against flesh. Bodies falling. His grunts of pain as one of them drew a knife. Blood. His blood.
Madison gasped and pressed both hands to her mouth. "Oh my god…" she muttered, horrified, trembling. "Oh my god."
Elizabeth's expression didn't change, but she slowly lowered the phone, silencing the video. She placed it neatly on the table. "It seems…" she said softly, her words laced with venom hidden beneath civility, "you had fun."
Madison's head snapped up, desperate. "That wasn't me. I swear. That wasn't-"
Elizabeth tilted her head, lips curling in a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. She didn't believe it.
Madison's panic shifted. Fear gave way to fury. Her mind shot to Ian - the reason she'd gone down this path last night. His face burned in her memory, his presence at the orphanage haunting her.
"It was his fault," Madison muttered bitterly.
Elizabeth's brows twitched. "Whose fault?"
"Your fucking ex-boyfriend!" Madison snapped, her voice rising into a shout that bounced off the penthouse walls.
Elizabeth frowned, her posture stiffening.
"If it wasn't for him," Madison spat, "I wouldn't have gone to that shitty bar down the street! Everything was fine until that bastard showed up!"
The shift in Elizabeth was immediate and terrifying. She rose slowly, crossing her arms. Her usually graceful, composed demeanor twisted into something sharp, psychotic, dangerous. Her eyes narrowed, glowing with venomous fury.
"Ian?" she said coldly, her voice void of warmth. "What's this got to do with him?"
"Tsk. Whatever. It's his fault. Everything was fine at the orphanage until that bastard came," Madison said, dismissive, anger boiling over.
The sound of Elizabeth's hand slamming against the table cracked through the room like a gunshot. Madison flinched, her breath caught in her throat.
"You keep Ian away from this," Elizabeth hissed, her voice sharp as glass. "Away from your fucking mistake. Away from your fucking irresponsible and clumsy acts!"
Madison stared, shocked beyond words. Elizabeth Ravenglass, the woman, her own fiancée, she had known for years - calm, calculating, collected - was raging like a storm when she blamed Ian for her own stupidity. Madison had never seen her like this. It was like staring into the face of someone else entirely.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, chest rising as she inhaled deeply, controlling herself. Slowly, she exhaled, regaining her cold composure. When she spoke again, her voice was calm, almost gentle.
"Why," Elizabeth asked, "did your bodyguards find you lying unconscious in an alleyway?"
Madison swallowed hard, her body trembling. Her lips parted but no words came out at first. Finally, broken, stammering, she spoke.
"I… I remember," Madison whispered. "The five guys escorted me. I was too drunk, too stoned to see, to feel. Then I heard bits of conversations… about them…" She shuddered, bile rising in her throat. "…about them raping me."
Her voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes. "When I regained consciousness… I saw a man. An unknown man, fighting those bastards. He - he tried to protect me. And then… one of them stabbed him."
Madison's voice broke entirely. She choked, nearly collapsing into sobs.
Elizabeth's gaze softened, though her jaw remained tight. "So he saved you."
Madison nodded, tears spilling freely now. "Yes. He saved me. Without him…" Her words faltered, but the implication was clear.
Elizabeth stood slowly, her anger dissolving into something else - remorse, empathy. She approached Madison, her heels clicking softly against the floor, until she stood before her trembling friend.
Then, with surprising gentleness, she lowered herself and wrapped her arms around Madison.
The hug was warm, steady, grounding.
"I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered softly. "I didn't know. It wasn't your fault. It was them."
Madison leaned into her, sobbing quietly into Elizabeth's shoulder. She hadn't realized how desperately she needed this - someone to tell her she wasn't broken, that she wasn't to blame.
Elizabeth stroked her back gently. "You have to thank the man somehow," she said.
Madison sniffled, wiping her tears. She nodded. "Yeah, Liz, I know. Without him… God knows what they would have done to me."
Elizabeth gave a small nod, her expression unreadable. "Then remember this: you are not your mistakes. But you are responsible for how you rise after them."
Madison looked at her, eyes red, face pale, but hope flickered faintly in her chest. She nodded again.
For the first time since the nightmare began, she felt less alone.
The room was silent again, but this time it wasn't suffocating. It was the silence of wounds beginning to heal.
And both of them were oblivious, especially Madison, that it was Ian who did the heroic deed.