The nightmare always starts the same way.

I was standing at the podium in the Morgan Group's main conference room, delivering the presentation that would cement my position as the company's future CEO. The quarterly projections were flawless. The Asian expansion strategy—my strategy—was brilliant. My father beamed with pride from his seat at the head of the table.


And then everything blurs.

I wake with a gasp, sheets tangled around my legs, my body drenched in cold sweat. The digital clock reads 3:17 AM—the witching hour, when memories refuse to stay buried.

Five years ago. The night that destroyed me.


I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Leo who's sleeping in the adjoining room of our hotel suite. Sleep won't return now; it never does after the nightmare. Instead, I walk to the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass as I force myself to remember.

Not the dream version—the reality.


---

"You've outdone yourself, Olivia." My father's hand was warm on my shoulder as board members filed out of the conference room, each offering congratulations on my presentation.

At twenty-five, I was the youngest executive in Morgan Group's history, and the first woman in line for the CEO position. My father's only child from his first marriage, I had worked twice as hard as anyone to prove I deserved my place.

"The board was impressed," he continued. "Especially with the risk assessment for the Shanghai office."

I beamed under his praise. "I had help from the financial team, but—"

"Always so modest." The voice came from behind us, sweet as poisoned honey.

Cassandra, my stepsister, glided into the room in a dress that cost more than some employees' monthly salary. Three years older than me, she had joined the company after her mother Diana married my father following my mother's death. While I had worked my way up from the bottom, Cassandra had been installed as a senior marketing director—a position she used primarily to attend parties and claim credit for others' work.

"The presentation was impressive," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Though I did suggest those market penetration strategies you used."

She hadn't, of course. But my father nodded indulgently. He always believed Cassandra's lies.

"Both my girls, working together." He squeezed my shoulder. "That's what I like to see."

I bit back a correction. Cassandra contributed nothing but problems I had to fix.

"We have a potential investor waiting in the executive lounge," Cassandra said. "Nathaniel Pierce brought him. He's interested in the Asian expansion."

My father's eyebrows rose. "The Pierce Group? That's unexpected."

"Apparently, Ethan Knight is also joining them," Cassandra added casually. "From Knight Industries."

Now I was interested. Knight Industries was our biggest competitor in the tech investment sector. Ethan Knight had taken over from his father just two years ago and had already doubled their market share. If he was considering a partnership for the Asian expansion, it would be a game-changer.

"I should freshen up," I said, suddenly conscious of my conservative navy suit and minimal makeup.

Cassandra smiled. "I took the liberty of bringing you a change of clothes. Something more... appropriate for drinks with billionaires." She held up a garment bag. "And I have champagne waiting in your office."

Looking back, I should have seen the trap. But I was riding high on my success, and the thought of impressing Ethan Knight—a business wunderkind whose innovations I secretly admired—clouded my judgment.

In my office, I changed into the black cocktail dress Cassandra had brought—more revealing than my usual style, but undeniably elegant. She handed me a glass of champagne.

"To your success," she toasted, her eyes glittering.

I remember taking that first sip. The slight bitterness I attributed to expensive champagne.

The second sip made the room tilt slightly.

"Are you alright?" Cassandra's concern seemed genuine. "You look flushed."

"I'm fine," I insisted, though my tongue felt heavy. "Just tired from the presentation."

"Here, have some water." She pressed a glass into my hand. I drank deeply, not realizing I was only making it worse.

By the time we reached the executive lounge, the edges of my vision were blurring. I remember fragments: being introduced to Nathaniel Pierce, his smile too sharp, too knowing. My father leaving for "another commitment" that Cassandra had apparently reminded him of earlier.

And Ethan Knight—tall, impossibly handsome, his blue eyes intense as they met mine. He seemed to sway slightly too, his words careful and measured as if he was concentrating hard on each one.

"Ms. Morgan... your presentation... impressive analysis..."

The rest comes in disjointed flashes.

Nathaniel suggesting we continue the discussion at the Archer Hotel bar across the street.

Cassandra disappearing, claiming an emergency call.

The hotel bar spinning around me as I tried to focus on the business discussion.

Ethan's hand steadying me when I stood and nearly fell.

"You don't look well," he said, his own words slurring slightly. "Neither do I, actually."

Nathaniel's voice: "I've got rooms upstairs. You can both lie down until you feel better."

The elevator ride. Corridor. Hotel room door swinging open.

Then darkness.

---

I press my palms against the window glass, forcing myself to breathe evenly as the memories continue. My reflection stares back at me, ghostly and pale in the darkened glass. I barely recognize myself—this hardened woman with shadows in her eyes, so different from the eager young executive I once was.

The city stretches below, a constellation of lights that never dim. Somewhere out there, Ethan Knight sleeps in his penthouse, unaware that his life is about to change forever. Unaware that his son sleeps just rooms away from where I stand.

I close my eyes, forcing myself to relive the next part of that night. The part that still makes my stomach clench with humiliation and rage.

---

I woke with a splitting headache, disoriented and confused. Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar curtains. This wasn't my apartment. I tried to sit up and realized with horror that I was naked beneath the sheets, clothes scattered on the floor, messiest bed ever, and kiss marks on my skin.

Beside me lay Ethan Knight, still unconscious, his breathing deep and even. His muscular chest rose and fell, his face relaxed in sleep, looking younger and less intimidating than he did in the boardroom.

Panic surged through me as fragmented memories flashed in my mind. Had we...? I couldn't remember anything after entering the hotel room. The ache between my legs and scattered clothing told the devastating story.

My virginity—something I'd preserved through college and my early career, not out of prudishness but because relationships took time I didn't have—was gone. Taken while I was drugged and helpless.

I slid from the bed, gathering my clothes with trembling hands, desperate to escape before he woke. What would I even say? I had no memory of consenting to this. Did he? Was he as drugged as I was, or had he taken advantage of my state?

As I stumbled to the bathroom to dress, a hotel notepad caught my eye. In Cassandra's elegant handwriting:

*"Poor, naive Olivia. So easy to destroy. By now, the board has seen the security footage of you drunkenly seducing a competitor and bringing him to a hotel. Your father is devastated by your unprofessional behavior. Don't bother coming back to the company—your office is already being cleared out. You always thought you were better than me. Now everyone knows the truth."*

I bit my fist to keep from screaming, tears blurring my vision. It was a setup. All of it. Cassandra had orchestrated my downfall with meticulous precision.

I glanced at Ethan, still sleeping deeply. Was he part of it? Or another victim? I couldn't risk staying to find out. If he woke and acted like this was a consensual encounter, I'd know he was complicit. If he was as confused as I was... I still couldn't face him. The humiliation was too great.

I dressed quickly, wincing at my aching body, and searched frantically for my phone. Finding it in my purse, I saw dozens of missed calls and messages. From my father:

*"I'm disappointed beyond words."*

From board members, expressing shock at my "behavior."

From HR, requesting I come in to discuss my "resignation."

Security footage. They had planned everything, manipulated everything. In my drugged state, God knows what it looked like I was doing. Going willingly to a hotel with a competitor after drinking at a work function.

I cast one last look at Ethan Knight, still oblivious in sleep. Whether villain or victim, he would wake alone, with no idea where I had gone or what had truly happened between us. I couldn't bring myself to care about his confusion. My life was in ruins.

I slipped out of the hotel room, closing the door silently behind me.

I tried calling my father as I rode the elevator down, but he didn't answer. I tried Cassandra—straight to voicemail.

I stumbled out of the hotel, ignoring the knowing looks from the staff. Outside, the October air bit through my thin dress. I had no coat, no plan, nowhere to go. My apartment was company-owned. My life was the company.

I made it three blocks before collapsing on a bench, the world spinning around me. A woman stopped, concerned.

"Are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?"

The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was looking up at the Morgan Group tower in the distance, the giant illuminated 'M' blurring through my tears.

---

I turn away from the window, the memory still raw despite the years. My hands tremble slightly as I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the surge of emotions that always follows these recollections. What came after was a blur of hospital rooms, the devastating pregnancy test, my father's refusal to see me, being locked out of my apartment, my bank accounts frozen pending "investigation" of alleged embezzlement—another of Cassandra's fabrications.

I lost everything in a single night. My reputation, my career, my family, my home, my future.

But I gained something too. Rage. Purpose. And nine months later, Leo.

A soft sound from the bedroom pulls me from my dark memories. Leo stands in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, clutching his stuffed dinosaur.

"Mommy? Bad dream?" he asks, rubbing his eyes with a tiny fist.

I cross the room and lift him into my arms, burying my face in his neck to breathe in his sweet, innocent scent. The weight of him against my chest anchors me to the present, away from the darkness of the past. "Just thinking, baby. Why are you awake?"

"I dreamed about daddy again," he mumbles against my shoulder. "He was in a big building with windows everywhere. He was looking for us, but he couldn't find us. He seemed so sad, Mommy."

My heart clenches. Leo has never met his father, yet somehow Ethan Knight haunts his dreams with uncanny accuracy—the glass tower of Knight Industries appearing to my son through some genetic memory I can't explain. Another cruelty of genetics.

"It was just a dream," I whisper, carrying him back to bed. The sheets are still warm as I tuck him in, smoothing his dark hair—so like his father's—away from his forehead. "Try to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

As I tuck him in, his small hand touches my cheek. "Don't be sad, Mommy. I'll protect you."

My throat tightens, emotion threatening to crack my carefully constructed armor. This child—this perfect, innocent being—shouldn't be worrying about protecting me. It should be the other way around. Yet here he is, offering his small heart as a shield against the world's cruelties.

I kiss his forehead, blinking back tears. "We protect each other, remember? That's what Morgans do."

When he drifts back to sleep, I return to the living room and open my laptop. On the screen is the dossier my investigators compiled on Ethan Knight. Every business deal, every public appearance, every woman he's dated in the past five years. Nothing suggests he remembers what happened that night. Nothing indicates he knows he has a son.

Tomorrow, that changes. Tomorrow, I come face to face with the man who was either complicit in my destruction or another pawn in Cassandra's game. Either way, he's part of my revenge now.

I close the laptop and walk to the closet where I've hung the outfit for tomorrow's meeting. A custom-made white power suit that costs more than most cars. The perfect armor for war.

Five years ago, Olivia Morgan died in that hotel room.

Tomorrow, she rises from the ashes to reclaim everything that was taken from her—and destroy everyone who took it.

Starting with Ethan Knight.