The journey continues—the next chapter changes the course of the story.

3 - 15

The boutique had gone so quiet you could hear the hum of the electronic price tags.

Trevor was still pinned to the marble floor by Roman’s guards, his face pressed against the cold stone, his expensive silk tie twisted into a helpless knot. His breathing came in ragged, panicked gasps as his brain desperately tried to process the surreal nightmare unfolding around him.

“Get—get these animals off me!” Trevor choked out, spitting a speck of dust from his lip. “Do you have any idea who I am? I’m closing a multi-million dollar portfolio with Vanguard Holdings! Mr. Vance himself is signing off on my division!”

Roman didn't turn around. He remained kneeling before Sadi, his thumb gently brushing a speck of lint from the sleeve of her cashmere sweater. His eyes, usually pools of calculated ice when dealing with board members and syndicate rivals, softened with an intensity that borderlined on terrifying devotion whenever he looked at her.

“Did he touch you anywhere else?” Roman asked quietly, his voice carrying a lethal undertone that made the sales associate behind the counter press herself flat against the back wall.

Sadi let out a soft sigh, shaking her head. She looked down at Trevor, who was squirming like an insect under a microscope.

“Just my leg, Roman,” Sadi said, her voice completely steady. “He was in a hurry. Apparently, my presence offended his delicate aesthetic.”

Roman slowly stood up to his full height, towering over the groveling executive. Only then did he turn his cold, expressionless gaze down toward Trevor. The silence that stretched between them felt heavy enough to crush bone.

“Vanguard Holdings,” Roman murmured, tasting the words as if they were foul poison. He turned slightly toward his head of security, a hulking man with a scar slicing through his left eyebrow. “Miller. Check Vanguard’s current payroll. Find out what tier of middle-management parasite this creature claims to occupy.”

Miller tapped a sleek, encrypted device on his wrist. “Already pulled up, sir. Trevor Sterling. Assistant Vice President of Acquisitions. Not a senior partner. He was demoted last month due to embezzlement flags in his department audit.”

Trevor’s eyes bulged out of his head. “That’s—that’s a lie! I’m vital to the firm! Mr. Vance, you don't understand—!”

“Mr. Vance is standing right in front of you, you incompetent fool,” Roman said smoothly, his tone chillingly polite.

The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis for Trevor. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving him a ghastly, chalky white. His jaw went slack.

“Vance…” Trevor whispered, the name rattling in his throat like broken glass. “You’re… you’re Roman Vance? The owner? The majority shareholder?”

“The very same,” Roman replied softly. He slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers, looking down at Trevor the way a marine biologist looks at a particularly uninteresting specimen under a microscope. “And for the past three years, my company has been quietly absorbing every asset, every debt, and every subsidiary attached to Vanguard Holdings. As of this morning, Trevor, your entire corporate structure belongs to me. Which means your employment status was officially terminated approximately four minutes ago.”

The blonde woman, who had frozen in absolute terror against the glass display case, let out a high-pitched squeak of panic and took a clumsy step backward, her Louboutin heels clicking frantically against the floor. “Trev… what is he talking about? Who are these people?!”

Trevor ignored her, his eyes wide with a frantic, animalistic terror as the pieces finally clicked together in his alcohol-addled, ambition-blinded brain. He looked from Roman—the billionaire shadow who owned half the city’s skyline and controlled the underworld networks beneath it—to Sadi, the quiet, unassuming woman standing beside him in loose denim and an oversized sweater.

“Sadi…” Trevor whimpered, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine as he tried to shift his weight on the marble floor. “Sadi, baby… tell him. Tell him we go back. Tell him you know me. We used to… we used to live together. You know I’m a good guy. Please, tell him to let me up.”

Sadi looked down at him. There was no anger left in her heart, no bitter desire for vengeance, and certainly no warmth. There was only the cold, distant pity one feels when looking at a dead animal rotting on the side of the road.

“When you took my last six hundred dollars from the kitchen jar and left that sticky note three years ago, Trevor,” Sadi said softly, her voice echoing in the dead silence of the boutique, “you told me I was dragging you down. You told me I would never amount to anything, that I was destined to stay in the dirt.”

She stepped closer, the pristine white toe of her sneaker stopping inches from his face.

“You were right about one thing,” she continued, a faint, chilling smile touching the corners of her lips. “I didn't stay in the dirt. But you’re about to find out what happens when you try to kick someone who lives in the penthouse.”

Roman placed a heavy, possessive hand on the small of Sadi’s back, pulling her slightly closer to his side. He nodded once to his head of security.

“Pack up his things, evict him from his corporate housing by midnight, and make sure he never sets foot in any commercial district in this city again,” Roman commanded, his voice cold as arctic wind. “And Miller?”