Chapter 8: Hidden Agendas

The crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elegant party as Jonathan Ross watched Christopher White make his way to Ashlyn.

"Just one chance," Christopher said, reaching for her hand. "That's all I'm asking."

Ashlyn stepped back. "Like the chance you gave me before humiliating me in public?"

"I can explain—"

"Save it for Penelope."

Jonathan pulled out his phone while observing their interaction. "Marcus? Security protocol alpha. Christopher White is not to set foot in any Sparkle & Shine property."

"Effective immediately, sir?"

"Make it permanent."

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Jonathan's office as Ashlyn strode in, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Here." She dropped a stack of headshots on his desk. "These are my picks."

Jonathan leafed through the photos. "Five candidates?"

"Interview them tomorrow." She circled names in red ink. "I want someone who can capture... innocence turning to betrayal."

"Speaking of betrayal..." Jonathan studied her face. "You seemed rather cold with Christopher last night."

"Was I supposed to weep and beg?"

"Most people would show some emotion."

"Most people haven't died and been reborn," she murmured.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She headed for the door. "Just get those interviews scheduled."

Throughout the afternoon, Ashlyn immersed herself in meetings with directors, discussing camera angles and lighting techniques until the sun had long set.

When she finally arrived home, Richard was waiting in the dimly lit foyer.

"You're tense." His hands found her shoulders, massaging gently.

She flinched. "I'm fine."

"Your body says otherwise." His fingers worked at a knot in her neck. "What's wrong?"

"Just tired. And hungry."

"Then let's fix both." He guided her to the dining room. "I've canceled everything tomorrow."

"Richard, you don't need to—"

"Non-negotiable, my dear."

The next evening, Steven White's 80th birthday celebration was in full swing. Christopher paced near the grand staircase, checking his phone every few minutes.

"Stop that!" His mother grabbed his arm. "Haven't you caused enough scandal?"

"She'll come."

"After what you did? Breaking off the engagement so publicly?"

"Mother—"

"The papers are still talking about it! 'White Heir Dumps Fiancée for Illegitimate Knight Daughter.' Do you know how that makes us look?"

Christopher ran a hand through his hair. "I can fix this."

"How? By pacing like a madman?"

"By—"

His phone buzzed. An unknown number: "Want to know the truth about Ashlyn's accident? Meet me in the garden in 10 minutes."

Another message followed: "Bring the file your father has. The one about the night she died."

Christopher's hands shook. "Died?"

"What is it?" His mother peered at the phone.

Before he could answer, the lights flickered. Once, twice, then darkness.

A woman screamed.

When the lights came back on, Christopher's father stood in the doorway, holding a familiar manila envelope.

"Son," he said, his face ashen. "We need to talk about Ashlyn."

"Now?"

"It's about the accident. She didn't just disappear that night. She—"

The lights went out again.

This time, when they returned, Christopher's father was gone.

So was the envelope.

Christopher's phone buzzed one final time: "Your father knows too much. Question is... do you want to know what really happened the night your fiancée died? And why she came back different?"

In the distance, thunder rolled.

Or was it the sound of a portal opening?

And somewhere in the mansion, a diamond necklace began to pulse with an otherworldly light, counting down to a revelation that would shake two worlds.

The game wasn't about love anymore.

It was about survival.

And only one person knew all the rules.

Too bad she wasn't from this dimension.