"Turn back, TURN BACK. NOW!"
Under Helena’s surprised yelp and the astonished gazes of bodyguards following behind, David made a sharp 360-degree turn from the intersection. The screech of tires against asphalt echoed like a banshee’s wail as the luxury sedan perford an almost impossible maneuver.
"What’s going on?!?" Helena asked, her voice pitched higher than expectations at a family reunion. She was baffled by how the situation had suddenly turned more serious than a funeral director’s expression.
"Don’t worry, it’s nothing much." Vincent waved his hand dismissively, though his knuckles had gone whiter than fresh snow around his phone. "David, back to the Chillton hotel." His mind was spinning faster than a washing machine on the fritz. "Also call Raghu and his team of ten to co imdiately."
David’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he reached for his phone. In all his years of service, he’d rarely seen his boss this rattled but it would be weirder if he was not, considering the information.
Fifteen percent. Fifteen goddamn percent.
The numbers blazed across Vincent’s mind like neon signs in hell. Jin now held fifteen percent shares in Cornelius Holdings while Vincent himself owned forty-eight percent. His jaw clenched so tight it could have cracked walnuts.
How the fuck did this happen?
At first glance, any reasonable person would think Vincent was overreacting like so drama queen at a soap opera audition. After all, forty-eight percent was still considerably larger than fifteen percent. Even if Jin wanted to rally other shareholders and investors against him, the math simply didn’t add up to a hostile takeover.
But Vincent knew better. He always knew better.
The real nightmare wasn’t the shares themselves—it was the spider web Jin had been weaving while Vincent had been playing puppet master with Annapurna and ridian. Five percent shares in Annapurna. Ten percent shares in ridian. The bastard had sohow beco a major shareholder in Vincent’s most crucial business rivals.
And the routes. The damn routes.
For the past three days, Jin had been driving passengers who were connected to Vincent’s intelligence network like pieces on a chessboard. He’d appeared at locations at the exact tis where fake evidence was planted, where sensitive intelligence was exchanged, where Vincent’s most secretive gatherings were held.
Vincent’s blood ran colder than liquid nitrogen as the full picture crystallized in his mind.
The son of a bitch is collecting evidence. He’s building a case against .
The implications hit him like a punch in the gut. Jin would march into Annapurna and ridian’s boardrooms with his shareholder status and a briefcase full of Vincent’s dirty laundry. Would they dare ignore a major shareholder bearing gifts of corporate espionage? Would they risk their own necks by turning a blind eye?
Fuck no.
They would pounce on Vincent like vultures starving for weeks. Use every weapon in their arsenal to turn his own shareholders and board mbers against him. And Jin—that broken system-powered bastard—would be right there with his fifteen percent stake, ready to fan the flas of internal rebellion.
Vincent could already see the dominos falling. External attacks from two giant corporations. Internal mutiny from his own board. His corporate empire crumbling faster than a sandcastle in a tsunami.
I’ll lose my power, my money. I’ll lose everything.
Suddenly, a warm hand slipped into his ice-cold palm. Helena’s fingers intertwined with his, her touch more grounding than an anchor in a hurricane. Her eyes, those impossibly gentle yet concerned eyes searched his face with the intensity of soone trying to read a foreign language.
Vincent felt his racing heartbeat slow down. He drew a long breath that felt like his first gulp of air after nearly drowning, held it for a mont, then exhaled slowly. A chuckle escaped his lips—not the maniacal laugh of a villain, but sothing softer.
He pulled Helena into his arms, his hand stroking her silky hair with reverent gentleness. When did I beco such a panicking fool? Her familiar scent washed over him like a drug, calming his nerves better than any ditation technique.
"What would you do if I lost everything?" he asked after several minutes of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
Helena tilted her head back to et his gaze, her expression shifting from concern to sothing that looked suspiciously like mischief. "Then I suppose I’ll have to comfort myself with all those expensive dresses you bought . They should keep warm when we’re living in a cardboard box."
Vincent’s laugh was genuine this ti, warm and rich like aged whiskey.
Well, I guess I won’t lose everything.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Tsk tsk, why is such a beauty smiling with a sad expression? Jin thought while glancing at the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering on the woman’s lancholic face.
Since being kicked in the ba— ahem, since discovering the identity of his torntor, Jin had been working tirelessly, giving passengers rides with the dedication of a man possessed. His system had been issuing bizarre and seemingly random missions that made about as much sense as a chocolate teapot.
He had to pick specific individuals at specific tis and drop them to their destinations with the precision of a Swiss watchmaker. There were even weird instructions like circling a coffee shop seven tis after dropping a passenger off—like so dented ritual dance that would make a shaman proud. But it’s not like he was going to complain when the rewards were this sweet.
He had been overjoyed to get his pepe enlarged to a magnificent seven-inch big pepe and earn money and shares of certain corporations on the side too. Life was finally looking up for Jin’s little Jin.
He looked at the shares displayed on his system panel and his mouth curved up. I now have fifteen percent shares in the Cornelius Corporation. Once I have more than that bastard... heh. Just the thought of kicking Vincent out while claiming his woman had him grinning like a maniac.
anwhile, Olivia was sitting in the back seat leaning against the window as she recalled her past with Vincent. The mories washed over her like bitter dicine—necessary but painful to swallow.
The day she’d walked into Cornelius Holdings, she’d been prepared for another rejection. Her resu was thinner than tissue paper, her references more questionable than a politician’s promises and her experience limited to retail and food service jobs.
She’d been hollow-eyed and desperate. Vincent had looked at her—really looked at her—and seen sothing others had missed. "Tell ," he’d said, leaning back in his chair with an expression she couldn’t read, "what makes you think you can handle this position?"
She’d been honest, perhaps more than she should have been. "I can’t promise I have all the skills you need," she’d said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "But I can promise I’ll work harder than anyone else you interview. I learn fast, I don’t quit, and I don’t make the sa mistake twice."
Sothing in her tone must have convinced him, because he’d offered her the job on the spot. Not just any job—a real position with a real salary, benefits, and a chance to prove herself. He’d even helped her find a decent apartnt, nothing fancy but clean and safe, in a building that didn’t require her to fight off creeps in the hallway.
That first year had been challenging, but Vincent had been patient with her inexperience. He’d taught her everything from proper filing systems to corporate etiquette, showing her how to navigate the complex world of business with the grace of soone born to it. He’s so brilliant, she’d thought, watching him transform her from street trash into soone respectable.
"Efficiency," he’d say whenever she hesitated, his voice calm and instructive. "The corporate world rewards precision, not sentint." She’d hung on every word, grateful for his guidance. He was teaching her to be stronger, more professional, more worthy of the opportunity he’d given her.
She’d learned to anticipate his needs, to read the subtle signs that ant he was pleased or displeased with her work. When he forgot her birthday, she understood—important n like Vincent had weightier matters on their minds than the trivial celebrations of their employees. When he worked her through holidays while he attended important business vacations, she felt honored to be trusted with such responsibility. When he called her at 3 AM about urgent matters, her heart swelled with pride that he considered her reliable enough to handle critical situations.
The apartnt he’d helped her secure was in one of his buildings, offered at a rate she could actually afford. He’s so thoughtful, she’d marveled, making sure I’m safe and comfortable. Even the lease terms were generous—he’d personally ensured she wouldn’t be taken advantage of.
Vincent had been her guardian angel, her ntor, her salvation. He’d pulled her from the gutter, polished her rough edges, and given her purpose. Every lesson, every correction, every mont of his precious ti was a gift she didn’t deserve but treasured nonetheless.
Six years of his patient guidance had transford her from a broken girl into a competent professional. She’d learned to find imnse satisfaction in his rare monts of approval, to treasure the brief instances when he acknowledged her progress. A simple "well done" from Vincent ant more than all the praise she’d never received in her childhood combined.
He saved , she told herself, the sa grateful mantra she’d repeated for years. Everything I am, everything I have, I owe to him.
The love she felt for him was pure and hopeless—not the demanding love of equals, but the devoted adoration of soone who knew she could never be worthy of him. He was brilliant, powerful, perfect in every way that mattered. She was just grateful he’d chosen to care for her, to mold her into sothing useful, sothing that could serve a purpose in his magnificent world.
She still rembers the vague answer he had given to her feelings. She had assud that it was his way to reject her without hurting her.
Maybe... it really was ti to let go. The thought alone made her chest tighten.
The taxi hit a pothole, jolting her from her reverie. The taxi pulled up to her apartnt building—decent enough, not the worst place she’d lived but nothing fancy either. The brick facade was weathered but solid, and the hallways were clean if not luxurious. Olivia paid the fare and stepped out, her mind still heavy with thoughts.
"That’ll be twelve fifty," Jin said, though sothing about her lancholy expression lingered in his mind before he dismissed it. He had bigger concerns—naly Vincent Cornelius.
Olivia climbed the familiar stairs to the second floor, each step echoing softly in the quiet building. Emily, her sweet sister must be waiting for her.
As she turned the corner toward her apartnt, her heart dropped along with her phone.
The device clattered against the floor with a sound that seed to thunder in the suddenly suffocating hallway. Terror crashed over her like a tidal wave—the kind of primal fear that made her legs go weak and her breath catch in her throat.
The sound of her phone hitting the floor made all three n turn around.
Three n stood outside her door. Two strangers with predatory grins and eyes that undressed her without sha. And him.
Her father. The person she hates the most in this world.
Swaying slightly on his feet, reeking of cheap whiskey even from several feet away. His clothes were wrinkled, his face flushed red, but his bloodshot eyes lit up when he saw her.
"Haha, my daughter, you are finally here!" her father exclaid with drunken enthusiasm, stumbling forward with arms spread wide as if expecting a loving embrace. "I missed you so much, sweetheart! But Emily—" he gestured dramatically toward the closed apartnt door, "—she won’t even open up for her dear old dad." His words slurred together as he grinned that familiar, alcohol-fueled smile that had haunted her childhood.
P.S.- Changed Olivia’s sister’s na from Celia to Emily.
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