Ella POV:
"You know, Amber," I said, my voice calm but laced with sarcasm as I stared her down, "instead of obsessing over and my business all the ti, might I suggest you redirect that energy? Like, maybe calling your father and checking up on him? You know, the man whose life you’ve been so determined to use as leverage to feel important?"
Amber’s perfectly manicured hand froze mid-adjustnt of her designer bag strap, and her fake smile faltered for a split second. For soone who spent all her ti trying to look untouchable, she sure had a glass jaw.
"Oops," I continued, a mocking tilt in my tone, "did I hit a nerve? My bad."
Her jaw clenched, her blue eyes narrowing at like daggers, but I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
"Listen, Amber," I said, taking a step closer to her, closing the space between us. "I don’t have ti for whatever petty little ga you’re trying to play. If I wanted to, I could make one phone call—just one—and your little façade of perfection would co crumbling down faster than your apology press conference."
Amber’s lips twitched, but she quickly recovered, flipping her hair in that practiced, dismissive way she always did. "You think you’re so clever, don’t you?" she said, her voice dripping with venom. "Acting like you’re above it all when, really, you’re just a little waitress with no clue how to play in my league."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, honey, if this is your league, then I’m glad I’m not in it. Because if all you’ve got is hollow threats and daddy’s credit card, then you’re playing a losing ga."
Her cheeks flushed with anger, and for a mont, I thought she might actually slap . But instead, she straightened her posture, her mask of indifference slipping back into place.
"You’re pathetic," she spat. "You think Jason, Max, or Dylan actually care about you? You’re just a novelty to them, Ella. Sothing to fight over because they’re bored."
I laughed, genuinely amused. "And you think I care what you think? Newsflash, Amber: your opinion stopped mattering the mont you turned your life into a soap opera. You should focus on cleaning up your own ss instead of trying to drag into it."
Amber opened her mouth to retort, but I held up a hand to stop her.
"Don’t," I said firmly. "I’m done entertaining this nonsense. And Amber? A word of advice: worry less about and more about that PR disaster you’re currently living in. Because, unlike you, I don’t need to hide behind excuses or daddy’s na."
With that, I turned on my heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, probably fuming but too stunned to do anything about it.
God, that felt good.
......
If this God-forsaken day could just end already, I’d gladly hurl myself into bed and let sleep wash away all the chaos. I leaned against the counter, glancing at the diner’s wall-mounted TV. There weren’t any custors yet since the peak hour hadn’t arrived, and I wasn’t about to risk pulling out my phone to kill ti—my boss’s temper was sothing I wasn’t keen on triggering again.
The TV blared a ridiculous reality show, sothing overly dramatic and painfully predictable, the kind of thing you’d only watch if you’d exhausted all other options. I was just about to tune it out entirely when the screen abruptly switched to a news broadcast.
The headline alone froze in place: "The Prescott Empire Crumbles—Corruption Charges Confird."
I blinked at the screen, unsure if I’d read it right. But there it was, plastered in bold letters beneath the presenter, who was speaking with an air of smug satisfaction.
"Breaking news: The Prescott family business has officially collapsed. Their accounts have been frozen, and Mr. Prescott himself is now facing a barrage of corruption charges. Sources claim this dramatic downfall began after losing the support of the Kings but has been exacerbated by today’s sudden stock crash, which left the Prescott empire in financial ruin."
I didn’t realize I was gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles started to ache.
The presenter continued, detailing the accusations of fraud, bribery, and involvent in so shady underground dealings. Apparently, it wasn’t just business incompetence—the Prescotts had their hands in so very illegal cookie jars.
It was surreal. Just yesterday, they were a na everyone feared or respected, depending on where you stood. And now? The news presenter signed off with a final, almost gleeful remark:
"We may be witnessing the end of the Prescott legacy as we know it."
My stomach churned.
I couldn’t help but think back to earlier—how smug they were especially that spoilt brat, how they thought they could waltz into my life, ss with , and walk away unscathed. A part of wanted to celebrate their downfall. Was this karma, or was it sothing else entirely?
My mind wandered to Mr. Harris, his cryptic words about "dealing with the Daddy bear - Prescotts Kingsley-style." I’d dismissed it at the ti, too preoccupied with getting out of the police station. But now, seeing this on the news? A cold shiver ran down my spine.
Did he do this?
If he did, it wasn’t just a warning shot—it was a full-blown takedown. And while the Prescotts deserved to face the consequences of their actions, the ruthlessness of it all left uneasy. I wasn’t naive. I knew the Kingsleys had power, real power, but seeing it wielded like this? It was a stark reminder of the world I’d tried so hard to stay out of but damn did I miss it.
When Mr. Harris had said, "Daddy Bear won’t bother you again," referring to Amber’s father, I thought he ant sothing minor—maybe forcing them to lose out on a significant business deal or applying just enough pressure to scare them into backing off. But this?
This was sothing else entirely.
The Prescotts weren’t just losing business; they were being obliterated. Their accounts frozen, their stocks in freefall, and Mr. Prescott himself now facing corruption charges. I didn’t think Mr. Harris would crush them to this extent. Sure, I was annoyed when Amber’s dad decided to insert himself into her petty drama and co after , but this? It almost felt excessive.
Almost.
I won’t lie—it felt satisfying to know the Prescotts wouldn’t dare to cross again. They’d learned their lesson, albeit in the most brutal way possible. Still, there was a lingering unease in the pit of my stomach as I watched the news replaying their downfall like a dramatic soap opera.
Had I really set all of this into motion?
The truth was, I didn’t ask Mr. Harris to do any of this. I had planed to deal with them myself. All I wanted was for Amber and her family to stay out of my business. Instead, they had the nerve to conspire against , pulling strings to have arrested on so bogus charge. And for what? To humiliate ? To teach a lesson?
If they’d stuck to their lane, none of this would’ve happened. It wasn’t my fault they underestimated who they were dealing with.
Still, watching the Prescotts crumble so spectacularly had questioning everything. Was this really all because of Mr. Harris? Or was it sothing bigger? Whatever the case, as long as people believed their downfall stemd from losing the Kings’ support—and not because of —then everything would remain fine.
Because, honestly, people should know better than to ss with soone just because they are beneath them.
The Prescotts should’ve known that throwing in prison over Amber’s ridiculous vendetta was a line they couldn’t cross. I might not be flashy about it, but I’m no stranger to power. And if they thought I’d let them get away with treating like so nobody, they were sorely mistaken. Mmmh Mr. Harris has taken care of them for .
In this world, actions have consequences, and they were just unlucky enough to face theirs.
I let out a breath, brushing the thoughts aside. I didn’t ask for this, but now that it’s done, there’s no use in feeling guilty about it. My conscience was clear.
After all, I wasn’t the one who made them corrupt. I wasn’t the one who ruined their reputation. They did all of that on their own.
And as long as nobody could connect this back to —or Mr. Harris—it was their ss to deal with. Let the world speculate about the Kings pulling their support or the Prescotts’ shady dealings. It had nothing to do with anymore.
The bell above the diner’s door jingled, snapping out of my thoughts. A couple of custors walked in, and I plastered on my best "welco to the diner" smile, pushing the Prescott news to the back of my mind—for now.
As I took their orders, I couldn’t help but glance at the TV again, where the news anchor had moved on to the weather forecast. Life went on, and so would I. Let the Prescotts’ learn the hard way: You don’t co for unless you’re ready to face the storm.
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