On the glittering night I was set to become CEO of Pearson International and accept Senator Davis's proposal, my life was a polished diamond. The Plaza ballroom buzzed with an air of my impending coronation. It was everything I had carefully built, every dream on the cusp of reality. Then, a champagne glass from my brother Michael, a whisper of expensive scotch, and a sudden, disorienting haze swept over me. The last thing I remembered was a camera flash and leering faces before darkness consumed me. I woke to my face plastered across every tabloid: "Pearson Heiress in Drunken Orgy!" My world imploded as the Senator's curt statement ended our engagement, and company stocks plummeted. Confined to a remote villa, stripped of my phone and dignity, I was forcibly medicated, labeled as having a mental breakdown. The bitter taste of betrayal lingered-my own brother, Michael, and his venomous accomplice, Olivia, were behind it all. Their whispers of my "neutralization" and their sickening hints at my father's "accident" turned my raw shame into a burning, diamond-hard rage. They thought they had buried me. But they were profoundly, catastrophically wrong. Driven by Olivia's cruel taunts, a desperate, whispered call on an ancient, hidden phone ignited a relentless fire within. Sarah Pearson died that night, but a formidable ghost, Anya Sharma, was just beginning her ascent from the ashes, ready to unleash a reckoning they'd never forget.
On the glittering night I was set to become CEO of Pearson International and accept Senator Davis's proposal, my life was a polished diamond.
The Plaza ballroom buzzed with an air of my impending coronation.
It was everything I had carefully built, every dream on the cusp of reality.
Then, a champagne glass from my brother Michael, a whisper of expensive scotch, and a sudden, disorienting haze swept over me.
The last thing I remembered was a camera flash and leering faces before darkness consumed me.
I woke to my face plastered across every tabloid: "Pearson Heiress in Drunken Orgy!"
My world imploded as the Senator's curt statement ended our engagement, and company stocks plummeted.
Confined to a remote villa, stripped of my phone and dignity, I was forcibly medicated, labeled as having a mental breakdown.
The bitter taste of betrayal lingered-my own brother, Michael, and his venomous accomplice, Olivia, were behind it all.
Their whispers of my "neutralization" and their sickening hints at my father's "accident" turned my raw shame into a burning, diamond-hard rage.
They thought they had buried me.
But they were profoundly, catastrophically wrong.
Driven by Olivia's cruel taunts, a desperate, whispered call on an ancient, hidden phone ignited a relentless fire within.
Sarah Pearson died that night, but a formidable ghost, Anya Sharma, was just beginning her ascent from the ashes, ready to unleash a reckoning they'd never forget.
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