Chapter 3

After seven years, Thomas's voice hadn't changed at all—only grown raspier, and far more sickening.

I paused, keeping my tone flat. "Speaking."

"Ah, Ms. Sterling! I'm Julian's father, Thomas Vance."

"Julian told me about what happened today. You know how young men can be—a bit hot-headed. Please don't take it to heart."

Unsurprisingly, he didn't recognize my voice at all.

Of course he didn't.

To him, I had never been a daughter. I had been an object.

He had raised me only to trade me off in an arranged marriage the moment I turned eighteen to inject cash into his business.

And when Julian needed an Ivy League recommendation, he hadn't hesitated for a second to toss me onto an old pervert's bed.

Even after I vanished into the night, he had never cared whether I lived or died.

A sharp phantom throb pulsed through my wrist.

I gripped the phone tightly. "State your business."

"Well, Vance Group is hitting a temporary rough patch, and we urgently need your investment to bridge the gap. Could you show some professional courtesy? If you help us, name your price! Money? Equity? Or... something else?"

The sleazy undertone in his voice was unmistakable.

A wave of nausea washed over me. "Vance Group isn't worthy of Sterling Capital's money."

The line went silent for a few beats. When Thomas spoke again, the polite veneer shattered.

"Ms. Sterling, don't burn bridges you might need to cross. Don't think for a second that sleeping your way into Sterling Capital makes you untouchable. Arthur Sterling is an old man—how long do you think he can protect you? Besides..."

His voice dropped into a venomous whisper. "Arthur's wife, Eleanor Sterling, is notorious for destroying any side-piece who dares look at her husband.”

“If you don't want your little affair exposed to Mrs. Sterling, and you don't want your skin peeled off, you'd better sign that check for Vance Group. Otherwise, private photos of you will be trending on Twitter by tomorrow morning!"

My voice was ice. "Go ahead and try."

He flew into a rage. "Fine! Just you wait! Don't come crawling back crying!"

He slammed the phone down.

That very night, Julian went live on TikTok.

On screen, he looked disheveled and pale, his eyes rimmed with red, playing the perfect victim.

"Guys, I really didn't want to make this public, but corporate corruption is destroying our industry!"

"There are women out there with zero qualifications who climb into the beds of powerful old billionaires just to get handed C-suite titles!"

"She knows nothing about venture capital! She rejected Vance Group not because our tech isn't solid, but because of a petty personal grudge—because I rejected her advances!"

"She's an escort in a designer blazer! The billions she manages are funded by her bedroom favors! People like her in power are a disgrace to the entire business world!"

Because Julian was conventionally attractive and held the title of CEO of Vance Group, the livestream exploded.

The chat scrolled at lightning speed, thousands of comments hurling disgusting slurs at me.

Soon, so-called "insiders" leaked the exact date I took over the investment division, fabricating graphic stories about how I allegedly seduced the Chairman.

The scandal skyrocketed to the top of trending topics on Twitter and Instagram.

Users started tagging Eleanor Sterling's verified account.

[Mrs. Sterling, wake up! Your husband's sugar baby is running wild!]

[Drag that home-wrecking gold digger out into the streets!]

Julian somehow found my private number and sent me a text.

[Scared yet, little bitch?]

[Get on your knees, beg me, call me Master, and wire the investment. Do that, and maybe I'll delete the stream.]

I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh.

Is that your grand counterattack, 'brother'?

Slander, smear campaigns, and slut-shaming.

I typed two words back:

[That's it?]

Maya called me a minute later, her voice bordering on hysterical.

"Ms. Sterling, PR is in full panic mode! Mrs. Sterling’s chief of staff just called asking for a full briefing—"

"Don't panic," I said, a dark smile curling my lips. "If they want a spectacle, let's give them a front-row seat. Vance Group wants money, right? I'm about to hand them a massive gift."