Chapter 1
1512 Words
Stolen Credit: The Ultimate Boss Dominates
1
"Get that woman away from my son." The billionaire's wife slid a bank card across the prison table. Fifty million.
I pocketed the card. "Done."
But at school, his precious little girlfriend thought her to be innocent. Her teary-eyed act was enough to get rid of me.
She faked a fall to frame me? I grabbed her and kicked her down the stairs for real. "Pay attention," I told her. "That is a push."
She tried to have acid thrown at me? I intercepted the vial and slapped the proof right across her face. "Pay attention. That is hard evidence."
She paid the local mob to cripple me? I dragged the gang boss to his knees and threw the receipt right at her boyfriend's chest. "Pay attention. She used your credit card to buy my hands."
Staring down at her terrified, bloodless face, I just laughed.
I'm a ruthless b***h fresh out of a prison cell.
Play games with me? You must have a death wish.
Prison 4, Exile Zone. Visitation Room.
The fluorescent light overhead flickered and buzzed. More than half of the paint had peeled off the metal table, exposing the rust beneath.
Madam Elara sat at one end, immaculate in a bespoke suit. Careful not to touch the rust, she slid a matte black card across the table.
"Fifty million euros," Elara said, her eyes fixed on the girl opposite her. "Break my son and that pathological liar apart."
Selena leaned back against the cracked plastic chair, her faded prison uniform hanging loose on her frame. Her hands rested on her lap as her gaze dropped to the black card.
She didn't answer at once. A faint, cold smile touched the corner of her mouth.
After half a month of dangling bait on the black market, the big fish had finally bitten.
Half a month ago, Selena had bribed a prison guard with two packs of cheap cigarettes to pass a message into the underground: A mechanic named Selena in Prison 4 is finishing her sentence. Ruthless. Deadly grudge against Chloe, the woman beside the Sterling heir.
She had calculated that Elara was desperate to get rid of the girl with the questionable background hanging around her son. She also knew this haughty noblewoman wanted a blade sharp enough to use—and easy enough to discard.
"Why me?" Selena asked, her tone flat. She already knew the answer.
"Because I looked into your background," Elara said arrogantly. "Your name is Selena, a mechanic raised in a junkyard in the Exile Zone. You have a blood feud with Chloe, the crime you're serving time for was a setup she paid for. You need a stepping stone for revenge, and I need someone to do the dirty work."
Elara pulled out a document stamped with a steel seal and slapped it down beside the black card, along with a few candid photos.
"I don't need some sniveling i***t. I need someone who won't go soft on her." Elara tapped the document. "This is your new enrollment file. You'll enter St. Lawrence Academy as my adopted daughter, Lena. With this, you can stand in front of Damon and Chloe openly. From now on, your name is Lena."
Selena's eyes swept over the file.
A blood feud. Of course.
Three years ago, on a deserted highway, she had dragged a critically injured Damon out of the wreck after an ambush.
During the rescue, her pocket watch—a keepsake repaired and gifted to her by her adoptive father, Oren—had snagged on the twisted metal and fallen into a pool of blood. After getting Damon to safety, she had rushed back to the hospital to care for Oren, who was already gravely ill.
In her rush to pay the medical bills, she had pressed the broken watch into Oren's palm to comfort him. She hadn't known Chloe had been hiding in the shadows, following her all the way to the hospital.
To steal the one thing that could bridge the gap between their worlds, Chloe had pulled out Oren's life-support tube while Selena was away.
Selena would never forget the old security footage she later paid a fortune to recover on the black market: Oren, in his final moments, clutching the pocket watch desperately to protect it. And Chloe, in high heels, prying apart the stiffening fingers of a dying old man to snatch it away.
After that, Chloe paid local thugs to frame Selena and send her straight to the Exile Zone. Meanwhile, Chloe appeared at Damon's bedside with that same pocket watch and became the lofty savior of the Sterling heir.
Selena pulled herself back to the present and sat up straight.
She pinned the black card with two fingers and dragged it directly in front of her.
"When does the money hit my account?"
Elara paused for half a second, seemingly surprised by her bluntness.
"Half now. The rest when the job is done."
"Deal." Selena shoved the black card into her prison pocket, picked up the enrollment file, and stood. Leaning over the rusted table, she looked down at the noblewoman.
"But we do this my way," Selena said, her voice cold enough to freeze steel. "I take your money, and I do the job. How I tear them apart is none of your business. When I move, I'll strip them to the bone. No matter how ugly it gets, you handle the fallout."
Elara looked at her unflinching face and tapped the table.
"Deal."
Two days later. West District, Exile Zone.
A rusted rolling door rattled up, kicking dust into the air. Sunlight cut into the garage, thick with the smell of motor oil.
Wearing a black tactical windbreaker zipped to the top, Selena crossed to the corner and yanked off a dust tarp.
A jet-black, heavily modified motorcycle was revealed. Its lines were sharp and brutal, the matte-finished exhaust gleaming faintly. This was the beast she had ridden in her underground mechanic days.
She swung onto the bike and snapped her phone into the mount. The screen lit up:
International wire transfer. 25 million euros received.
She barely glanced at the digits. She grabbed the black helmet hanging from the rearview mirror, strapped it on, and turned the key.
VROOM.
The engine, silent for three years, roared back to life.
Selena, now going by Lena, twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle shot out of the garage like a black beast, tearing toward St. Lawrence Academy in the city center.
1:00 PM. St. Lawrence Academy Main Gate.
It was lunch break, and the main thoroughfare was packed. Sunlight filtered through the sycamore leaves, scattering over the pristine plaza tiles.
Chloe stood by the fountain, surrounded by a group of students. She wore the academy's perfectly tailored uniform and held several mechanical design blueprints.
"Chloe, your designs are amazing," a girl beside her gushed. "You're definitely taking first place in next month's dynamics competition again."
"Exactly. Not only did she save Damon's life, but she's also a recognized mechanical genius. I'm so jealous," a boy chimed in.
Chloe tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her smile gentle and modest. "I'm still revising them. I've used up most of my earlier inspiration, so I need to polish the details if I want to win."
"Damon's definitely coming to help you review the blueprints this afternoon," the girl teased.
Chloe gave a soft laugh. "He has meetings at the conglomerate this afternoon. He's very busy. I told him not to rush."
A chorus of envious cheers broke out around her.
VROOM—
A brutal engine roar ripped in from the far end of the street, instantly shattering the calm of the plaza. The sound was massive, carrying a reckless, oppressive force. Heads turned in unison.
A black heavy motorcycle came tearing toward them, ignoring the academy's speed limit entirely and barreling straight for the fountain square.
"Watch out!" students screamed, scattering to both sides.
Less than three meters from Chloe, the front wheel snapped left. The rider slammed the front brake.
Rubber shrieked against stone as the tires carved a black streak across the tiles. The beast stopped dead in the middle of the road.
Dust blew over Chloe. Terrified, she stumbled backward, nearly dropping her blueprints, her perfect smile wiped clean off her face.
Selena killed the engine and kicked down the stand. She swung a long leg over the chassis, her boots planting firmly on the ground.
She unbuckled the chinstrap, pulled off the helmet with one hand, and hooked it over the handlebar.
The wind whipped her long hair around, but she didn't bother with it. One hand slid into her windbreaker pocket as her gaze cut through the panicked crowd and locked onto Chloe's face.
The moment Chloe saw her, her breath caught.
Her nails dug hard into her palms as the color drained from her face.
'That woman was clearly framed and sent to prison by her, so how could she be standing here?'
- Writer
