HAILEY’S REVENGE

EpisodeTwo

Derek’s POV

The sleek black car purred as it rolled to a stop at the edge of the estate. The tires crunched softly against the gravel, and I stepped out, the cool evening air brushing against my face. Before I even took three steps, the front doors flew open, and a small army of staff flooded out like a well-rehearsed scene from a play.

“Welcome home, sir,” they chorused.

Mr. Williams, our head butler, stepped forward with his usual calm precision. “Your room has been prepared, sir. I’ve also drawn a bath, just the way you like it.”

I nodded, brushing past them with little more than a glance. “Thank you, Mr. Williams.”

As I reached the staircase, his voice caught me mid-step. “Sir,” he said, softer this time, “your father requested that you join him for dinner this evening.”

I paused. Just briefly. Then I kept walking, offering no reply. I didn’t need to. Silence said everything.

But of course, the silence didn’t last.

“So now you can’t even spare a moment for me? Not even on my birthday?”

That voice. Cold, sharp, and unmistakably familiar.

I turned slowly, jaw tight. My father stood at the top of the grand staircase, dressed in one of his damn tailored suits, cane in hand, eyes sharper than any blade.

A long pause. Then I gave him exactly what he asked for.

“Happy birthday,” I said flatly.

Without waiting for a response, I turned away and opened the door to my suite.

The moment I stepped inside, I let out a long breath. My jacket hit the couch first. Then I unbuttoned my shirt, letting it slide off my shoulders. The tension in my body hadn’t eased—if anything, it had deepened. I stared at my reflection for a second, at the hard lines of my body that people said made me look powerful. Invincible. But I felt none of that now.

My phone buzzed.

I picked it up. “Yes. Speak.”

A hesitant voice answered, cracking slightly. “S-Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience, but… we have a situation.”

I clenched my jaw. “What kind of situation?”

“The… the new secretary quit, sir. She’s the fifth one in three months.”

Of course she did.

“Fix it. Immediately. I need a secretary.”

“Yes, sir. It’s just… there aren’t any new applications coming in right now.”

Silence.

“I think—”

“You think what?”

Another beat.

“Forgive me, sir. These aren’t my words. It’s just… something I read.”

My patience thinned. “Start talking, Andrew. Now.”

He rushed the words out in one breath. “There’s been talk in the tabloids, sir. They’re saying you’re… well… a cold-hearted bastard. That you’re impossible to work with. That you make life miserable for your assistants.”

I stared out the window at the glowing city below, teeth gritted.

“They say no one wants to work for you anymore.”

I didn’t answer right away. Then I spoke, my voice cold as stone. “Find someone. And when you do… make sure she can handle the fire.”

I hung up and tossed the phone on the bed. It bounced, then fell silent.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Mr. Derek,” came a soft voice from the other side. “Dinner is ready. Your father asked me to inform you.”

They didn’t wait for a reply—just walked away.

I rolled my sleeves, inhaled deeply, and got dressed without a word. A few minutes later, I stepped into the cool night air, the garden bathed in candlelight and tension. A long table stretched out beneath the stars. I sat down, eyes fixed on the untouched food in front of me.

“How’s the company?” my father asked, his tone deliberately neutral.

“Fine,” I replied, not bothering to look at him.

“‘Fine’ doesn’t tell me anything, Derek.”

I finally glanced up, my voice sharper this time. “I’m sure you already know everything. You have Philip lurking in every hallway, reporting back to you like some damn shadow. So if you don’t know how the company is doing, maybe he’s not doing his job.”

His expression remained blank, but I saw the shift in his eyes.

I leaned back. “Speaking of which… what exactly did you do to those protesters outside the company yesterday? I was going to talk to them, but Philip said it was already ‘handled.’ Handled how? What was it about?”

Silence.

He didn’t need to say a word. I already knew.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the stone floor. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t even look back.

HAILEY’S POV

The bar was dimly lit, with warm jazz humming softly beneath a murmur of quiet conversations. The scent of aged whiskey and citrus wrapped around me the moment I stepped inside. I felt the eyes on me—just a flicker of attention, the way people instinctively turn when someone enters a room. But I kept walking, steady and composed.

I slid onto a stool at the bar and rested my elbows lightly on the counter, tapping my fingers against the wood.

“Can you put something together that’ll help me forget the last twenty-four hours ever happened?” I asked, my voice calm but frayed at the edges.

The bartender raised a brow. “Rough day?”

I let out a hollow laugh, not really meaning it. “I know what a rough day is… This? This is something else. This is a day soaked in pure, concentrated misery.”

I paused, letting the silence speak the rest. My eyes fixated on a spot in the distance as I whispered, “I couldn’t even go to my parents’ grave. I couldn’t visit Mama and Papa.”

My voice cracked, but I didn’t let it break me.

“I’m back in a city that used to be home, and I’ve never felt more like a stranger. I came here to carry on their legacy… but lately, I’m starting to wonder if I’m even strong enough for that.”

The bartender didn’t ask questions. Instead, he slid a glass across the counter. “Try this. It’s strong—and smooth.”

I took it, nodded, and downed it in one go. The burn was welcome—sharp, grounding. “Another.”

He didn’t argue. And the drinks kept coming.

By the time I reached my eighth glass, I could feel the edges of everything blurring. My shoulders had relaxed, my posture softened. I caught myself laughing more freely, though there was no joy in it. Just wine and exhaustion, twirling together behind my smile.

That’s when it happened.

The air shifted. A ripple of stillness passed through the bar.

People turned, murmuring in hushed tones.

“What’s going on?” I asked, squinting toward the entrance.

The bartender leaned in, lowering his voice. “The CEO of Arnold Groups just walked in.”

My heart stopped.

I turned my head sharply and caught only the silhouette—a tall, commanding figure disappearing into the VIP lounge.

No. It couldn’t be.

But I knew. I knew.

The fog of alcohol evaporated like mist under a flame, replaced by the jarring clarity of rage. My fingers curled tightly around the base of my glass as I stared at that retreating figure.

The man who led the empire responsible for my parents’ deaths. The man whose company orchestrated their murder and disguised it as an accident.

I wanted to march into that lounge and confront him—tear into him with every ounce of fury I’d bottled up for the past twenty years.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I reminded myself of the stakes. If I acted recklessly now, I’d lose everything. And they… they might do to me what they did to my parents.

Be smart, Hailey. Not reckless.

Almost an hour passed. I stared into my empty glass for most of it, the music fading into background noise. Then, gently, the bartender tapped the counter in front of me.

“Miss… I think you’ve had enough. I booked a ride to your hotel. It’s waiting outside.”

I gave him a faint nod and slid off the stool. My heels wobbled slightly, the floor seeming to tilt as I made my way to the exit.

That’s when I collided into someone—hard.

I stumbled, but before I could hit the ground, strong arms caught me. One hand pressed firmly against my back, the other curled around my waist, steadying me.

For a moment, time stopped.

I looked up—and my breath caught in my throat.

It was him.

Those piercing ice-blue eyes locked with mine, cold and unreadable. He looked exactly like he had at the airport—only now I was close enough to see the flicker of disbelief in his expression.

“You,” he said, like the word tasted strange in his mouth. “From the airport.”

I blinked, then gave him a wobbly smile. “Hmmm… are you stalking me now?”

His expression didn’t shift.

“I hope you’re not still mad about the drink thing,” I added, trying to mask my bitterness with sarcasm. “If you came here for suit compensation, forget it. Offer’s off the table.”

Still no reaction. Just that silent, assessing stare.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Are you drunk?”

His voice cut through me like ice. “You’ve been drinking. How irresponsible can you get?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed bitterly. “Well, good evening to you too, Mr. Empathy.”

“Move,” he snapped, brushing past me like I was just another problem to walk away from.

I stood frozen for a moment, still swaying slightly, still smiling—but now it was for myself. A defense. A reflex.

“That guy has no empathy,” I muttered under my breath, clutching my coat tighter around me. “Just a cold-hearted bastard.”

My voice trembled—not from the alcohol. From the ache his words unearthed.

“Irresponsible,” I whispered. “How dare he.”

He didn’t know anything about me. Didn’t know what today meant. Didn’t know that I had been carrying this grief—this mission—for twenty years.

I started pacing outside the bar, the cool air nipping at my skin.

“This isn’t me,” I said quietly. “I never drink more than two glasses. But today… I needed the noise to stop. I needed the silence in my chest to feel full again. And him—he couldn’t even offer a shred of decency.”

My throat tightened, and a single tear slid down my cheek. I didn’t bother wiping it away.

“I pray I never see that man again,” I whispered. “Because if I do…”

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling.