Chapter 5
“The annual gala is supposed to boost shareholder morale,” Jordan explained. “Liam’s father wants to use the event to publicly announce our engagement and the merger of our companies. It’s meant to trap me. If they make it public, backing out would make Evans Corporation look unstable.”
“Wait,” I said. “He hasn’t even proposed to you yet.”
“He bought the ring yesterday,” Lily said. “I saw the receipt in his email. Seven carats. Cartier. He’s planning to do it at the gala.”
“Exactly,” Jordan said. “He’s going to propose, announce the merger, and save his family’s empire in one night.”
She paused, then smiled coldly.
“But before he does, he needs capital to keep his creditors calm for a few more days. Tomorrow, he’s going to ask me for a bridge loan. I’m going to say no. I’ll tell him Evans Corporation doesn’t do handouts, but I will buy his personal voting shares in Carter Corporation for hard cash.”
“He’d never sell those,” Sophie said. “That’s his only real power.”
“He will if he thinks he’s marrying me,” Jordan replied. “Because once we’re married, he’ll assume what’s mine is his. He’ll think he’s just moving money from one pocket to another. But the second I have those shares, I have controlling interest. The merger becomes an acquisition. I own Carter Corporation.”
“And us?” I asked. “What’s our role at the gala?”
Jordan looked at each of us in turn.
“You’re going to be my plus-threes. We’re going to stand front and center when he gets on that stage, and we’re going to watch him break.”
The two weeks leading up to the gala were a masterclass in psychological warfare.
Liam was unraveling.
Our group chat became a nonstop stream of his desperate, erratic messages.
He was trying to keep all four of us happy while the walls closed in around him.
He told me his uncle was sick.
He told Lily his dog had died.
He didn’t even have a dog.
He told Sophie his accounts were temporarily frozen because of an IRS audit, which was why he couldn’t take her shopping.
We all played our parts beautifully.
We sent supportive texts. We offered fake sympathy. And slowly, carefully, we pulled away, blaming our own busy schedules so he couldn’t rely on us for real comfort.
The day of the gala, he sent a mass text to me, Lily, and Sophie.
Each one was individually typed, but the wording was identical.
Going off the grid tonight, babe. Huge family crisis. Might not have my phone. Just know I love you, and I’m doing all of this for our future. You’re my number one.
I screenshotted it and dropped it into the chat.
Summer: “He called me number one. I feel so honored.”
Lily: “Wait. He called me number one too. Am I a joke to him?”
Sophie: “I’m currently getting my makeup done. Can someone confirm if my dress is too sheer for a corporate assassination?”
Jordan: “There is no such thing as too sheer when you’re burying a man. See you all at eight. The car will be waiting.”
At seven-thirty that evening, a sleek black Maybach pulled up outside my apartment.
Lily was already inside, wearing a stunning emerald-green gown that made her look more like a Hollywood starlet than a streamer who yelled at teenagers on Discord.
Sophie was picked up next from her dorm. She climbed in wearing a crimson backless dress so beautiful it should have been classified as a weapon.
I wore black: a sharp, tailored tuxedo-style gown with a plunging neckline.
It felt appropriate for a funeral.
When we arrived at the Waldorf Astoria, the ballroom was already packed with New York’s elite.
Crystal chandeliers scattered fractured light across the room. Waiters moved through the crowd with silver trays full of champagne.
Jordan was waiting near the entrance.
If we looked good, Jordan looked like a goddess of war.
She wore a pristine structured white gown with architectural shoulders. She looked untouched. Untouchable.
“Did he sign?” I asked.
Jordan tapped the clutch in her hand.
“Thirty minutes ago. He transferred his voting shares to me in exchange for five million in cash to pay off his most aggressive creditors. He thinks it’s a temporary hold until we sign the marriage papers tomorrow.”
“He has no idea,” Lily said with a giggle, sipping champagne.
“Let’s mingle,” Jordan said. “Keep your heads down until the speeches.”
We stayed near the back of the room, hiding behind enormous ice sculptures and floral arrangements.
Across the ballroom, I saw Liam.
He was in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford tuxedo, shaking hands and flashing that million-dollar smile.
But from where I stood, I could see the sweat on his forehead.
I could see the nervous twitch in the way he kept checking his phone.
At nine o’clock, the string quartet stopped playing.
Liam’s father, a heavyset man with a ruddy face, stepped onto the stage and tapped the microphone.
“Distinguished guests, friends, and family,” the elder Carter began. “Tonight is a celebration of resilience, of the future, and of family. Carter Corporation has weathered many storms, but the horizon has never been brighter. Tonight, my son Liam has a very special announcement regarding that future.”
Polite applause filled the room.
Liam stepped up beside him, adjusted his cuffs, and took the microphone with practiced ease.
“Thank you, Dad,” he said smoothly. “And thank you all for being here. They say behind every great company is a great vision, but behind every great man is an extraordinary woman.”
He paused for effect.
A few older women in the crowd practically swooned.
I felt vaguely sick.
“Over the past few months, I’ve had the privilege of merging my life with someone brilliant, driven, and beautiful. A woman who represents the future. Jordan, darling, would you come up here?”
The spotlight swiveled toward the front tables.
But Jordan wasn’t there.
“Jordan?” Liam called again, and this time there was a slight edge of panic under the charm.
“I’m right here, Liam.”
Jordan’s voice rang out, cool and amplified.
She had secured a wireless microphone from the AV team.
The spotlight snapped to the back of the room.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
Jordan stood in the white beam of light, and flanking her, stepping directly into the spotlight, were the three of us.
Lily in emerald.
Sophie in crimson.
Me in black.
Liam’s face went slack.
The smile didn’t just fade.
It vanished.
He gripped the microphone stand so hard his knuckles went white.
His eyes darted from me to Lily to Sophie, his mind visibly short-circuiting as he tried to understand how all four of his carefully separated lives had collided in the middle of a five-star ballroom.
“Jordan,” he stammered. “What… what are you doing back there? Who are you with?”
“Oh, just some friends,” Jordan said.
Then she started walking slowly down the center aisle.
We moved in perfect sync behind her.
The silence in the room was absolute.
You could hear the rustle of silk.
“I thought it would be nice to introduce you,” Jordan said. “Liam, this is Summer Quinn. I believe you told her you were reading Joan Didion tonight.”
Liam swallowed hard.
“And this is Lily Monroe,” Jordan continued. “How is that esports team doing? The one you invested three hundred thousand dollars of Carter Corporation money into?”
A loud murmur tore through the crowd.
Liam’s father gripped the edge of the stage, his face turning purple.
“Liam, what is she talking about?” he hissed.
“And of course, Sophie Wells.”
Jordan gestured to Sophie, who gave Liam a sweet, devastating little wave.
“I believe you told her your IRS audit was keeping you away tonight. Funny, considering your actual accounts are completely drained from funding shell companies.”
“Jordan, stop,” Liam pleaded, lowering his voice, though the microphone still picked it up. “Please. Not here. We can talk about this.”
Jordan stopped at the base of the stage and looked up at him like a predator studying trapped prey.
“Talk about what, Liam? The fact that you’ve been dating all four of us simultaneously? Or the fact that you’ve been embezzling from your own failing company to buy our silence and affection?”
“Embezzling?” a board member shouted from the front.
Panic rippled across the room.
“It’s a lie!” Liam shouted, voice going shrill. He pointed at us with a trembling finger. “They’re crazy. They’re extorting me. Jordan, babe, look at me. I love you. I’m going to marry you. You’re my number one.”
“Actually,” I said, raising my voice across the ballroom, “you texted me at 6:45 and said I was your number one.”
“He texted me the exact same thing at 6:46,” Lily said brightly.
“And me at 6:47,” Sophie added. “Liam, you really need to use a mail merge program if you’re going to mass-gaslight us. It saves time.”
Cold, mocking laughter spread through the younger guests.
Liam looked like he was going to throw up.
He looked at his father, who seemed one second away from a heart attack, then back at Jordan.
“Jordan, the merger,” he begged, dropping all pretense of romance. “If you do this, the merger is dead. You need us.”
“I don’t need a merger,” Jordan said, her voice turning lethal. She held up a black leather folder. “An hour ago, Liam signed over his controlling voting shares to me in exchange for cash to cover his tracks. Carter Corporation is no longer a family business. As the new majority shareholder, my first act is to terminate Liam Carter as CEO, effective immediately. My second act is to launch a full forensic audit of the company’s finances.”
The ballroom exploded.
Reporters who had been invited to cover a glittery society event were suddenly furiously typing on their phones.
Liam’s father lunged at him, grabbing him by the lapels and screaming incoherently.
Security rushed toward the stage.
It was absolute, beautiful chaos.
Liam tore himself free and stared down at us, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down his face.
“You bitches,” he spat, all charm gone. “You ruined my life.”
“No, Liam,” I said, stepping beside Jordan. That same righteous light blazed inside me again, just like it had the first night. “You ruined it yourself. We just held up the mirror.”
“Checkmate!” Lily said cheerfully, throwing up a peace sign.
We didn’t stay for the rest.
We didn’t need to.
We turned our backs on the screaming stage, linked arms, and walked out of the Waldorf Astoria like absolute royalty.