Annalise's empire was no longer just surviving — it was dominating. Every day, she closed deals that made headlines. The Leamington name wasn't just a legacy anymore; it was a force of nature. Business magazines called her the country's top CEO. Socialites whispered about her at galas. The boardroom was her battlefield, and she hadn't lost a fight yet.
Delphine leaned against the glass wall of Annalise's office, arms crossed, eyes proud. "Your parents would be so proud. You're not just keeping up the legacy — you're building your own crown."
Annalise smiled, but her mind didn't rest. Success drew admiration, yes. But it also drew predators.
A week later, she stood at a press event, flashing cameras reflecting off the polished stage. With a steady voice, she announced that her late mother's iconic clothing brand would now be officially part of the Leamington Empire. The crowd erupted, journalists scrambling to get the scoop out first.
In the back row, a member of her strategy team typed a quick message to an unknown number: She's making her move.
By nightfall, Annalise knew she had a leak. And she intended to deal with it herself.
In her private office, the mole sat across from her, trying to look confused. Annalise slid a printed email across the desk. "When you work for me, you work for the crown — not the man trying to burn it down. You're done." She didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. Two security officers escorted the employee out, the rest of the staff watching in tense silence.
Meanwhile, across the city, Robert Maxwell convened a secret meeting. His most trusted employees were in motion, collecting years of evidence against Carlos. Paper trails, shady deals, illicit transfers — all of it. But somewhere in that chain, a whisper slipped through to the wrong ear.
Carlos received the news within hours. A slow smile crept across his face. "So, they want to play," he said to himself. "Let's give them something to remember."
Han was too deep into his own investigation to notice the shifting tide. Late nights digging through archives revealed links between Carlos and political corruption, money laundering, and—most disturbingly—a connection to the tragedy in Annalise's past. His phone buzzed with threats, shadowy figures followed him home, and one night, a note waited under his windshield: Stop digging. Or you'll be buried with what you find.
Rezi, meanwhile, was thinking about Clyde. She'd received a parcel days ago — a delicate bracelet and a giant teddy bear, sender listed as Clyde Maxwell. She'd assumed it was an apology gift for his silence lately. But when she casually thanked him, Clyde's confusion was genuine. And cold dread sank in.
If Clyde didn't send it... who did? And how did they know his exact address?
The teddy bear sat in her room, its glassy eyes catching the light. Watching.
In his dimly lit office, Carlos sat with two silent men. They listened as he outlined his next move.
"Let's see how she survives this one," he said, voice low and certain.
One man smirked. The other slid a folder across the desk. Stamped in bold: Operation Blackout.