I woke up trapped in a trashy romance novel as the disposable, tragic rival—and to make matters worse, I was bound to a chaotic “Persona System.” My only ticket home was to complete daily behavioral prompts, rack up points, and survive the plot. The second my eyes flickered open, my billionaire fiancé, Gary Barlowe, was pointing a finger in my face, his voice echoing with disgust. “We’ve been engaged for less than twenty-four hours, and you already threw Isla down the stairs?” “You are vicious, entitled, and utterly feral! Go out to the driveway and kneel in the rain until you’ve learned some goddamn humility!” I looked past his shaking finger. There she was. Isla, his precious muse, his delicate little flower, looking up at him with wide, tear-rimmed eyes. Without a word, I pulled out my phone and brought up my Venmo QR code, thrusting it right in front of his face. Gary froze, his dark brows knitting together. “What the hell is this?” “You’ve been throwing these childish tantrums your entire life,” he sneered, regaining his posture. “I’m warning you, Darcy. No amount of manipulation is going to make me love you.” I stared back, completely unfazed. “Then pay the bill and get out of my face.” “Why put on this big show of tragic devotion? If you actually cared about doing the right thing, you’d be wiring me a settlement for pain and suffering.” [Ding! Prompt completed. ‘Gold Digger’ persona successfully maintained. System Note: That was wildly out of left field!] Gary’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You are so incredibly tacky. Cheap, classless, and utterly obsessed with money.” I pointed at the trembling, saintly Isla. “And what about you? Creeping around with another woman while wearing my ring, and you still want to play the romantic hero?” [Splendid! You absolutely roasted him. Look at him turn red! Five hundred points awarded!] With the sweet chiming of those five hundred points echoing in my mind, I spun on my heel to walk out. Gary roared from behind me. “Where do you think you’re going? If you walk out that door tonight, Darcy, the engagement is off!” I glanced back over my shoulder, looking past him to the glowing translucent panel floating in the air. “To find a better ATM, obviously,” I muttered under my breath. “Tomorrow,” I thought, “I think I’ll try the passive-aggressive victim card. Let’s see how much they like that.” … “Step foot outside this house, Darcy, and I will personally ensure you’re cut off from every cent.” Gary’s threat cut through the cold air of the foyer. My steps halted. It wasn’t because I was afraid of him. It was because the glowing blue screen had just flashed a warning in front of my eyes. [Friendly Warning: Your current character’s bank account balance is negative thirty-two thousand dollars.] I stared at the tiny negative sign. My blood ran cold. “Changed your mind?” Gary let out a humorless, biting laugh. “Go on then. Go find your next ATM. Let’s see how far you get. Without my family’s backing, Darcy, you won’t even have a place to sleep tonight.” Isla reached out, her delicate fingers lightly catching the sleeve of his tailored suit. “Gary, please don’t be so harsh. Darcy is just acting out because she’s upset.” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes welling with tears that threatened to spill over but never quite did—a masterclass in fragile innocence. “Darcy… please, just apologize to Gary. I don’t care about what happened on the stairs. I really don’t.” I turned around slowly, lifting my phone again. “Sure, I’ll apologize. But I charge by the minute.” Gary’s face darkened, veins showing at his temples. “You’re still talking about money?” “Why wouldn’t I?” I tapped the screen, the Venmo QR code glowing bright. “Fifty grand for the false accusation. A hundred grand for the threat of ending the engagement. And eighty-eight grand—with a loyalty discount—for having to listen to your side-chick’s passive-aggressive whiny garbage.” The soft, wounded expression on Isla’s face stiffened. “Darcy, how can you say that about me? Gary and I… we aren’t what you think.” I nodded slowly, deadpan. “Right. You’re not together. You’re just a freeloading emotional parasite who prefers to use other women’s men for sport.” The dam broke. Real tears finally spilled down her pale cheeks. “Gary… maybe I shouldn’t have come back. I’m causing so much trouble.” Gary immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her as if she were made of glass. “Darcy. Apologize to Isla. Now.” “Wire me the money.” “Apologize.” “Payment first.” “Darcy!” “Gary.” I mirrored his stiff, demanding tone. “Yelling doesn’t make the transaction go through any faster. Keep shouting, and I’ll start charging interest.” [Ding! ‘Gold Digger’ persona stable. Two hundred points awarded.] Just as the sweet chime rang in my mind, Gary snapped. He lunged forward, snapping the phone right out of my hands. The sudden movement caught me off guard, the slick glass slipping from my fingertips. He held it high, his thumb instantly opening my contacts. “You love money so much? Let’s see how much your father is willing to pay to keep his family’s reputation intact when I tell him exactly how his daughter is behaving.” I reached for it, my irritation rising. “Give it back.” Gary held it well out of my reach, looking down at me with cold satisfaction. “Frightened now?” “Gary, please don’t call Mr. Ward,” Isla murmured, her voice dripping with mock concern. “It will only embarrass Darcy.” Even as she played the peacemaker, I saw her toe slide my handbag across the polished marble floor. It skidded, spilling its contents. Out slid a glossy black hotel keycard. Gary’s gaze locked onto it. The temperature in the room plummeted. “A hotel key?” his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “When you said you were going to find another ATM… you meant you already had some guy lined up?” I blinked. That card definitely wasn’t mine. The System went completely silent, offering zero help. Isla gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Darcy… how could you? Right after the engagement ceremony?” “Shut up.” I knelt down to gather my things. Gary’s hand clamped onto my wrist like a steel vice, stopping me cold. “Whose card is this, Darcy? Who is he?” “If I said Isla planted it in my bag, would you believe me?” “Isla would never do something so vile.” The words left his mouth instantly, without a fraction of a second of doubt. It was so predictable, I couldn’t even summon the energy to mock him. Isla shook her head, tears spilling fresh. “Darcy, I know you hate me, but you can’t just blame me for your own mistakes.” Gary hurled the keycard at my feet. “You will go outside. You will kneel on the driveway for two hours in the rain. When you’re done, you will come to the Barlowe family dinner tomorrow and apologize to Isla in front of everyone.” I looked up at him, studying the rigid lines of his face. “And if I refuse?” “Then I send a picture of this keycard to your father.” His voice was smooth, quiet, and lethal. “Your father is desperate for Barlowe Enterprises to renew his line of credit, Darcy. You tell me—who do you think he’ll believe? His reckless daughter, or his savior?” I wasn’t the original Darcy, but the biological response of this body was beyond my control. A cold tremor ran down my spine. Outside, the storm was raging, thick drops of rain hammering against the glass. Isla opened her umbrella, tilting it to keep Gary dry as she stepped onto the porch. “It’s just a couple of hours, Darcy,” she whispered softly. “Gary is only doing this to teach you a lesson. It’s for your own good.” I looked at her pristine, dry dress. “If you’re so deeply concerned about my soul, why don’t you join me out there?” Her face went instantly pale. Gary lost what little patience he had left. He grabbed my arm and dragged me down the steps, out into the biting wind. “Keep your poison away from her.” The downpour hit me instantly, freezing and heavy. It pelted my face, blurring my vision. He forced me down onto the wet concrete of the driveway. The sharp, jarring pain of my knees hitting the stone sent a shiver through my core. At that exact moment, the System finally chimed. [System Warning: Please maintain your persona. A true mercenary doesn’t care about humiliation; she only cares about the bottom line.] I grit my teeth against the cold and extended a wet, open hand toward Gary. “Fine. I’ll kneel.” He looked down at me, his eyes dark with triumph. I let a slow, empty smile creep onto my lips. “Two hundred thousand dollars an hour. Prime rate. And I charge hazard pay for inclement weather.” Gary’s eyes hardened into ice. “You are rotten to the core, Darcy.” Isla stood close to him under the umbrella, sighing softly. “Darcy, if you were really struggling for cash, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to degrade yourself like this.” I stared down at the tips of her pristine designer heels. Perfectly dry. Spotless. My knees were already starting to go numb, and my phone was still in Gary’s possession. I hadn’t let them have the last word, but physically, I was still the one brought low in the dirt. Gary bent down, aiming my phone’s camera right at me. “Since you love money so much, I’ll give you a chance to earn some real capital.” I blinked through the rain. “What kind of chance?” He tapped the screen, snapping a photo of me shivering on the wet stone. “At the family dinner tomorrow, you will get down on your knees and serve Isla tea. Do that, and I’ll transfer a million dollars into your account.” “Gary, are you sure I should sit here? What if Darcy gets upset?” Isla’s sweet, hesitant voice floated over the dining room table just as the blue screen flickered to life in my vision. [Today’s Persona: The Master Manipulator.] [Prompt: Do not fight fire with fire. Do not flip the table. Beat her at her own game with pure, unadulterated sweetness.] I had spent the night recovering, and even the slightest bend of my knees sent a dull, throbbing pain shooting up my legs. Gary sat adjacent to the head of the table, cutting his steak. He didn’t even look up when I walked in. “She doesn’t have the right to be upset,” he said coldly. The entire Barlowe family hierarchy was seated around us—his parents, his aunts, his uncles. Isla was wearing a pristine white silk dress, seated in the exact chair reserved for Gary’s fiancée. Her manicured fingers lightly brushed the rim of his crystal wine glass. When the butler escorted me in, every pair of eyes in the room turned toward me. Gary’s mother, Catherine, immediately frowned. “Darcy. I hear you threw another one of your tantrums last night.” Isla scrambled out of her seat instantly, looking panicked. “Oh, Mrs. Barlowe, please don’t blame Darcy! It’s entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have come back to the city.” I leaned lightly against the back of an empty chair, a soft, yielding smile gracing my lips. “Oh, Isla, please don’t say that.” The room went dead silent. Everyone blinked in confusion. I lowered my head, keeping my voice softer and more fragile than hers could ever be. “You are so incredibly kind. You only wanted to keep my fiancé company on our engagement day. You only wanted to cry on his shoulder when everyone blamed me. And you only stood by with an umbrella, feeling so deeply sad for me while I was kneeling in the freezing rain.” Isla’s expression froze mid-pity. I daintily dabbed at the corner of my eye, pretending to wipe away a stray tear. “How could I ever blame you? I only blame my own terrible luck. I’m just not as good as you are at getting people to protect me.” Gary’s brow furrowed, his fork scraping against his plate. “Darcy, what kind of passive-aggressive game are you playing now?” I looked at him, letting my eyes turn liquid and wide. “Gary, how could you say that? I’m being completely sincere.” His hand froze around his glass. I took a delicate step forward, letting my voice tremble just enough. “I just love you so much. That’s why when you told me to kneel in the dirt, I did it without question. You wanted me to come tonight and apologize to Isla, so here I am. And if you want me to give up my seat as your fiancée… I’ll step aside for her. I really will.” Catherine Barlowe’s face shifted. “What do you mean, ‘give up your seat’?” Isla panicked, her hands fluttering. “Mrs. Barlowe, it’s not like that! I—I just sat down in the wrong chair by mistake!” I nodded quickly, backing her up with absolute earnestness. “Of course. She just made a tiny mistake. After all, sitting right next to Gary is so comforting. Anyone who gets a taste of that warmth would find it hard to get back up.” Across the table, Gary’s aunt let out a sharp, poorly concealed snicker. The waterworks began again in Isla’s eyes. “Darcy… you really do hate me, don’t you?” I reached across the table and gently clasped her hand in mine. “How could I ever hate you?” She tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip, smiling sweetly. “You fell down an entire flight of stairs and didn’t even get a scratch, yet you still managed to make Gary punish me so severely. I could only dream of having that kind of power over him.” Gary slammed his palm onto the table. “Enough!” My shoulders shook instantly, and a perfectly timed tear splashed into my teacup. “Gary, please… don’t raise your voice at me. It frightens me.” The System went quiet for two beats before chiming. [Ding! Toxicity levels reaching peak capacity. Beautifully executed. Three hundred points awarded.] Catherine’s gaze slowly shifted from me to Isla, her eyes narrowing. “Isla. If you fell down the stairs, where is your medical report?” Isla bit her lip, looking cornered. “Everything was so chaotic last night… I didn’t think to go to the hospital.” I sniffled, looking up with big, watery eyes. “Exactly. She’s just so considerate. Too busy to see a doctor for her life-threatening fall, but just enough time to make sure Gary had me kneeling in a storm.” Gary glared at me, his eyes burning. “Darcy, watch your tongue.” I looked down at my hands, shrinking back. “I’m sorry. I always say the wrong things. I should have said that Isla’s fall was incredibly elegant, your punishment was perfectly timed, and my knees belonged on that wet pavement anyway.” At the head of the table, Richard Barlowe, Gary’s father, finally laid down his silver utensils. “Gary. Did you actually force her to kneel outside in the rain last night?” Gary cleared his throat, maintaining his rigid pride. “She pushed Isla. She needed to understand there are consequences.” Richard turned his sharp, calculating eyes onto me. “Did you push her, Darcy?” Before I could speak, Isla suddenly gasped, clutching her chest. “Mr. Barlowe, please… don’t interrogate her. I would die of guilt if I became the reason their engagement fell apart.” Gary stood up immediately, leaning over her. “Isla, are you alright?” She leaned into his chest, her breathing shallow and labored. “I think… I’m just overwhelmed from last night. It’s nothing.” I watched them hold each other right there in front of his entire family. Catherine’s face was practically purple with embarrassment. But instead of realizing the room’s temperature, Gary looked up at me and barked, “Darcy, go get Isla a glass of warm water.” I didn’t move an inch. His eyes darkened further. “You just said you didn’t blame her. Why the sudden attitude?” The entire table fell dead silent. Memories that weren’t mine flooded my mind—years of Darcy always coming second. Ever since they were children, the rule was simple: if Isla cried, Darcy had to yield. Yield her toys, yield her achievements, yield Gary. And now, yield her dignity. I quietly poured a cup of boiling water from the kettle and walked over to Isla. She looked up at me, a flicker of smug satisfaction dancing in her eyes. Gary watched me like a hawk. “Keep your hands steady.” I extended the porcelain cup. The moment Isla’s fingers brushed the rim, she deliberately let go. The boiling liquid splashed directly over the back of my hand. But she was the one who shrieked first. “Ah! Darcy, why would you burn me?!” “Please, put the cameras away. I have severe social anxiety. Being perceived by living people makes me break out in hives.” The System refreshed my prompt just as Gary dragged me into the press briefing area outside the Barlowe corporate headquarters. [Today’s Persona: Severe Social Phobic.] [Prompt: Actively avoid the crowd, and shift the pressure of the media directly onto the instigator.] My hand was tightly wrapped in sterile gauze. In the end, the spilled water from the night before had been spun into “irrefutable proof” that I had maliciously attacked Isla. Gary had even ordered the maids to sweep away the broken porcelain, destroying any evidence of how the water had actually spilled. When I asked him, “Did anyone check the dining room cameras?” he had simply replied, “We don’t need security footage to tell us what we all saw. I won’t humiliate Isla.” And now, he was shoving me directly in front of the flashing cameras. “Clear the air,” he hissed in my ear. “Tell them it was an accident and that you didn’t burn her on purpose.” I stared at him, incredulous. “If it was an accident, why am I the one standing trial here?” Gary’s voice dropped to a low, warning register. “Darcy. Do not push me today.” Isla was standing just off-camera. Her finger was wrapped in a thick, dramatic bandage that made her look like she had survived a war zone, while my actual second-degree burn was barely covered. “Darcy, just say a few words,” she said sweetly from the sidelines. “Don’t make things difficult for Gary.” I leaned slightly toward her. “Is that bandage a medical necessity, or is it part of your wardrobe for the day?” She blinked, caught off guard. Gary immediately stepped between us. “Are you trying to intimidate her again?” Before he could say more, the reporters surged forward. “Ms. Ward! Is it true you physically assaulted Isla Winston at the Barlowe family dinner?” “Has your engagement to Mr. Barlowe been called off?” “Is it true that Ms. Winston is the real love of his life?” The flashbulbs flared, blinding me. I took a sharp step back, shielding my face. “Please… stop the flashing.” The press smelled blood. “Ms. Ward, are you avoiding the question out of guilt?” I clutched my handbag to my chest, letting my voice shake. “I have severe anxiety. The crowd is… too much.” Gary’s face twisted in annoyance. “Darcy, stop acting.” I pointed a trembling finger directly at him. “Interview him instead.” The reporters turned their lenses to Gary in unison. Gary stiffened, his jaw tightening. I kept shrinking back into the shadows. “He has all the answers,” I whimpered. “He can tell you all about the house rules. Like whether forcing your fiancée to kneel in a torrential downpour counts as domestic abuse. Or whether letting another woman occupy your fiancée’s seat at dinner is the new standard of high-society etiquette. He might even explain the medical miracle of falling down an entire flight of stairs without a single medical record to prove it.” Isla’s sweet facade cracked. “Darcy! That is entirely out of context!” I clamped my hands over my ears, shaking my head. “Please don’t raise your voice at me. The scent of cheap tea is giving me a migraine.” Instantly, a dozen microphones were shoved in Gary’s face. “Mr. Barlowe, is it true you made Ms. Ward kneel in the rain?” “Ms. Winston, why is there no medical record of your fall?” “Mr. Barlowe, is Ms. Winston an active mistress in your relationship?” Gary’s voice was tight, his public relations mask slipping. “No comment.” But the press wasn’t backing down. Isla shrank behind him, her eyes welling up with real fear this time. “Gary… please make them stop. I don’t want to be on camera,” she whimpered. The hot mic picked up every single syllable. I kept my head down, slowly slipping away from the edge of the crowd. [Ding! Social Anxiety persona threshold reached. Four hundred points awarded.] But before I could make my escape, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. Gary had caught up to me, pulling me into a side corridor. “Are you satisfied now?” he spat. I winced, staring down at his grip. “Let go. You’re hurting me.” His eyes flickered to the fresh gauze on my hand, and his grip loosened marginally. From behind him, Isla let out a fragile, dramatic gasp. “Gary… I feel so dizzy.” Whatever brief hesitation Gary had evaporated instantly. “Apologize to her, Darcy. Now.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh. “She’s dizzy. How is my apology going to cure her vertigo?” “You threw her to the wolves out there!” “You brought the wolves here yourself,” I countered. Gary’s expression turned stone-cold. “I brought the press to give you a chance to clear your name.” I looked at him, feeling a sudden, deep sense of absurdity. “Clear my name of what? Clear the fact that you forced me to kneel in a storm? Clear the fact that she sends you late-night voice notes at three in the morning, begging for her ‘Gary’?” Isla’s face went completely bloodless. Gary froze, slowly turning his head to look at her. “Voice notes?” She immediately burst into tears. “I—I was just scared, Gary! I was lonely!” “Right,” I chimed in, deadpan. “She was lonely, so she decided to dial up my fiancé in the dead of night. And my hand is severely burned, but clearly, I’m just being dramatic.” A reporter who had sneaked into the corridor whispered to his cameraman, “Get all of this.” Gary finally snapped. He grabbed my handbag, reached inside, and pulled out my phone before I could stop him. “You want to play games in public?” he growled. He unlocked the screen—which he still had access to—and pulled up a message sent from an unknown number. It was a photo. In the photo, I was standing outside a luxury hotel, holding the glossy black keycard. The angle made it look incredibly intimate, as if I were slipping inside for a secret rendezvous. The reporters gasped, shutters clicking furiously. “Ms. Ward, is this proof of your infidelity?” I stared at the photo. My palms felt cold. Isla spoke up, her voice a tiny, regretful whisper. “Darcy… I really wanted to help you keep this a secret.” Gary looked down at me, his eyes entirely devoid of warmth. “Do you have anything to say for yourself now?” I slowly raised my chin. “Actually, yes.” The crowd held its collective breath. I pointed at the screen. “That’s a fantastic shot. Really captured my good side.” Gary let out a sharp, mocking breath. “Still trying to laugh it off?” I smiled back, cool and collected. “I’m just saying, I’d love the high-resolution original file. I want to see whose hand was slipping that keycard into my bag in the first place.” ### Chapter Two “If you want me to clear this up, you’re going to have to sign a retainer. Five million dollars. Flat rate.” When Gary showed up at my penthouse the next afternoon, the System had just flashed a new prompt across my vision. [Today’s Persona: The Cold, Ruthless Tycoon.] [Prompt: Maintain absolute emotional control. Prioritize financial gain above all else. Match his authority beat for beat.] The internet had been in a frenzy all night. Three headlines had been fighting for the top trending spot for twelve hours straight: “Barlowe Heir Spends Engagement Night with Muse.” “Fiancée Forced to Kneel in the Rain?” “Darcy Ward’s Secret Hotel Rendezvous.” Gary threw a leather-bound folder onto my coffee table. “I wrote the statement. Read it exactly as it is.” I glanced down, scanning the crisp paper. “I, Darcy Ward, out of irrational jealousy toward Isla Winston, have repeatedly acted out in a volatile manner. I offer my sincerest apologies to Gary Barlowe and Isla Winston…” I looked up, meeting his cold gaze. “You want me to sign my own character assassination?” “It’s the path of least resistance,” Gary said, his voice flat. “It’s the minimum cost.” “For whom?” I asked, leaning back. “For the Barlowe brand. For your family. For you.” I slid the folder back across the table. “Correction: it’s the maximum benefit for Isla, and total ruin for me.” Isla, who was sitting next to him on my sofa, spoke up in a soft, trembling voice. “Darcy… if you don’t apologize, the public will only keep tearing you apart.” I turned my eyes to her. “And tell me, Isla—is the online hate campaign currently targeting me your standard package, or did you spring for the premium bot farm?” Her eyes widened in panic. Gary stepped in, his tone hardening. “Darcy, stop projecting your own malice onto others.” I opened my laptop and slid a newly drafted document toward him. “Mr. Barlowe, this is a standard public relations consulting agreement.” His brow furrowed. I tapped a sleek Montblanc pen against the desk. “If you want my cooperation, you pay my retainer first.” “Have you lost your mind?” “Hardly.” I crossed my legs, adjusting the cuffs of my silk blouse with practiced ease. “I am perfectly calm. Calm enough to recognize that an emotionally volatile executive like yourself has no business managing a multi-billion-dollar enterprise.” Gary stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “Who do you think you are to lecture me on business?” “Your consultant,” I replied, pointing to the line on the page. “As long as you clear the invoice, I’ll happily continue evaluating your performance.” Isla quickly reached out to grab his sleeve. “Gary, don’t let her get to you. Darcy is just acting out because of the press.” I looked at her, tilting my head. “If you understand me so well, why don’t you pay the five-million-dollar retainer on his behalf?” Her lips trembled. “I… I don’t have that kind of money.” “Then why are you trying to manage my reputation on a budget?” Gary let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You think your reputation is worth five million dollars?” I nodded slowly. “It is certainly worth more than your selective integrity.” His phone began to buzz frantically on the table. He answered it, his expression tightening as the voice on the other end spoke quickly. “Mr. Barlowe, the board is demanding an immediate resolution. The stock price is still in a freefall.” Gary hung up and stared at me, his eyes dark. “Darcy. This is your absolute last chance.” I placed my phone on the table, displaying a wire-transfer routing number. “And this is my final quote.” He leaned over the desk, placing his palms flat, trying to use his height to intimidate me. “Do you honestly believe I won’t freeze your father’s business out of the market?” My fingers stilled on my laptop. Seeing my slight pause, a flash of smug victory crossed his face. “His credit line renewal is sitting on my desk, Darcy. I suggest you remember that.” Isla chimed in, her voice dripping with pity. “Darcy, please. It’s just a simple apology. Don’t let your stubborn pride ruin your father’s life’s work.” I kept my eyes locked on her. “You seem very invested in my father’s welfare.” “I just want what’s best for everyone,” she said softly. “Then you should go kneel in the driveway. I’m sure that would make everyone feel much better.” Her cheeks flushed red. Gary had reached his limit. “If you don’t sign this statement, Darcy, I will have our legal department file a lawsuit for defamation and corporate sabotage by the end of the business day.” I let out a soft laugh. “Are you recording this threat, Mr. Barlowe?” His eyes flickered. I tapped the sleek pen on the desk. “This is a digital recording pen. Brand new. High definition. Very expensive.” In truth, it was just a regular pen. But the mere suggestion made him hesitate. Before he could speak, the doors to my study were pushed open. Richard Barlowe stood in the doorway, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto the documents on the desk. “You believe Gary is unfit to run the company, Darcy?” Gary’s posture shattered. “Father? What are you doing here?” Isla scrambled to her feet, smoothing her dress. “Mr. Barlowe.” Richard ignored them both, walking straight to my desk and looking at me. “Explain.” I flipped the contract to the fee schedule page. “Consulting fees apply, Mr. Barlowe.” “Darcy, stop this nonsense!” Gary snapped. Richard raised a single hand to silence his son. “How much?” I looked at Gary’s stunned, pale face. “Five million. Wire transfer. Upfront.” Richard let out a faint, dry chuckle. “Done.” Isla stepped forward, her voice tight with panic. “Mr. Barlowe, Darcy is in a highly unstable state right now. You can’t take her seriously.” Richard finally looked at her, his voice freezing the air in the room. “Ms. Winston, this is a private family matter. Your presence here is highly inappropriate.” Her face drained of all color. Gary clenched his fists. “Father, you’re choosing to believe her?” Richard placed his tablet on the desk, showing the real-time stock ticker. “I believe in results,” he said flatly. I slid my contract back into my folder. Richard looked at me. “And what results can you offer me, Darcy?” I looked past him to his executive secretary standing in the hall, then turned my gaze back to Gary. “I can tell you that this crisis didn’t start with a trending hashtag,” I said smoothly. Richard narrowed his eyes. I said slowly, “It started the moment the CEO brought a woman with no corporate standing into the core meetings of Barlowe Enterprises.”
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