The storm that’s been brewing for weeks over Weatherfield finally hits breaking point – and it all converges inside the cramped, dimly lit office at Underworld.

While Becky strides toward the factory with a look that says she’s made up her mind about Carla, Kit is across town piecing together the last fragments of a puzzle that refuses to sit right. At Costello’s hospital bedside, his shaken wife lets slip that he was planning to retire to the Lakes in September – a big move, a whole new life he never once mentioned to his colleagues. Not to Kit. Not to Carla. Maybe only to Becky. That’s the detail that makes Kit’s blood run cold.

Back on the street, Kit drops the information in front of Lisa and Becky. Lisa agrees it’s odd. Kit watches as Becky stiffens for barely a second, a tiny crack in her composed exterior, but enough for his instincts to flare. He files it alongside every other off note: the lies, the evasions, the timing of Becky’s “grief”. It’s that flicker of panic that finally pushes him to Carla.

He finds her in the Underworld office, half a bottle of scotch already gone, mascara smudged, shoulders slumped, the heartbreak over Lisa still raw and open. He tells her straight: he thinks Costello and Becky were working together on something dirty. Retirements, shell plans, hidden money – he doesn’t have the full picture yet, but he knows they’re not innocent. Carla, exhausted and broken, reminds him suspicion isn’t proof. They have no paper trail, no confession, just instinct and shadows. Still, even she can’t shake the sense that something is horribly wrong.

Kit leaves with a warning and, concerned about Carla’s state, suggests someone should go and check on her. Lisa, he thinks. Someone who loves her. But Becky steps in before anyone else can volunteer, promising she’ll pass on the message. As she turns away, her expression hardens. Whatever she’s decided, it’s not about comfort.

Inside the office, Carla tops up her glass, trying to numb the ache in her chest. Then the door opens. Becky walks in and quietly shuts it behind her. The click of the lock sounds louder than traffic, louder than the sewing machines, louder than Carla’s own breathing. In an instant, the air shifts.

Becky isn’t there to console her sister. She’s there to control her.

Her eyes are cold, focused, and unflinching as she moves between Carla and the only exit. She talks about Kit “stirring things”, digging where he shouldn’t, putting everything at risk. She accuses Carla of letting him get too close to the truth. To Costello. To whatever they were planning together. Becky insists she’s not going down for it. If someone is going to take the fall, it won’t be her.

Carla, drunk, shaken and already emotionally shredded, tries to stand her ground, insisting she hasn’t betrayed anyone, that she doesn’t even fully know what Becky is hiding. But Becky’s desperation has tipped into something far more dangerous. Her voice gets sharper. Her movements get faster. She locks the door. She closes in. She lashes out – hurling Carla’s glass, shattering the bottle, sending shards flying. The confrontation spirals from intimidation into something physically violent before Carla can catch up.

By the time Carla hits the floor, cut, bleeding and terrified, one thing is brutally clear: this isn’t a family row. This is survival. And Becky has decided she’s the one who’s going to survive.

Outside, life on the cobbles carries on – parties being planned, venues booked, apologies made, old romances reconsidered – completely unaware that in the factory office, Carla is breaking down while Becky crosses a line there is no coming back from.

It’s the night that changes Corrie forever.