Ava's gaze dropped back to her phone. "I solve everything."
Her tone was flat, decisive.
"Everyone still doubts Dad and Mom are dead. They're waiting, watching, calculating. But our parents don't care and don't want to show themselves. They don't want to. They want to erase their past lives and live as teenagers again excuse to not give a fuck."
The car slowed at a red light. A group of students crossed the road, laughing, backpacks slung over their shoulders, completely unaware of how fragile lives could be.
"And honestly," Ava continued, bored expression firmly in place, "that's good for us. If the world realizes people can turn young again, we'll be dragged into chaos. Experiments. Media. Obsession. I don't have the patience for that."
The light turned green. Prim accelerated smoothly.
"Before the accident," Ava went on, "Dad already had plans. Destroy companies going against him. Remove spies. Clean out shareholders who thought they were untouchable. The accident froze everything halfway."
She scrolled through her phone, posture relaxed, almost lazy. Pale blue eyes. Soft features. An angelic, fox-like look that made people underestimate her every time.
"I was going to let it go," she added. "But Mary walked straight into my hands."
Prim clicked his tongue softly. "
He glanced at Ava, then back at the road, city lights stretching endlessly ahead.
"Let me guess," he continued. "She thinks Mom and Dad are dead. Thinks you're hiding it. Now she wants to meet you so she can blackmail you—threaten to tell the world she killed them, even if it drags her down too."
Ava didn't respond. Her silence was answer enough.
Prim scoffed. "That's stupid. Does she want money? Or just your reaction? Does she really think public opinion can scare us?"
They passed through another intersection, the city growing denser—restaurants glowing with warm lights, street vendors shouting, strangers brushing past one another without a second glance.
"How did someone this dumb become Dad's secretary?" Prim muttered. "Does she really think we're just some ordinary business family?"
Ava's lips curved slightly.
"No," Ava said calmly. "This is exactly why you should leave business to me."
"She knows Dad's business covers every industry," Ava continued, voice steady, controlled. "The legal ones. The gray ones. Even the ones the world pretends don't exist. Right now, she's under pressure."
Prim listened, eyes forward, jaw relaxed.
"The Chen family likely betrayed her. The project Dad handed to her failed, and it failed badly. Powerful families were involved—old money, new money, underground connections. Too many people invested for it to collapse like this."
"Her head is on the line," Ava said. "So she panicked."
She scrolled through her phone once more before locking the screen.
"She thinks our parents are dead. Thinks we're hiding it so rivals and allies won't attack all at once. She believes the business is collapsing without them, and that gives her leverage."
Prim gave a quiet hum.
"She didn't consider the Carter family," Ava added coldly. "If they find out, they'll strip everything from us, claiming we're just children. That's why she thinks she can blackmail me."
The car slowed as they approached the commercial district. Restaurants lined the street, valet attendants opening doors for wealthy customers, guards standing at attention outside private clubs.
"What she doesn't understand," Ava said softly, "is that dead or alive, I'd rather destroy the business myself than let anyone touch what's mine."
Prim glanced at her briefly.
"I'll finish Dad's plan," Ava continued. "My way. I'll let the Chen family take the blame. I'll turn the partners against each other. They'll fight among themselves while we benefit."
The city lights reflected sharply in her pale blue eyes.
"As for trying to kill our parents," she went on, voice emotionless, "that's business. People die because of business every day. If the victim never knows the culprit, it's considered clean."
"But if you attack and fail," Ava said, lifting her gaze, "then it's your fault. You've warned the target."
She smiled then—innocent, soft, dangerous.
"They tried. They failed. Now it's my turn."
Prim chuckled under his breath. He knew that smile. It meant she'd taken it as a challenge.
"And my sister," he said lightly, "never loses competitions."
"Sure," he added lazily. "You handle the dirty work. I'll sit back and enjoy the dividends from holding the shares. I'm praying for your victory."
He raised a fist in mock celebration.
"Damn you," Ava snapped, reaching over and grabbing his hair.
"Ouch—ouch—my hair! Not my hair!" Prim complained, swerving slightly. "Mom already traumatized it—stop before you drive us off the road!"
Ava released him.
"This is why you're single," he muttered, eyes fixed firmly ahead.
They stopped outside a high-end restaurant tucked between two luxury hotels. Valets lined up neatly, cameras mounted discreetly along the entrance.
Prim drove off without another word.
Inside, the noise of the city dulled to a distant hum.
A waitress led Ava through a quiet corridor into a private room, bowing slightly before leaving her alone. The room was elegant—soft lighting, dark wood walls, a single table set perfectly.
Ava sat down calmly, picked up the menu, and began to order.
When the waitress returned, she was no longer alone.
The woman beside her looked violently out of place—like ash drifting into a hall of polished gold. Her clothes were neat but wrong for the room, her posture stiff, her presence clashing with the quiet luxury like hell stepping into heaven.
Yet the waitress's expression never changed.
Her smile remained elegant. Professional. Untouched.
Disgust was not an option here. Curiosity was forbidden.
Everyone who worked in this restaurant understood one unspoken rule: survive first.
This establishment did not classify guests by wealth alone.
There were levels—clear, invisible lines that no employee dared cross.
The VIP and VVIP were powerful figures. Celebrities. Executives. Influential families. People whose names appeared in news headlines and boardrooms.
They could ruin lives quietly, but they were still bound by appearances. With them, staff could sometimes bargain—huge tips, favors, protection if something went wrong. If a guest crossed a line, the owner could intervene.
But the VVVIP and VVVVIP?
They were different.
Governors. Judges. Political shadows. Businessmen whose names were never spoken publicly. Families whose influence reached both the legal world and the underground. Some of them were not even known by face—only by clearance level.
If such a guest killed someone in front of them, the staff were trained to hear nothing.
Sometimes, after serving these guests, employees were given pills—mandatory, unspoken. Drugs that dulled memory, erased conversations, blurred faces.
Not because the restaurant feared scandal, but because it feared involvement.
The difference was simple.
A VIP or VVIP could make a death look like suicide.
A VVVIP or VVVVIP could make a person look like they had never existed.
No body. No records. No memories.
Sometimes, even the family forgot.
That was why no one tried to make deals with them.
That was why no one asked questions.
That was why the waitress bowed politely after leading the woman inside, her hands steady, her smile flawless—then turned and left without a single backward glance.
The door closed softly.
Silence settled.
Ava lifted her glass, sipping water through a thin straw, her movements lazy, unhurried. Her pale blue eyes traced the woman from head to toe—slow, precise, clinical.
Ava leaned back slightly, her tone light, almost amused.
"Is this the new fashion now—dressing like a beggar?" she asked lazily. "I thought your taste before was already poor, but I didn't expect you to improve so much in authenticity. Should I praise your dedication, or feel sorry that you fell for someone who wanted to be my stepmother? Either way, that fall was… spectacular."
Mary's face flushed a violent red.
She sneered and dropped into the chair opposite Ava, the sound sharp against the quiet room. "So what if I'm a beggar?" she spat. "At the end of the day, I can still ruin you."
Her eyes twitched—unfocused, unstable—before she forced a smile onto her face. "So tell me… how are your father and mother? Have you buried them yet?"
The words were meant to cut. To provoke. To tear open grief.
Ava simply shrugged.
She placed her cup down gently, the faint clink echoing far louder than it should have.
"Don't worry," she said calmly. "You'll be buried before them. We might even use you as an experiment—to see how deep is deep enough. What do you think? It's for a good cause if you want I can order the coffin what is your size what type of death do you want or do you want to be bury alive."
Her expression remained innocent, almost soft.
Her words sent a chill crawling up Mary's spine.
Mary's smile stiffened, then cracked. "It seems their death messed with your brain," she scoffed, forcing disdain into her voice.
"Now you're trying to act scary. It must be tough—handling such a huge business at your age."
"Tough?" Ava tilted her head. "You wouldn't understand my suffering at all."
She covered her mouth lightly, as if embarrassed. "When I'm sad, I make billions. Sometimes I'm so upset, I order a bed made of cash and roll around in it. The real problem is deciding which currency to use."
She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Millions? Hundreds of millions? It's exhausting."
Her gaze swept over Mary—slow, merciless. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You wouldn't be able to advise me on that."
Ava smiled.
"Even now, instead of making money, you're making debt. If I ever want to bankrupt myself, I'll ask you for guidance. How does that sound?"
Mary nearly vomited blood.
Every word stabbed precisely where it hurt most.
She had tried to provoke Ava—to make her lose control, to scream, to confess, to crumble. Instead, Ava mocked her effortlessly, reminding her of everything she had never been and would never reach.
Back when Mary was at her peak, she had scraped together hundreds of thousands. Occasionally, with bonuses, a million. Even then, that world of casual excess—of money treated like disposable fabric—had been unreachable.
And now?
She had nothing.
No money. No backing. No safety net.
Her mind spiraled.
"You seem… happy," Mary said suddenly, her voice trembling as she leaned forward. "Did your father's death benefit you? Or did you have a hand in it?"
Her eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill—not from sorrow, but desperation. "Where are your parents? Did you hurt them? Especially your father—because you thought he would marry me? Did you kill him?"
She sobbed, trying one last time to bait Ava into slipping. Into admitting something.
Anything.
Ava crossed her legs slowly.
She lifted her glass and took another calm sip of water.
Her expression didn't change.
Ava looked at her as though she were staring at something laughable.
"Are you really this stupid?" she asked calmly. "Do you not know what a vacation is? How many times do I need to repeat myself?"
She tilted her head slightly, pale blue eyes cold and sharp.
"You claimed to be dating my father, yet you don't even know where he is. You look like a disaster, as if money personally decided to abandon you. And yet all you do is ask whether my parents are dead."
Her lips curved faintly.
"Let me ask you instead—did you kill them and hide the bodies? Or did my father simply decide you weren't worth his time? Maybe he thought even a dog was better company than you, so he dumped you. Is that why you're so obsessed with death? Is guilt the reason you dragged me here?"
Mary froze.
The color drained from her face.
"What are you talking about?" she snapped, her voice trembling. "How dare you accuse me of murder, Ava? I'm only asking if your parents are dead. Are they dead? Is that why you keep avoiding the question?"
Her fingers twitched unconsciously, brushing against the hidden devices beneath her clothes.
Ava sighed, visibly bored.
"I already told you. My parents are on vacation," she said casually. "Planning a new life. But you keep circling the same question like a mad dog."
She smiled faintly.
"If you want proof so badly, then kill yourself l to find out. I promise—if they ever become ghosts, you'll be the first person I let them visit."
Before Mary could react, Ava's hand moved.
A blade flashed.
The knife flew past Mary's neck and slammed into the couch behind her with a dull thud—so close that the wind from it brushed her skin.
Mary's legs gave out.
She collapsed to the floor, mouth open, teeth chattering violently. Her breathing turned erratic as fear finally crushed every ounce of arrogance she had left.
Ava stood and walked toward her unhurriedly.
She stepped on Mary's leg.
Mary screamed.
Ava crouched, her movements precise, and pulled out a phone, a tiny hidden recording button, and a camera pen from Mary's clothes. She tossed them onto the floor.
Then she crushed them beneath her heel—once, twice, again—plastic cracking, metal snapping.
Still pressing down on Mary's leg.
The private room echoed with screams.
Ava picked up the broken fragments, walked to the fish tank beside the wall, and dropped them in. The water rippled, swallowing everything.
"For someone so broke," Ava said as she returned to her seat, "wasting money on tricks like that is unbelievably stupid."
Mary lay on the floor shaking, tears streaming down her face—fear and hatred mixing together.
"How dare you!" she screamed hoarsely. "I'll expose you! I'll tell everyone that the Carter family, the Nathan Empire, the Hayes family's granddaughter—Emily's daughter—is a bully! I'll destroy your reputation!"
Ava looked at her calmly.
"If you didn't care that the people hunting you could follow you here and erase you," Ava said softly,
"and you still dared to meet me after being involved in my parents' accident…"
She smiled—sweet, innocent, deadly.
"What makes you think I care about my name?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"The only thing you should be thinking about right now," Ava continued,
"is whether I decide this meeting is your last."
Mary's face turned completely white.
"So you know," Mary suddenly screamed, her voice cracking as she staggered forward, gripping the edge of the table. "I was the one who caused the accident! You should know that Chen Yulan helped me!"
Her hands slammed against the tabletop again and again, the sound sharp and hysterical.
Her hair clung to her damp face, eyes bloodshot, reason completely gone.
"But he wasn't the one driving the truck," Ava snapped coldly. "He wasn't the one spying on my parents. He wasn't the one drowning in paranoia and delusions."
Mary burst into laughter—unhinged, shrill.
"So what? Kill me then!" she shouted. "Your parents are dead anyway, right? They're dead! At least I dragged them to hell with me! Your father betrayed me!"
Ava rolled her eyes, visibly irritated.
"You're dumb," she said flatly. "I thought you might be useful, but I won't waste brain cells on someone this foolish."
She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms, her expression indifferent.
"Humans like you are always the same. You blame everyone but yourself. He used me. He lied to me. He fooled me. Are you a child? Can't you think for yourself?"
Her gaze sharpened.
"You followed his lies because you wanted to be lied to. You didn't want the truth. If you had succeeded, you'd be singing a different song right now—not crying like this."
Mary's laughter died abruptly.
"You don't deserve a second chance," Ava continued calmly. "Not that I was planning to give you one."
She paused, eyes turning icy.
"You should be grateful my parents are alive. If they weren't, I wouldn't let you die easily. I'd make sure you never knew what peace was."
Ava took out a white gun from her bag.
"I'd rather put down a rabid dog than let it bite me."
Her hand moved.
A soft hiss filled the room.
A thin dart struck Mary in the shoulder.
Mary's eyes widened. She tried to speak, but her limbs failed her. Her knees buckled, body collapsing to the floor as her consciousness rapidly faded.
"But you're lucky," Ava said lightly, watching her. "It's not your time to die yet.
"
She crouched briefly, her smile bright and unsettling.
"I still have use for you. Don't you want to leave wealthy? This is your chance."
Ava straightened and slid the tranquilizer gun back into her bag just as the door opened. Two bodyguards entered silently, lifting Mary with practiced efficiency.
Just like before—no one saw her come in.
And no one saw her leave.
Only this time, Mary was no longer a guest.
Ava returned to her seat, unfazed.
She ordered her food.
The same waitress entered moments later, her posture perfect, expression composed as she set the dishes down and exited without a word.
The private room fell quiet again.
And somewhere beneath that calm, another plan had already begun.
After dealing with everything, Ava finally settled into the private room. She snapped a few photos of her food, posting them online with a cheeky caption, before finally digging in.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately. A new message from Daisy lit up the screen:
"Oh my gosh, you're still alive!"
Ava smirked at the screen. "I know, right? Miracle of the century," she replied with a joke.
"Girl, when I heard the news about your dad and mom having an accident, I almost fucking tripped out," Daisy typed. "Though, honestly, it wasn't much news anyway—Daniel made sure no media outlet, no platform, no magazine posted anything stupid.
And those who did? Lost everything. That's at least one good thing Daniel did in his life," she teased.