CHAPTER 32: PAY BACK

Alisha sat back in her seat, or at least she tried to. Her posture said she was relaxed, but her mind was anything but.

The voices around her were muffled, a blend of champagne-fueled laughter and the clinking of glasses, but none of it really reached her. Her focus was somewhere else entirely—on the plan she’d been turning over in her mind all evening. She needed to slip away from this glittering, suffocating party without raising suspicion, find Ryan, and handle the matter waiting for her at their hideout.

The problem was timing. If she disappeared too soon, Katherine’s hawk eyes would catch it. Dante would notice too. He had that way of looking at her like he knew when she was about to do something he wouldn’t like. Worse, she could already imagine her phone buzzing relentlessly with his name lighting up the screen, his voice cutting in while she was trying to deal with the kind of people who didn’t knock before entering your nightmares.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Dante appeared beside her, pulling the chair she was sitting on to settle right next to him.

Her stomach gave a tiny flip, but his expression was... blank. Cool, yet unreadable.

How, she wondered, could a man do something so unreasonably attractive—closing the distance between them—while looking at her like she was the last person in the room worth speaking to?

"So," she began, keeping her voice level, "what did he say?"

"He doesn’t know who the real killer is. But I don’t believe it." His tone was firm, matter-of-fact, as he signaled to a passing waiter. He took two champagne flutes without asking, passing one to her. "Do you drink?"

She nodded, fingers brushing the cold stem of the glass as she took it.

"I might have to—" he started.

"You don’t have to do anything," she cut in smoothly, taking the words right out of his mouth.

She’d only told him about her past because she thought Lucas Tedoro knew something useful, but now, she didn’t want anymore of his involvement in her plans.

He could just focus on finding her sister.

That earned her a small frown, his brows dipping in mild confusion. "What do you mean?"

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes had caught something across the ballroom. It was the sound of a woman’s laugh, high and sugary, followed by a playful hand brushing a man’s arm. Jennifer.

And the man? Alisha’s breath caught. Mylo. Dante’s younger brother.

Jennifer’s hand lingered on his sleeve as she leaned in, eyes gleaming with a kind of mischief that made Alisha want to roll her eyes. She’d never expected Jennifer, of all people, to be openly flirting with Mylo, not after accusing Alisha of stealing Dante from her. The hypocrisy was so blatant, it was almost funny.

Almost.

She caught herself wondering—did Dante even know? Even if he was aware, what was he going to do about it?

"I only needed to talk to him about it," she finally replied, forcing her gaze away from the scene, "And since you said he doesn’t know anything, I’ll handle things from here."

Dante’s eyes were still on her, but his silence said enough. She knew he didn’t fully understand her plan—or if she even had one.

Her phone buzzed before either of them could speak again. A string of notifications from Maxine lit up the screen, each one more urgent than the last.

Alisha opened the link Maxine had sent, skimming the first few sentences of the article before her eyes narrowed.

"Katherine never wants to quit, I see," she murmured under her breath.

Dante leaned slightly toward her, scanning the text from his angle. His expression shifted, his gaze hardening like storm clouds.

The article wasn’t subtle. It outright claimed Alisha had only made it to the gala because she was married to Dante De Rossi. Then came the more poisonous part—that she was a small-time model from an insignificant agency who had slept her way to the top.

It seemed Katherine had tried to dig up on her, but unfortunately, Alisha only gave the public the information she’d cooked up to match her new identity so unnecessary questions wouldn’t be asked later if she spawned from out of nowhere.

They hadn’t bothered with proof. They didn’t need it. Gossip rarely did.

Alisha scrolled down to the comments, bracing herself for the flood of insults. To her surprise, the venom wasn’t universal. A small but vocal handful of users demanded the article be taken down, threatening consequences for spreading baseless lies. It wasn’t a rescue, but it was a flicker of resistance against the smear campaign.

"This is the last thing I want to deal with now," she muttered.

"Do you want me to get it deleted?" Dante asked, his voice steady but with an edge of quiet authority.

She glanced at him, meeting his eyes for just a moment before looking away.

"You don’t have to. They can say whatever they want—it won’t get to me. As for Katherine, she can keep trying. But no matter how many lies she spits out online, I’m not going to disappear."

She rose from her seat then, checking the time. Almost 10 p.m. Three hours into the gala and she hadn’t made a single meaningful connection. No handshakes with industry giants, no quiet promises of future deals.

"Where are you going—"

"I need to go somewhere," she said over her shoulder. "I’ll meet you back at home."

Dante’s lips parted, but he didn’t push. She wasn’t going to tell him, and he wasn’t going to force her.

One hour later,

The building didn’t look like much from the outside—quiet, almost homey—but Alisha knew better. This was her haven, her workroom, the place where the thin layer of civility she wore in public could be stripped away.

She moved quickly through the halls, heading straight for the basement.

The air down here was heavier, damp, and tinged with the faint metallic scent of blood. Two men sat bound to chairs, wrists tied behind them, ankles secured to the legs.

"Took you long enough," Ryan said, picking up a bucket of water and dousing both men. The shock ripped gasps and curses from their throats.

"Sorry," she said lightly, crossing to the table where her tools were laid out. "I was trying to be in a good mood before coming here."

One of the men—a stocky figure with gold teeth—looked at her with a mix of confusion and fear. "Who are you? Why have you brought us here?"

"You didn’t tell them?" she asked Ryan.

"Didn’t get the chance," Ryan replied. "For someone his size, it only took one punch to put him down."

Gold Teeth’s eyes darted between them, panic simmering just beneath the surface.

"In that case," she said, stepping toward them slowly, knife glinting in her hand, "I’ll be the one to tell you who I am."

She stopped just close enough for them to smell the faint trace of her perfume under the damp air. "I’m Evangeline Montclair. The same girl Katherine asked you to get rid of."

Both men stiffened. Recognition hits like ice water.

"What? Do you remember me now?"

"Y-you were supposed to be dead," Gold Teeth stammered.

"That’s right," she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "But you didn’t do your job well enough. And now Katherine wants you to try again."

She leaned in until her shadow fell over them. The gold glint of his teeth didn’t look quite as smug now.

"I have so much I could do to you," she murmured, her tone almost conversational. "But before we get to that part, you’re going to do something for me."

The quieter of the two finally spoke. "What do you want?"

"A confession on camera. You’re going to tell the world who sent you to kill Evangeline Montclair."

They exchanged a quick, desperate glance. The idea of a way out—any way out—was enough to make them nod.

Ryan set the phone up, the red recording light blinking.

Both men spoke, their voices flat with fear, naming Katherine as the one who had paid them to eliminate Evangeline Montclair and, later, Alisha Quinn.

When it was done, Alisha stopped the recording, watching the saved video play back with a quiet satisfaction.

Another weapon in her arsenal. Another nail for Katherine’s coffin.

"So," Gold Teeth said, trying to sound casual despite the tremor in his voice. "We did what you asked. Now you’ll let us go, right?"

Alisha tilted her head, smiling faintly.

"Why would I do that?"

His frown deepened. "You said—"

"You’ve already tried to kill me two times. Do you think I’ll let you slip out of my fingers for a third chance to occur?"

The realization hit them both at once, draining the little color they had left.

"Oh, don’t look so surprised," she said, pulling on a pair of gloves and picking up the knife again. The metal gleamed under the single overhead bulb.

"This will only hurt a little," she said almost gently, before slashing down.

Their screams filled the basement, echoing against the concrete walls.

And Alisha... smiled.