Cassandra stood before the mirror in her penthouse suite, staring at her reflection as if it were someone else’s face. Her makeup was perfect, her hair immaculate — yet beneath the surface, her eyes trembled with a flicker of madness.

“Everyone turns against me…” she whispered. “Adrian, Rosemary, even the press that once worshipped me…”

Her voice broke into a half-laugh, half-sob.

She swept the glasses from the vanity, shattering them into a thousand glittering pieces. For a long moment, she simply watched the shards — each one reflecting a fractured version of herself.

Then her phone rang.

“Speak,” she said coldly.

“It’s done,” replied a male voice on the...