11:00 AM. The Penthouse.

The world had gone mad.

If the leaked contract was a spark, this was an explosion. From the gossip blogs in New York to the tabloids in London and the Shade Room in USA, the internet was vibrating with only one name: Vivienne Carter.

Aria was sitting on the terrace, a cup of tea growing cold in her hand, when her phone began to buzz. It wasn’t the steady vibration of a call, but the frantic, staccato pulse of a thousand notifications hitting at once.

She frowned, picking it up.

Her notifications were a blur of tags.

“@AriaCross is this your sister?”

“The Carter family is...