Some women might envy the simple existence of someone like Amy Sinclair. But she was nothing like Amy.
She was a woman of fierce ambition, with dreams that stretched far beyond domestic comforts. She refused to fade into obscurity—she would carve her name into the world. That was why, whenever Alexander Blackwood entrusted her with a task, she executed it flawlessly.
On the surface, modern society preached equality between men and women. But beneath the polished veneer, the game remained rigged. As a woman stepping into Harrington Enterprises, facing down those grizzled patriarchs, she knew they would dismiss her before she even spoke. But the wives and daughters of those powerful families? That was where real influence lay. Doors swung open effortlessly in their world.
She had heard the stories—back when her father lost his memory and Harrington Enterprises teetered on collapse, it was Margaret Blackwood who steadied the ship. The society ladies had rallied behind her, their quiet power propping up the empire when it threatened to crumble.
In those glittering circles, a woman's influence was a weapon sharper than any boardroom tactic.
Alexander had never allowed her to study business or work directly at Harrington Enterprises. The real strategy had always been clear—forge alliances among the elite women of Newhaven. In this world, connections were currency, and she intended to amass a fortune.
Tonight, her official purpose was to collect Evelyn and pay respects to Arthur Pendleton. But her true objective? Theodore Whitmore's gala was the perfect stage to deepen her ties with the city's most influential families.
She was, after all, Newhaven's reigning socialite—admired, sought-after, always at the center of everything. But in this game, one could never have too many allies.
The Harringtons, the Whitmores, the Prescotts, the Winslows—each name carried weight, and she planned to leverage every single one tonight.
As for Amy... They shared blood, but never kinship. From their first meeting, she had known they were galaxies apart. Amy was never competition, not even when she'd been granted a slice of the family fortune. The thought of Amy as a threat was laughable.
After all, destiny was written in the cradle. No matter how hard Amy struggled, she would never reach these heights. The alliances she had spent years cultivating? Amy couldn't even fathom them.
Amy simply wasn't a danger to her position.
She had often advised Isaac and Connor not to waste energy resenting Amy. It wasn't performative—she genuinely believed it.
Had Amy been raised within the Harrington fold, things might have been different. But she was just an outsider, a footnote in their family history.
If Amy wanted to return to the Harrington embrace, she was welcome. Her ambitions likely extended no further than a respectable marriage. But men had never factored into her own plans.
She had no interest in marriage, no desire to chain herself to a man's shadow. The petty scheming, the jealous whispers behind closed doors—it was a world she despised.
Her only goal was to rise—on her own terms, by her own power.
"What?" Theodore Whitmore Jr.'s lips curled around his cigarette, amusement glinting in his eyes. "The old man's throwing a massive birthday bash just to endorse some woman? Don't tell me she's some long-lost lovechild he hid from Grandma."
"Don't be absurd," Adrian Whitmore muttered, voice low. "Uncle mentioned she's been volunteering at the clinic for months. Takes impeccable care of him. They get along—he's considering taking her on as his protégé."
Theodore exhaled a lazy plume of smoke, his roguish grin deepening. Dimples flashed. "Since when does the old man take students? He's rejected every applicant for decades. What's so special about this one? Some medical genius?"
Adrian shook his head. "Quite the opposite. He hasn't taught her much—not even basic physician-level knowledge. But he likes her. Was going to formally adopt her as a granddaughter, but changed his mind last minute. Now he wants her as his student instead."