The story had exploded online. With Elissa linked to Ernest, the scandal had swept through Srixby’s upper circles. Even the servers crashed.

That Chelsey knew wasn’t surprising. But her reason for bringing it up was.

“Why are you asking me about that?”

Chelsey bit her lip. She looked around as if making sure no one else could hear. “Did you find out that it was Gifford behind it all? That Ayla only did it because he told her to?”

What?

Hadley stood frozen, stunned.

When the incident first happened, she never once suspected Gifford’s involvement. She had assumed Ayla acted on her own—driven by spite, blinded by revenge—and that Elissa was simply collateral damage.

But now, Chelsey—who was supposed to know no specific details—was suddenly asking about Gifford’s involvement?

Hadley narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking that?”

She kept her tone measured, unwilling to confirm or deny anything just yet.

Chelsey seemed to understand. “You don’t have to tell me. I just need you to know… I don’t know every detail, but the person who gave me orders…” She faltered, grasping for the right words.

After a long, tense silence, she finally said, “The one who gave me the orders… was never Gifford.”

Hadley’s expression shifted. “It wasn’t him? Then who?”

“It was…” Chelsey drew in a sharp breath, her voice steady but low. “Linda Harris.”

The name hit like a brick. Hadley stiffened, her mind reeling.

Linda? That didn’t make any sense.

How could Chelsey be tied to Linda of all people?

“What is this about?” Hadley’s voice came out harder than she intended, but her thoughts were spinning. “Did she threaten your father?”

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“No, no.” Chelsey shook her head quickly. “No—it wasn’t him. It was me.”

Something in Chelsey’s face cracked. Her gaze dropped, guilt pooling in her eyes. But she didn’t speak.

Hadley leaned forward. “Chelsey, you need to tell me the truth. Now.” Why should she believe Chelsey based on one desperate claim?

Chelsey’s hands trembled. She looked torn, as if battling herself from the inside out.

In the end, she said nothing more—except, “Hadley, you have to believe me. The one who gave me those orders… was Linda.”

She rushed to explain, her voice growing frantic. “She told me to drug your coffee. Taking those photos of Mr. Scott? That was her idea too!”

Her words tumbled out in a torrent. “You’re kind, Hadley. I betrayed you—and still, you helped me. I couldn’t lie to you anymore. I had to tell you the truth. Please, believe me. I’m not trying to hurt you this time.”

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