A deal with the tyrant

"And that's a wrap! Netim, you were perfect. The campaign's going to be huge." Netim smiled at the photographer, still perched on the white leather couch in her silk blouse and tailored trousers. The photoshoot for *Elite Magazine's* "30 Under 30: Heirs Building Legacies" had gone flawlessly. Three hours of perfect lighting, perfect angles, perfect lies. Her phone, sitting face-up on the makeup table, lit up. Then again. And again. "Someone's popular," the makeup artist laughed. But Netim's smile faltered. The notifications were coming too fast. Her phone was vibrating continuously now, buzzing like an angry wasp. She stood, walking toward it—and her heart stopped. **47 missed calls. 89 text messages. 156 social media notifications.** "What the—" The photographer's assistant gasped. "Oh my God. Turn on the TV." Someone grabbed the remote. The massive screen on the studio wall flickered to life—and there it was. **BREAKING NEWS: DANJUMA EMPIRE COLLAPSES - BILLIONAIRE CEO UNDER INVESTIGATION** Netim's face went numb. Her father's photo filled the screen. Beside it, cascading lists of numbers. Debts. Loans. Offshore accounts. The news anchor's voice was sharp, excited, feeding on the scandal like a vulture. "—reports confirm that Chief Danjuma's company has been hemorrhaging money for over two years, with sources citing gambling debts exceeding $340 million—" "No." The word came out strangled. "No, that's not—" "—hostile takeover completed this morning by Vasilis Holdings, the investment firm owned by Greek billionaire Maximos Vasilis—" The screen split. Her father on one side. A man she'd never seen on the other—dark-haired, sharp-featured, cold-eyed. The predator who'd devoured her family whole. "—Danjuma's daughter, Netim Danjuma, was unavailable for comment—" Then her own face appeared. The photo from today's shoot. Someone had already leaked it. She was smiling in the picture, radiant, oblivious. The caption beneath read: **From Heiress to Nothing: Netim Danjuma's Fall from Grace** Her phone rang. Her father. She didn't answer. It rang again. Unknown number. Again. Again. The studio had gone silent. Everyone was staring at her. "I—I have to go." She grabbed her bag, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip it. "Netim, wait—" But she was already running. --- The drive home was a blur. Her phone wouldn't stop ringing. She threw it into the passenger seat, but she could still hear it—vibrating, buzzing, screaming for attention. Every red light felt like an eternity. Every billboard she passed seemed to mock her. Her life had imploded and the world was still moving, still breathing, still living like nothing had happened. She needed Jared. Three years together. Three years of late-night talks and weekend getaways and promises of forever. He'd steady her. He'd tell her everything would be okay. He'd hold her while she fell apart. She grabbed her phone at the next light, dialing with trembling fingers. *Ring. Ring. Ring.* Voicemail. She called again. *Ring. Ring. Ring.* Voicemail. "Jared, please. Please pick up. Something's happened. I need you. Please." She tried five more times before she reached his apartment building. --- The doorman barely glanced at her as she rushed past. She'd been here a thousand times. She had a key to Jared's penthouse, tucked in the zippered pocket of her purse. The elevator ride felt endless. *He's probably asleep*, she told herself. *He doesn't know. He'll hold you and everything will make sense again.* The hallway was quiet. Expensive art on the walls, thick carpet under her feet. Jared's door was at the end—sleek, black, imposing. She knocked first. "Jared? Baby, it's me." Nothing. She knocked again, harder. "Jared!" Still nothing. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the key. Maybe he had his headphones on. Maybe he was in the shower. Maybe— She unlocked the door and stepped inside. The apartment was dim, curtains drawn. But she could hear something. Music, low and sultry, coming from the bedroom. Relief flooded through her. He was home. "Jared?" She walked down the hallway, her heels clicking softly. "Jared, I really need to—" The bedroom door was open. And Netim's world shattered for the second time that day. Jared was on the bed. Adanna was with him. Her best friend. Her maid of honor at the wedding they'd been planning. The woman who'd held her hair back when she was sick, who'd stayed up with her through finals, who'd sworn they'd be friends until they were old and gray. Naked. Tangled together. Laughing. Netim's bag slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud. They both froze. "Netim—" Adanna's eyes went wide. But Jared—Jared just stared at her. No shock. No guilt. Just... inconvenience. "You weren't supposed to be here," he said flatly. "I wasn't—" Her voice cracked. "I called you. Fifteen times. I needed you and you—" "We heard." Adanna grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around herself. "Netim, I'm so sorry. This isn't—we didn't mean for you to find out like this." "Find out?" Netim's voice was rising, shrill with panic and rage. "How long? How *long*?" "Does it matter?" Jared swung his legs off the bed, completely unbothered by his nakedness, by her tears, by any of it. "Your life's over anyway. I saw the news." The words hit like a slap. "What?" "Your father's broke. The company's gone. Everything you had—" He gestured vaguely. "Gone. Did you really think I was going to stick around for that?" "You *bastard*—" "We had plans, Netim." Adanna's voice was sharp now, defensive. "Your father was supposed to transfer the company to you. We were going to help you run it, turn it into something real. But he gambled it all away before we could—" Understanding crashed over her like ice water. "You were using me." "We were building a future!" Adanna stood, sheet wrapped around her like armor. "A future you were too stupid and too spoiled to see. Your father was destroying everything, and you just smiled and played dress-up for magazines." "So you leaked it." Netim's hands clenched into fists. "The scandal. You told the press." Adanna's chin lifted. "Someone had to stop pretending your family was worth saving." "Get out." Jared's voice was cold, final. "You're embarrassing yourself." "This is *your* apartment—" "And I'm asking you to leave." He pulled on his pants, not even looking at her anymore. "We're done, Netim. You, me, all of it. I'm not going down with your sinking ship." "Jared—" "*Leave.*" She ran. Down the hallway, into the elevator, through the lobby. The doorman called after her but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She made it to her car before the sobs came—violent, choking, tearing out of her chest like something had broken inside. Her father had lied. Her boyfriend had betrayed her. Her best friend had destroyed her. Everything was gone. Netim started the car with shaking hands. She didn't know where she was going. Home? What home? The penthouse apartment her father leased? The one that would be taken away when his assets froze? Tears blurred her vision as she pulled onto the street. She wiped them away furiously, but they kept coming—hot, angry, helpless. Everything was gone. Her family's legacy. Her future. The man she loved. Her best friend. The traffic light ahead turned red, but she barely saw it through her tears. She pressed the gas instead of the brake. A horn blared. Headlights flooded her windshield—bright, blinding, too close. Netim slammed on the brakes. Her car screeched to a halt, the seatbelt cutting into her chest. The other vehicle stopped inches from her bumper, both cars angled awkwardly in the intersection. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn't breathe. The other driver's door opened. "Oh God," she whispered. She fumbled with her seatbelt, her hands still shaking. She had to apologize. She had to— She stumbled out of her car, her heels unsteady on the asphalt. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see—" The man stepped into the streetlight. Tall. Dark suit. Sharp features that looked like they'd been carved from stone. And those eyes—cold, assessing, familiar. She'd seen that face on the news an hour ago. Seen it on the screen that had destroyed her life. Maximos Vasilis. The man who'd taken everything. Something inside her snapped. "You son of a bitch." She didn't think. Didn't hesitate. She crossed the space between them in three strides, her hand already rising—and slapped him across the face with everything she had left.