His Uncle, My Sweetest Revenge

The armored Maybach pulled up to the curb outside Joanna's Upper East Side apartment.

She stepped out, flanked by two of Carlton's massive security guards. She kept her head down, rushing through the lobby and into her private elevator. When the doors finally closed, she leaned against the mirrored wall and let out a long, shaky exhale.

She walked into her apartment and threw her keys onto the console table. She pulled out her phone.

Freddie had sent forty text messages.

Are you crazy?

You humiliated Jessie on purpose!

Answer the phone, you psycho!

Joanna stared at the screen, her stomach churning with absolute disgust. She didn't reply. She deleted the entire thread with a single swipe of her thumb.

She walked into her study and opened the wall safe. She pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder-the Madden family trust fund prenuptial agreement. She dropped it onto the mahogany desk and began reading the clauses.

If she broke the engagement without cause, she would lose her shares and be hit with a massive penalty fee. She needed Freddie to be the one to break it, or she needed him to commit a public, undeniable breach of contract.

The sharp buzz of the intercom interrupted her thoughts.

Her personal assistant, Clara, burst through the front door a moment later. Clara's face was pale, her hands shaking as she held up a thick, gold-embossed envelope.

"Joanna," Clara gasped. "Eleanor Madden sent a car. It's waiting downstairs. She wants you at the Long Island estate. Right now."

Joanna's eyes narrowed. The matriarch. The true power behind the family name. The pool incident had reached the top of the food chain.

"Give me ten minutes," Joanna said coldly.

She walked into her bedroom. She stripped off Carlton's black shirt, her skin still tingling where the fabric had touched her. She put on a conservative, tailored beige suit. She sat at her vanity and applied a layer of pale foundation, deliberately making herself look exhausted and fragile.

Several hours later, after navigating the grueling, bumper-to-bumper nightmare of late-afternoon Manhattan traffic, the car passed through the heavy iron gates of the Madden estate on Long Island.

The butler escorted her in silence through the sprawling mansion, leading her to Eleanor's private study. The heavy oak doors swung open.

Eleanor Madden sat behind a massive desk. Her silver hair was pulled back perfectly. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were locked onto a stack of glossy photographs on her desk.

Joanna stepped forward. She lowered her head slightly, letting her shoulders slump just enough to look defeated.

"Grandmother," Joanna said, her voice perfectly pitched with a slight, raspy tremor.

Eleanor picked up the photos and threw them across the desk. They scattered over the wood. They were high-definition shots of Freddie holding Jessie in the pool, completely ignoring Joanna.

"Explain this disaster," Eleanor demanded, her voice like cracking ice.

Joanna didn't defend herself. She bit down hard on her lower lip until she tasted a faint hint of metallic blood. She let a single tear well up in her eye, making sure it caught the light before she blinked it away.

"It was an accident," Joanna whispered, her voice breaking. "I slipped. I pulled Miss Beck down with me. Freddie was just... he was just trying to save her because she couldn't swim. I understand."

Eleanor scoffed loudly. "Don't play the fool with me, Joanna. I know exactly what that little actress is. She's a parasite."

Joanna looked down at her hands, twisting her engagement ring nervously. "I am willing to issue a public apology, Grandmother. I will take full responsibility for the fall. We cannot let this affect the Madden Group's stock prices."

The room went silent.

Eleanor stared at her. The matriarch didn't care about love or fidelity. She cared about loyalty to the empire. Joanna's willingness to swallow her pride and take the blame for the sake of the stock price was exactly what Eleanor wanted in a future granddaughter-in-law.

The harsh lines around Eleanor's mouth softened slightly. She gestured to the leather chair opposite the desk. "Sit."

Joanna sat, keeping her posture rigid but respectful.

"The Madden family does not need a punching bag," Eleanor said coldly. "But we do need a woman who understands the bigger picture."

"I will never let this family down," Joanna said, looking Eleanor straight in the eye, replacing her fragility with steel.

Eleanor nodded in approval. She pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Ms. Doyle. Come in here."

The chief executive secretary entered immediately.

"Freeze all of Freddie's black cards," Eleanor ordered without blinking. "And call our contacts at the studios. Cut Jessie Beck from every audition list in Hollywood. Put her on a private jet to Europe by midnight. If she comes back to New York, ruin her."

Joanna's heart leaped with triumph, but she forced her eyes to widen in fake shock. "Grandmother, please, Freddie will be furious-"

"Let him be," Eleanor snapped, raising a hand to silence her. "He needs to learn that his actions have consequences. You will say nothing to him."

Eleanor opened a drawer and pulled out a long velvet box. She slid it across the desk.

"For your trouble today," Eleanor said.

Joanna opened the box. A heavy, antique emerald necklace rested on the white silk. It was worth millions.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Joanna said softly.

She stood up, took the box, and walked out of the study. The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her, the fragile, victimized expression vanished from her face.

Her lips curled into a cold, ruthless smile. Phase one was complete. She had kept her hands perfectly clean, and the matriarch had just executed her enemies for her.