Alarieka said coolly, “Ms. Whitaker, this makes it difficult to talk.”

Seeing the recorder exposed, Roschelle’s face shifted through several expressions. After a moment, she raised her hand and switched it off. “Happy now?”

Alarieka extended her palm. “Give it here. Let me check.”

Roschelle frowned. “You don’t trust me?”

Alarieka snatched the recorder, threw it to the floor, and crushed it under her heel. She ground it into the floor, stomping repeatedly. Only when it lay in shattered pieces, utterly unusable, did she stop.

Roschelle scoffed. “Can we talk now?”

Alarieka remained expressionless, picking up her phone to replay Sammy Durant’s recording. “Sound familiar?”

Alarieka smiled. “That’s you and Sammy, isn’t it?”

Roschelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

Alarieka's lips curved. "Money."

She knew this recording alone wouldn’t harm Roschelle even if made public. At most, it’d cause a minor setback. What Alarieka truly feared wasn’t Roschelle herself, but the men backing her. Roschelle had Kieran, Patrick, and the entire Whitaker family behind her.

First, the recording’s content wasn’t damning – Sammy was the mastermind, Roschelle merely an accomplice. Even if exposed, the prestigious Mcintosh Piano Competition wouldn’t disqualify her. She’d face some criticism at worst.

Second, if Alarieka released it online, Kieran and Patrick would manipulate public opinion, launch PR campaigns, and forcibly remove the content. Beyond that, Kieran would deploy teams to monitor all online mentions, using his influence to scrub any negative comments about Roschelle, shielding her completely under his protective umbrella. Alarieka had witnessed this firsthand. She’d lived through it.

To crush an enemy, one must strike decisively. This recording alone couldn’t defeat Roschelle. Alarieka would have to bide her time.

So she’d trade it for something else. Money. She had five million, but it wasn’t enough. Jaylene had met Nic Guanyu earlier than expected. Their business venture might launch sooner too. Alarieka needed to prepare. Starting a business required more capital. She needed cash.

Hearing this, Roschelle’s eyes filled with disdain. She crossed her arms, her smile turning mocking. “So it’s about money? That desperate?”

“Did leaving the Argent family leave you this destitute?”

All that worry for nothing–she’d thought Alarieka might take the recording to Kieran. It turns out, all Alarieka wanted was money. She had plenty of it. Roschelle felt relieved internally, growing even more disdainful of Alarieka’s petty nature.

Chin lifted, Roschelle said carelessly, “Go on, how much do you want?”

Alarieka raised her palm, extending one finger directly toward Roschelle’s face.

Roschelle saw it, her eyes brimming with contempt: “Five million?” Just that little? The scorn in Roschelle’s eyes deepened. She’d expected Alarieka to demand far more. Five million? How pathetically small-minded, even her extortion felt cheap.

Alarieka remained silent.

Roschelle curled her lip and turned to leave: “Fine. Send me your account details. I’ll wire it later.”

“Fifty million.”

Alarieka’s voice was ice-cold, her stark black-and-white eyes fixed on Roschelle as she slowly lowered her hand. “I said fifty million. You misunderstood.”

Roschelle’s voice sharpened, “What did you say? Fifty million? How dare you ask for that?”

Alarieka smiled: “Fifty million. No bargaining. No discounts. Not a penny less.”

Roschelle’s eyes turned icy. Fifty million. Alarieka truly had the audacity.

“Fifty million is impossible. Ten million, maximum.”

Alarieka shook her head. “Fifty million. Not a penny less. If Ms. Whitaker can’t accept my terms, then I’m afraid it’s goodbye. You can enjoy listening to this recording online later.”

Roschelle hissed, voice strained, “No, that’s too much. I can’t gather it that quickly.”

Alarieka shook her head with feigned regret. “Then there’s nothing to be done.”

With that, she started to turn away.