PAIGE
The sight of them was a physical blow, a sucker punch to the gut that left breathless. For a mont, the roar of the party faded, replaced by a high-pitched hum in my ears. My palms felt clammy against the slick silk of my Versace gown.
But then, sothing cold and hard snapped into place deep inside . The shock didn’t lt into fear. It crystallized into resolve. The hum in my ears beca the ringing of a battle cry. This wasn’t a setback; it was the entire point.
My spine straightened. The hand that had been hovering nervously at my thigh, guarding the slit, dropped to my side, purposeful and steady. A deep, calming breath filled my lungs, and when I let it out, the last of my uncertainty went with it.
I wasn’t here to cower. I was here to conquer.
I turned slightly toward Reon, my voice low but clear, devoid of its earlier tremor. "The Silversteins are by the bar. Their hedge fund is looking to diversify into tech. An introduction would be... mutually beneficial."
I didn’t look at my parents again. My focus narrowed to the powerful faces around the room. Each handshake, each exchanged business card, each demonstration of my sharp, Tokyo University-honed mind was a brick I would use to build my own empire right under their noses.
Tonight wasn’t about hiding from them. It was about showing them, and everyone else, exactly who I was becoming.
Reon glanced down at , a flicker of sothing that wasn’t mockery—perhaps appraisal—in his dark eyes. A slow, subtle smirk touched his lips. "By all ans, Ms. Ristone," he purred. "Let’s go make an impression."
He offered his arm. This ti, I took it, not as an accessory, but as a partner stepping onto the battlefield.
Together, we moved through the crowd, a united front of ambition and vengeance, leaving my stunned parents watching the daughter they’d cast out walk away without a second glance.
The only thing is they hadn’t seen yet.
AUTHOR
The night unfolded with a sharp, electric energy. Paige was in her elent. She navigated the crowd with a grace that was both innate and calculated, her laughter at the right monts, her insights on market fluctuations razor-sharp.
She impressed the Silversteins, her analysis of their portfolio so keen it earned a slow, appreciative nod from the usually stoic patriarch. Other investors circled, drawn by her clear intellect and the confident way she held herself in that impossible dress.
But a different kind of attention also found her. A venture capitalist from the West Coast, his gaze lingering too long, his smile too personal when discussing liquidity.
An older shipping magnate, his eyes dropping to the slash of silk at her thigh before offering her a business card with a suggestive promise to "discuss opportunities privately."
Paige, focused on her goal, seed to brush it off, her responses polite but professionally distant.
Reon watched it all. His expression never changed. He remained the picture of a composed, amused CEO. But his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly when the VC’s hand found the small of Paige’s back to guide her through the crowd.
The ice in his glass clinked as his grip subtly tightened. A low, quiet intensity began to radiate from him, a shift in the air around them that only soone hyper-aware of him would notice.
He didn’t intervene. He didn’t need to. His presence itself beca a barrier. A slight shift of his shoulders would place him between Paige and an admirer.
A cool, dismissive glance would make the boldest among them reconsider their approach.
He never touched her, never raised his voice. But by the end of the night, he stood just a little closer, his posture a silent, unmistakable claim in a room full of threats. The ga had changed again, and the stakes had just been raised.
PAIGE
The buzz of successful conversation was still humming in my veins. I’d done it. I’d held my own, secured a follow-up eting, and for a few glorious minutes, I’d almost forgotten why I was really here. I was so focused on the future I was building that I’d completely forgotten to watch for the ghosts of my past.
A voice, sickly sweet and horribly familiar, sliced through the murmur of the crowd.
"Paige? Oh my goodness, it is you!"
I turned, and the world seed to slow down. Payton. Of course. How could I have been so stupid? An event this big, this glamorous—it was her natural habitat.
She stood there, a vision of faux-concern in a blindingly pink Marchesa gown, a half-full glass of red wine held delicately in her hand.
"I almost didn’t recognize you!" she gushed, stepping far too close. "I heard a rumor you were working as a... a secretary or sothing now. But to see you here..."
Her eyes raked over my Versace gown, a flicker of pure, undiluted jealousy in their depths before she plastered that fake smile back on.
"That’s a... brave dress," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was sohow louder than a shout. "It must have cost a fortune. Your new job must pay surprisingly well."
The insinuation was as crude as it was predictable. I opened my mouth to deliver a cutting retort, but I was a second too slow.
As she leaned in for a fake air-kiss, her elbow jerked. The deep crimson wine in her glass seed to arc through the air in perfect, horrifying slow motion.
There was a cold, shocking splash against my chest, followed by the imdiate, spreading stain of burgundy soaking into the pristine black silk. The cold seeped right through to my skin.
I gasped, stumbling back a step. The entire section of the party fell silent, all eyes snapping to us.
Payton’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with a perfect performance of horror. "Oh! Oh, no! My clumsy elbow! Paige, I am so sorry! You’re beautiful... dress..."
She didn’t sound sorry at all. She sounded triumphant.
I stood frozen, the cold wine and the heat of a hundred stares turning my skin to ice and fire all at once.
I looked down at the ruin of the gorgeous, expensive gown—the gown he had chosen—and felt a wave of pure, helpless humiliation.
How could I have been so oblivious? So focused on my own goals that I didn’t see the most obvious threat in the room? Payton hadn’t changed. She saw sothing I had, sothing I’d earned, and her first instinct was to ruin it.
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