Chapter 4
Back in the penthouse, the atmosphere had shifted from festive elegance to a suffocating, silent warzone. Beatrice poured herself a glass of amber scotch, her diamond-encrusted bracelets clinking against the crystal decanter with a rhythmic, nervous cadence. Victoria sat opposite her at the velvet table, casually tracing the rim of an abandoned champagne flute with the tip of her index finger.
"You knew she was going to drain the operational accounts, didn't you?" Beatrice asked without looking up, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage.
"I knew Julian was too arrogant to read the fine print," Victoria corrected smoothly, taking a slow sip of her drink. "He thinks his charm is an adequate substitute for competence. Now the board is going to wake up tomorrow morning to find that their golden boy doesn't even own the roof over his head."
"This family’s reputation will be dragged through the mud," Beatrice hissed, slamming her glass down so hard the crystal fractured. "The scandal will ruin the foundation’s public offering next month. If the press gets wind of an illegitimate child and a deserted fiancée..."
"Let them talk," Victoria interrupted, her eyes flashing with a cold, calculating brilliance. "Scandal creates volatility, and volatility creates opportunity. When Julian hits rock bottom, he’ll finally be pliable enough to do what we’ve wanted him to do for the last five years: step down and hand the controlling shares over to the syndicate."
"You’re playing a dangerous game, Victoria," Beatrice warned, leaning forward. "Julian is desperate. A cornered animal doesn't negotiate; it attacks."
"Let him attack," Victoria smiled, the expression devoid of any warmth. "A cornered animal always leaves a trail of blood, and I intend to follow it straight to the executive chair."
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The heavy oak doors of the private parlor suddenly creaked open, admitting Julian in a swirl of damp autumn air and raw fury. His hair was disheveled, his black bow tie hanging loosely around his collar, and his eyes burned with an erratic, dangerous intensity. He strode directly to the table, sweeping the remaining crystal glasses off the surface with the back of his hand.
"Which one of you helped her?" Julian demanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper as the shattered glass rained down onto the imported Persian rug.
