"So? After seeing all this, you still feel nothing?" Wade's voice cracked with fury. "Tilda, we had a deal. You promised we'd wait for the right time to reveal your identity—so it wouldn't hurt Kyla. You swore you'd keep quiet until then! "But you—" His hand shook as he jabbed a finger at her. "You told us one thing, then went behind our backs and leaked it to the tabloids! You sent them those photos. Don't even try to deny it—we confirmed it!" The way he looked at her—pure hostility. Like she wasn't his sister at all, but his enemy. "Tilda," Russell said coldly, "I know you didn't grow up in the right environment, but I'm giving you one last chance. Bow your head and apologize to Kyla, and I'll forgive you. Do that, and you can stay in this family as the rightful heiress." His stare was like ice. He expected her to panic—to cry, maybe beg. Instead— "Oh? And where's your proof?" Tilda's tone was almost casual, almost bored. "Proof?" Wade blinked, thrown off. "You can't just throw random accusations around," she said coolly. "If you're gonna claim I leaked the story, you'd better have evidence. If you don't, I could sue you for defamation." The room went dead silent. Sue them? Defamation? Was this really Tilda—the same quiet, spineless girl who used to lower her head and take it?Even Kyla looked up mid-sob, eyes flickering. Tilda felt different. Same face, same voice—but there was something new behind her eyes. Confidence. Control. A quiet, dangerous kind of power. Kyla felt a ripple of unease crawl down her spine. But she forced it away. No. The plan's perfect. It has to be. Russell's jaw clenched. “Fine. You really wanna play hardball?" He yanked out his phone, dialed a number, hit speaker, and tossed it on the table. The call picked up almost immediately. "Mr. Jenson," came a respectful voice. "Mr. Read," Russell said sharply, "tell everyone here—who gave you the tip for that front-page article?" A pause. Then, confidently: "Didn't we already go over this? It was Ms. Tilda." All eyes swung toward her. This time, they thought, there's no way she can wriggle out of it. But Tilda didn't even blink. She quietly pulled out her own phone, turned the volume up, hit speaker, and said in a soft, lilting voice that wasn't her own, "You're saying I gave you the tip?" The voice was higher, delicate—clearly altered. Anyone who actually knew Tilda's tone would know instantly: it wasn't her.Russell frowned. What the hell is she doing? Kyla's stomach twisted. This is bad. Really bad. But if she jumped in now, she'd look suspicious. "Yes, Ms. Tilda," said Stan Read, the editor's voice nervous now. "It's not my fault—I didn't think your father would find out so fast! We're just a small outlet trying to stay alive. If we cross the Jenson Group, we won't last a week!" He kept rambling, but cracks were already forming in his story. "Then tell me," Tilda cut in, her tone smooth and steady, "how exactly did I contact you? And why would I be dumb enough to expose my own identity? "If the Jenson Group is as powerful as you claim—and you crumble this fast—doesn't that make me suicidal?" "Well—" Stan stuttered, grasping for words. "You, uh, called from a public phone. And as for your identity… let's just say you slipped up. I figured it out myself." "You guessed?" Tilda's laugh was soft, cutting. "So you ran a headline that big based on a guess?" "I—uh…" Stan's voice faltered. Sweat prickled at his temples. He'd already said too much. He took a shaky breath and tried to recover. "I recognized your voice. It's one of a kind. Even with a disguise, I'd know it anywhere. And we met in person, remember? You handed me those photos yourself." "Oh, really?" Tilda arched an eyebrow. "So you're that sure someone's identity can't be faked by voice—the same voice I just proved can be altered with an app? That doesn't sound too smart, does it?"Her words sliced through the air like glass. "And you claim we met in person. That I handed you those photos myself. Do you have proof? Any security footage? Pictures? A recording?" "I…" Stan's voice wavered. Nothing. He had nothing. Because it was all a lie. "And one more thing," Tilda said coolly. "The voice you're hearing right now? Not mine. It's filtered. I've been using it the entire time. So if you really met me face-to-face, how could you not notice the difference? "You're not seriously saying I stood there in front of you for half an hour using a voice-changer, are you?" The silence that followed was deafening. The truth was, Tilda didn't even need the app—she could mimic voices on her own. But the app made the setup flawless. She'd lived this moment once before. This time, she came prepared. Armed with knowledge of what was coming—and the freedom that came from not caring anymore. Stan had no comeback. None. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd been told Tilda was meek, compliant, easy to scare. That if they cornered her, she'd fold. Cry. Beg. Take the blame. No one said she'd fight back. No one said she'd win.If he'd known she could flip the script this fast, he never would've touched this story. Kyla's heart pounded. You idiot! she screamed silently. You had one job! One! Even Russell's expression was shifting now, suspicion creeping in around the edges. "Mr. Read," he said slowly, "didn't you say Tilda gave you instructions personally?" "There's gotta be some misunderstanding," Stan stammered. "It must've been someone pretending to be her—someone set me up!" Desperation dripped from every word. He didn't even know who had really pulled the strings. He'd just chased a fat payout and walked right into a trap. Still, he had an idea. A guess. But saying that name out loud could ruin him—career and all. "I'll—I'll find out who did it," he blurted out quickly. "I swear I will." Russell's gaze drifted toward Kyla. She kept her head down, shoulders shaking, quiet sobs escaping between breaths. She looked fragile. Helpless. Like something that needed to be protected. He pushed the doubt away. No. It couldn't be Kyla. Kyla was kind. Sweet. Pure. There was no way she could ever come up with something this cruel.