Hungry
1144 Words
TWO YEARS LATER
AUNIKA
I signed my name on a contract worth fifty million dollars.
The pen felt heavier than it should have. Maybe because E.R. Marshall wasn't just a name; it was armor. A shield between Aunika Shaw, the broken secretary, and the woman I was becoming.
"Congratulations, Ms. Duvall." Richard Voss, CEO of Pinnacle Industries, shook my hand with the kind of respect I'd never seen in Marlon's boardroom. "This partnership will be revolutionary."
I smiled, the practiced expression that had taken months to perfect. Not too warm, warmth was weakness in this world. Not too cold, that made people suspicious. Just enough to suggest I might be human underneath the designer suit.
"Revolutionary investments require revolutionary thinking, Mr. Voss."
He laughed like I'd said something profound instead of corporate b*llshit. Amazing what money can do to people's perception of your intelligence.
My assistant, Nikita, appeared at my elbow as Voss's team filed out. She was nothing like me; tall, blonde, born into money but smart enough to work anyway. The kind of woman who belonged in these circles.
"The Williams merger documents are ready for review," she said quietly. "And your four o'clock called to reschedule."
I nodded, already turning back to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office. Fifty floors up, the city looked different. Smaller. Like something, I could reach out and grab if I wanted it badly enough.
Which I did.
"Any word on the Xylaron Tech situation?"
Nikita's pause lasted a heartbeat too long. "Their stock dropped another twelve points this morning. Sources say they're hemorrhaging investors after that data breach in Tokyo."
Xylaron Tech. Marlon's crown jewel, bleeding money like a severed artery. I'd had nothing to do with the breach, but I wasn't exactly crying about it either.
"Pity," I said, not meaning it.
"There's something else." Nikita's voice got careful. "Alexander Sterling called. About the gala on Saturday night."
My reflection stared back from the window; sleek black hair, red lips, a dress that cost more than my old apartment's yearly rent. I looked like money. Old money. The kind that opened doors and closed mouths.
But underneath, where no one could see, something else was growing. Something that felt like power but tasted like revenge.
"What about it?"
"He wanted to confirm you'd be his date."
Alexander Sterling. Victoria's older brother, heir to an art empire that made most people's trust funds look like pocket change. Handsome in that perfect, untouchable way. Smart enough to run a business, ruthless enough to destroy his competition.
And absolutely nothing like his sister's fiancé.
"Tell him I'll be there."
Nikita made a note on her tablet. "Should I prepare talking points about the Marshall Ventures expansion?"
"No need. I doubt business will come up."
That was a lie. Business always came up when you were worth nine figures and climbing, but Saturday night wasn't about business.
It was about making sure Marlon saw exactly what he'd thrown away.
**
The penthouse elevator climbed toward my apartment with a whisper-quiet efficiency that still made my chest tight sometimes. Too quiet. Too smooth. Like the whole world was holding its breath.
I kicked off my heels the moment I walked through the door, sighing as my feet hit marble that was actually heated. Heated floors. Christ, two years ago, I'd been excited when my radiator worked.
"Mama?"
The voice hit me like it always did; pure joy and terror mixed together in a cocktail that made my knees weak.
Arhzel ran towards me, dark hair curling around his ears, golden eyes bright with excitement. My son. My perfect, impossible, dangerous secret.
"Hey, baby." I scooped him up, breathing in that sweet scent that was purely him. No wolf musk yet .. thank God. That would come later, when he was older. When I figured out how to explain why Daddy wasn't around.
"You worked all day?"
"Mama worked. But I'm home now." I placed a kiss on his chubby cheeks and he chuckled.
Mrs. Patterson, his nanny, appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. Sixties, gray-haired, the kind of woman who'd raised half of Manhattan's elite children and kept their secrets like state treasures.
"He's been asking for you all afternoon," she said warmly. "He refused his nap until I promised you'd read him the dragon book."
The dragon book. About a young prince who had to learn to control his fire-breathing before he accidentally burned down the kingdom. Arhzel was obsessed with it.
I settled into the reading chair by the window; Arhzel curled against my chest like he belonged there. Which he did. He was the only good thing that had come from that nightmare at the gala.
"Once upon a time," I began, "there was a little prince who didn't know how powerful he was..."
Arhzel's breathing evened out before I finished the second page. I kept reading anyway, partly because I loved the story, partly because it gave me time to think.
Saturday night, I'd walk into that gala on Alexander Sterling's arm. I'd smile and make small talk and pretend to be fascinated by whatever boring charity they were supporting this year. And somewhere in that glittering crowd, Marlon would see me.
Really see me.
Not the secretary he'd rejected. Not the omega who'd collapsed at his feet. But the woman I'd become. The woman who'd built an empire out of site and determination and old family money that most people had forgotten existed.
My phone buzzed against the side table. Text message.
Xylaron’s Tech stock at 52-week low. Investors pulling out faster than rats from a sinking ship. Thought you'd want to know. - N
Nikita. Always efficient, always one step ahead.
Another text came through immediately after.
Also, interesting development. Marlon Lance just called Marshall Ventures directly. He wants a meeting.
I stared at the phone screen, heart hammering against my ribs. Arhzel stirred in my lap, making soft sounds that meant he was dreaming.
Marlon wanted a meeting. With E.R. Marshall.
With me.
He had no idea, of course. No idea that the mysterious investor he was about to beg for money was the same omega he'd destroyed two years ago. The same woman whose resignation he'd accepted without a second thought.
I typed back: Schedule it for Monday. Conference room A. And Nikita? Make sure he has to wait.
Her response was immediate: How long?
I looked down at my son, at his perfect little face and his father's golden eyes, and smiled.
Long enough to remember what desperation feels like.
I set the phone aside and closed my eyes, still holding Arhzel close. Wednesday would be the beginning. Saturday would be the real show.
But tonight, I just wanted to hold my son and pretend that revenge was the only thing I was hungry for.
- Writer
