The jazz club had barely finished echoing its last trumpet note when Victor Newman leaned back in his chair, candlelight dancing against the steel in his eyes. Across from him, Phyllis Summers sat draped in emerald silk and ruthless resolve. She thought tonight would seal her triumph, a turning point in their alliance. But Victor’s voice, smooth and lethal, cut through her illusions. “I want more,” he said. “I need you to end Billy Abbott—publicly.”

Phyllis didn’t flinch. She had already begun. Whispers of fraud, questions about his ties to Dumas, suggestions of wavering loyalty—all planted like poison in Genoa City’s gossip chain. But Victor wasn’t interested in whispers. “Make it personal,” he ordered. “Let him watch everything he built fall apart.”

Elsewhere, Chelsea Lawson was weaponizing truth against Adam Newman. In private corners of the Newman household, her biting words sliced through the air: “Your best isn’t enough. Not for Victor. Not for me.” Adam tried to deflect, but the cracks in his composure widened. Victor, watching from afar, knew exactly how to use this unraveling to his advantage.

Meanwhile, a new player entered the board. Damian Cain, Nate Hastings’ estranged brother, returned—this time with Amy Lewis beside him. Tensions flared as Nate, still cautious, tried to welcome Damian into the Newman fold. But Damian, eyes full of quiet intensity, didn’t want protection. He wanted a seat at the table.

And Victor? He wanted Damian to be the perfect distraction—a shiny new piece on the chessboard to shift attention from the Abbott scandal and internal Newman fractures. As Nate ushered Damian into the company, the public saw innovation. But behind closed doors, a vendetta was being written in invisible ink.

Victor called an emergency meeting. Phyllis sat at the head of the table, directing the campaign like a general. Her digital leaks gained traction. Business journals buzzed. Hashtags like #AbbottExposed trended worldwide. Chelsea’s social media digs at Adam racked up millions of views. The pressure worked. Billy’s image crumbled. Adam stumbled. And Phyllis? She soared.

But she knew Victor. His praise was fleeting. His alliances conditional. Power with him was like fire—useful, but capable of consuming the fool who thought they could control it. Even as she smiled into her bourbon, Phyllis was already recalculating, preparing for the moment he might turn.

Across the city, Billy felt the walls close in. He saw Adam in the GCAC lobby and tensed. But it was Chelsea who cut deepest, her voice low, filled with years of disappointment. “You ever get tired of being at war?” she asked. Billy deflected. He always did. But the silence that followed was the kind that sticks to your ribs.

Then Victor appeared.

His presence silenced the room. “Do you have an answer for me?” he asked Billy.

“I don’t trust you,” Billy replied. “So my answer is no.”

Victor didn’t blink. He didn’t shout. He turned on his heel, walked to the lobby, and rang the bell with surgical calm. When Adam arrived, Victor gave the order: “Launch the campaign to destroy Billy Abbott.”

And with that, the last move was set.

As dusk folded over Genoa City, Phyllis sat in her penthouse with the flicker of victory in her eyes. The dossier would be on Victor’s desk by morning. Summer’s fashion empire gleamed like a distraction. The real power game had begun. Billy’s barstool sat cold. Adam’s pride braced for ruin. And Victor Newman—calm, omnipotent—was pulling every string.

Phyllis had once trailed men like Billy in the shadows. Now, she sat beside the king.