Six years later, in Brighton Falls.
In April, cherry blossoms lined both sides of the main street of Brighton Falls.
The spring breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and the white petals danced gently in the air like snowflakes.
Pedestrians moved through the dreamy scene, their laughter mingling with the rustle of the wind.
It was like walking through a fairy tale.
On the large electronic screen above the bustling commercial square, the latest financial news flickered brightly, capturing the attention of passersby.
The screen showed an interview with Dominic Hale, the proud and polished heir to the Winter Hale Group.
A slender woman stopped in her tracks, tilting her head slightly as her gaze settled on the screen.
She slowly removed her sleek black sunglasses, revealing eyes that sparkled like shards of glass.
Her slightly curled dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her small, heart-shaped face could rival the beauty of the cherry blossoms around her.
It was a face that would leave anyone speechless.
Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile as she watched the screen.
The reporter on the screen asked Dominic a pointed question:
"Mr. Hale, it's been reported that the Maplewood branch of Winter Hale Group is embroiled in an economic dispute. After losing the first trial, the opposing party has filed an appeal. Does your company have confidence in the second trial?"
Dominic, as calm and composed as ever, gave the camera a confident smile. "The Winter Hale Group has always operated with integrity. We have nothing to hide. I'm confident we'll come out victorious in the second trial."
The slender woman's eyes narrowed slightly at his words, and her smile grew colder.
She reached into her designer bag and pulled out her phone.
A call connected, and she spoke with calm authority. "Hello, Mr. Sterling? Yes, this is Angel, referred to you by Make. I have time today. Let's meet soon to discuss the matter."
As she hung up, her gaze returned to the screen, her expression unreadable, but her eyes glinted with something dark, something determined.
She was no longer Ivy Delacroix.
Now, she was Angel Delacroix.
And she was back.
Pushing her sunglasses back onto her face, she turned on her heel and strode away from the plaza, her heels clicking against the pavement with purpose.
But just as she was about to leave, something caught her attention—a white van parked at the back entrance of a shopping mall.
Its doors were wide open, and two men stood outside, glancing around nervously.
They looked like they were waiting for something, or someone.
Most people wouldn't have noticed anything odd. They'd have walked right past without a second thought.
But not Ivy.
Her instincts, sharpened by years of hard-earned experience, immediately kicked in.
She paused, pretending to rummage through her bag as she discreetly observed the scene.
The men's darting eyes were full of tension, and their behavior screamed trouble.
Moments later, the back door of the mall opened, and two more men emerged, dragging an unconscious elderly man between them.
They moved quickly, their actions rushed and frantic.
The men by the van gestured urgently. "Hurry up! Get him inside, quick!"
Ivy's jaw tightened, and her heart raced.
These weren't amateurs. They knew what they were doing, and they were about to get away with it.