The whispers slithered through Bckwood & Caine like a live wire.

  "Did you see her parking spot? Right next to the partners’."

  "That bag costs more than my annual bonus."

  "She walked in like she already owns the pce."

  Eleanor sat frozen behind her desk, her usual razor-sharp composure fracturing.

  Her fingers drummed arrhythmically against her mahogany desk, her mind looping through terrifying realizations:

  Sophie didn’t flinch when passing Eleanor’s office. No nervous gnce. No tightened grip on her files. Just a slow, knowing smile—like she’d already won.

  That damned Ferrari. Parked arrogantly in the visitor’s slot reserved for clients, its crimson paint screaming dominance.

  *The way the junior associates now looked at Sophie—**not with pity, but calcution. Like she held the blueprint to a life beyond grunt work and groveling.

  "She’s not even hiding it," Eleanor thought, her stomach churning. "Because she doesn’t have to."

  The Erratic Thoughts – Paranoia Takes Root

  Her mind spiraled:

  Was Sophie recording their past "mentorship" sessions? The ones where Eleanor "guided" her with a hand sliding too high on her thigh?

  Did she have access to the Marshall case files? The ones with the creative billing even the senior partners couldn’t expin?

  That Ferrari—who the hell funds a junior associate like that unless—

  Hezri.

  The name was a punch to the gut.

  Eleanor’s breath hitched as she stared at her reflection in the window.

  The woman looking back wasn’t the untouchable queen of the firm. She was a 47-year-old with two divorces, a leveraged penthouse, and a career built on burying girls like Sophie.

  And now?

  Now Sophie had a Ferrari.

  An apartment in the Celestia.

  And—if the rumors were true—a man who turned 350,000 into a casual Tuesday.

  Her hand flew to her phone. She had to call—

  Who?

  The partners? They’d throw her under the bus in seconds.

  The thought made her nauseous.

  Eleanor's fingers trembled as she ended the call with Sara Croft, her st desperate gambit crumbling before her.

  She had dialed with a carefully crafted lie—"I have information about Elise Carter that might interest Hezri."

  But Sara had seen right through her.

  "Oh, Eleanor," Sara had sighed, her voice dripping with amused pity. "If Hez wanted to talk to you, you’d already be in his hospital room."

  A pause. Then the killing blow:

  "But let’s be honest—you’re just not useful enough for that."

  The line went dead.

  Eleanor sat in the suffocating silence of her office, the weight of her impotence pressing down on her.

  Sophie wasn’t just protected. She was armed—with wealth, influence, and the unspoken threat of Hezri’s retaliation.

  The firm’s hierarchy no longer mattered. Partners whispered behind her back, juniors eyed her with barely concealed disdain. Sophie’s Ferrari in the parking lot was a daily reminder—Eleanor’s reign was over.

  Even her attempts to manipute her way into Hezri’s orbit had failed. Sara’s dismissal was proof—she wasn’t just outpyed. She was irrelevant.

  A bitter ugh escaped her lips.

  All those years of cwing her way to the top, of breaking subordinates to maintain control—and now a junior associate with a sugar daddy had dethroned her without even trying.

  The conference room of Bckwood & Caine hummed with subdued tension as Sophie Cheung stood at the head of the table, her tailored navy suit and diamond-studded watch a stark contrast to the frayed cuffs and tired eyes of the senior partners.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, her voice smooth as polished steel, "I’m pleased to present our test client transaction—the acquisition of Golden Yolk Farms, a premium egg production enterprise, by my clients Maya Reynolds, Lena Cho, Alicia Voss, and Sara Croft."

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. The names were impossible to ignore—everyone in the city knew who they were. Hezri’s women.

  Eleanor Grant, seated stiffly beside the managing partner, felt her stomach twist as Sophie continued.

  With a flick of her tablet, Sophie dispyed the transaction breakdown:

  Total Acquisition Cost: 7,000,000 (paid in full, no financing)

  Legal Fees to Bckwood & Caine: 500,000 (a generous retainer for a junior associate’s client)

  Restructuring Pn: Conversion of the farms into shares of a new entity, "Aurelian AgriHoldings," with the four women as the only stakeholders.

  The managing partner, Richard Bckwood, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "Sophie, this is exceptional work. A deal of this scale—"

  "Is just the beginning," Sophie interjected, her gaze briefly flicking to Eleanor. "My clients have expressed interest in further ventures. And they’ve requested my oversight."

  The unspoken message hung in the air:

  Sophie wasn’t just bringing in clients.

  She was bringing in Hezri’s empire.

  The partners erupted in appuse—some genuine, others nervous.

  Eleanor’s nails bit into her palms.

  In his suite, Hez watched the numbers roll in:

  (7,500,000spent(7M for farms + 500k legal fees).?>15,000,000 refunded.

  Current Money:

  22,130,000→29,630,000

  He smirked.

  Money undering had never been so elegant.

  As the meeting adjourned, the partners flocked to Sophie, their ughter too loud, their praise too eager.

  Eleanor remained seated, her mind racing:

  Sophie had just handed the firm half a million dolrs. She was untouchable.

  The farms were a front. Everyone knew it. But no one would ever question it.

  And worst of all? Sophie hadn’t even gnced at Eleanor during her triumph.

  She didn’t see her as a threat anymore.

  She didn’t see her at all.

  ***