The private jet touched down with the kind of elegance that Allison now took for granted.
She leaned back in her seat, swirling the last sip of champagne in her glass. The flight attendant—a nervous young man with hair too perfect for turbulence—stood ready to help her disembark, but she waved him off with a flick of her wrist. Allie didn't need help anymore.
She wasn't the helpless girl who had fled this country in tears. No, this allison—this Jade Noir—was a terror.
The terminal doors slid open, and she strode onto the tarmac in five-inch stilettos that could double as weapons. Her custom-tailored trench coat flared dramatically in the wind as if she'd arranged for nature itself to cooperate with her entrance. She was here to take back what was hers, and she planned to do it in style.
Sliding into the backseat of a sleek black car—her own, imported from America—Allie opened her laptop. The screen blinked to life, and an animated jade snake slithered across the desktop.
Allie loved them creepy crawlies, and even after ages of adding her little character, it still brought a grin to her face.
"Welcome back, Jade," the AI voice chimed, smooth and British because, obviously, British accents were the pinnacle of sophistication.
"Cut the small talk, Alfred," she said, typing furiously. "Pull up the latest intel on the Carter family."
The Carter family was a fortress wrapped in luxury suits and hidden behind a wall of NDAs. They were untouchable, unshakeable, and exactly the kind of people Allie loved to mess with. Because behind every untouchable dynasty was a secret or ten, and Allie had made a career out of finding them.
The screen filled with data: family photos, business dealings, social calendars, and—most importantly—details about a certain three-year-old boy named Max Carter.
Her son.
"Cute kid," Alfred commented. "Looks a bit like you, except for the scowl. Where do you suppose he got that?"
"From his father, obviously," Allie muttered, zooming in on a photo of Jun standing stiffly in a tiny designer suit. "Poor kid looks like he's been dressed by a sadistic mannequin."
"The Carter heir can't exactly show up to kindergarten in jeans and a dinosaur shirt," Alfred said.
"Why not? Dinosaurs are cool," Allie replied absently, already plotting. She'd spent years building herself into a legend in the hacking world, but this wasn't about digital exploits. This was about walking straight into the lion's den and taking back what was hers.
The Carter family's patriarch, Rob Carter, was an old-school power broker with a penchant for crushing anyone who dared cross him.
His daughter-in-law—the infamous Madam Carter—was the picture of icy perfection, a woman so devoid of maternal instincts she probably thought "Cocomelon" was a stock ticker.
Together, they had turned her son into a pawn, a Carter-shaped puzzle piece in their social empire.
But they hadn't accounted for Allison Blake.
The car rolled to a stop outside the sleek penthouse Allie had rented under yet another alias. She stepped out and took a deep breath. The air smelled different here—thicker with money and old grudges. Perfect.
Inside, she spread out her tools of the trade: a burner phone, a pair of glasses with built-in recording devices, and a collection of flash drives that could take down entire corporations. On the wall, she pinned a photo of the Carter mansion, a sprawling monstrosity with more security cameras than a spy thriller.
"So, what's the plan?" Alfred asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Infiltration," Allie said, pinning a photo of Madam Carter next to the mansion. "The Carter family is hosting their annual charity gala this weekend. It's the perfect opportunity to gather intel and make my move."
"You do realize the guest list is tighter than a pair of cheap jeans, right?" Alfred said. "Even you can't hack your way onto it."
"Who said anything about hacking?" Allie smirked, pulling a slinky evening gown from her suitcase. "I'll just crash the party. They can't kick me out if I'm already inside."
"That's... not how that works," Alfred said, but ALlie ignored him.
Allie had an uncanny ability to adapt—a skill she'd honed during her years abroad. By day, she blended seamlessly into high society, chatting with old acquaintances and dropping hints about her fabulous new life. By night, she pored over blueprints, memorized security protocols, and practiced her innocent "I'm just here to help" smile in the mirror.
Finally, the night of the gala arrived. The Carter mansion was lit up like a Christmas tree, its grand ballroom filled with the country's elite.
Allie slipped in through the side entrance, her gown shimmering under the lights. She'd bribed a waiter to smuggle her in, but once inside, she was untouchable.
That's the thing about these events: everyone assumes you belong if you act like you do.
The room was a symphony of clinking glasses, polite laughter, and whispered gossip. Allie moved through the crowd with practiced ease, her eyes scanning for her targets. Rob was holding court near the stage, surrounded by sycophants. Madam Carter was perched on a chaise, surrounded by other rich madams.
And then there was Max.
Her heart clenched as she spotted him, standing stiffly next to a nanny who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. He was small and serious, his dark eyes scanning the room with a wariness that seemed out of place for a child. Her child.
"Found him," Alfred said through her earpiece. "Now what?"
"Now," Allison whispered, "the fun begins."
She sauntered over to the refreshment table, where a waiter was pouring champagne. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she spilled her glass onto the floor, causing the poor man to stumble and knock over a tray of champagne flutes.
The commotion drew Madam Carter's attention as she briskly walked over to check on what had just happened.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Allie said, her voice dripping with faux sincerity. "These heels are murder on marble floors."
Madam Carter raised an eyebrow, her icy demeanor thawing just enough to let a flicker of irritation show. "And you are?"
"A friend of the family," Allie said smoothly, extending a hand. "We've met before, haven't we?"
Madam Carter hesitated, clearly trying to place the name. Allie took advantage of the pause to slip a tiny listening device under the tablecloth.
"I don't recall," Madam Carter said finally, her tone frosty.
"Well, let's change that," Allison said, flashing her most dazzling smile. "Tell me, how do you manage to keep this event running so smoothly? I'm organizing a gala myself and could use some tips."
As Madam Carter began her curt tips and, Allie's attention drifted back to Max.
The nanny had taken him to a quieter corner, where he was playing with a set of blocks. He looked so small, so vulnerable. But he was hers, and she would get him back—even if it meant bringing the entire Carter empire crashing down.
With a final nod and a polite laugh, Allie excused herself from Madam Carter's company. She had what she needed: the layout of the house, the schedule for the night, and—most importantly—a glimpse of her son.
As she slipped out the side door, she couldn't help but grin and hold her now bright red cheeks.
"Ah! My son is such a cute angel!"