Nobody Dare Dumps This Curvy B*tch

Chapter 11

Gabby

The deep rumble of the Lamborghini’s engine echoed off the towering glass buildings of Wall Street as we pulled up to the main entrance of Vanny Holdings headquarters.

Nathan had chosen a low, pitch-black Lamborghini that sat close to the pavement like a dark shadow—one more reminder that he owned a fleet of luxury cars, each selected to project power, wealth, and status.

I pushed open the heavy butterfly door. The crisp morning air hit my face as the door lifted smoothly toward the sky. Placing one hand on the smooth leather frame, I drew a steady breath and stepped out onto the polished stone pavement in front of the towering glass skyscraper.

I straightened my spine, rolled my shoulders back, and smoothed the front of my dark navy blazer—the structured jacket Khloe had pulled from my closet only hours earlier. The fitted material hugged my chest, cinched in at my waist, and flowed naturally over my full hips.

For years, even before Joel only made things worse. I had hidden my figure under oversized hoodies and loose sweaters.

But today, standing beneath the massive brass logo of Vanny Holdings, I stopped hiding. I wore every curve with pride.

Nathan stepped out of the driver’s side and buttoned his grey suit jacket with effortless precision. The dark wool draped perfectly over his broad shoulders, marking him as the powerful billionaire CEO whose name was carved into the front of the building. He walked around the hood of the supercar and came to stand beside me, adjusting his dark silk tie.

As we moved toward the revolving glass doors, the atmosphere across the plaza shifted instantly. Everything went quiet.

Security guards, office workers holding paper coffee cups, young interns, and pedestrians on the sidewalk all froze. Whispers spread through the grand lobby like wildfire. I felt dozens of eyes tracing my figure—my narrow waist, the confident set of my shoulders—as I walked side by side with the most powerful man in the city.

Isn’t that the girl from the news?
 The chef from Brooklyn?
 Is she really Nathan Vanny’s fiancée?

The murmurs bounced off the marble walls, but I kept my head high and my chin level. I refused to look down or blush. Khloe’s fierce words from the night before pushed me forward with every step.

Nathan matched my pace, moving with calm, steady power. As we entered the lobby he placed his broad hand lightly against the small of my back. The warm pressure through my blazer sent a clear message to every watching employee: she is under my protection, and she belongs here.

We passed the main security desk without slowing, bypassed the crowded public elevators, and went straight to the private executive bank. Nathan drew a sleek gold keycard from his pocket and swiped it across the scanner. The heavy brass doors glided shut, sealing us inside quiet, leather-scented luxury.

The floor numbers on the digital screen climbed rapidly.

“They’re staring because they know everything in this building changed the moment you stepped out of that car,” Nathan said softly, his deep voice filling the elevator.

I met his reflection in the mirrored wall. His dark eyes were calm, steady, and intense.

“Let them stare,” I replied, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves. “I spent years hiding because people made me feel worthless and small. I’m done hiding, Nathan.”

A faint, rare smile touched the corner of his sharp mouth. “Good. Because in this building, confidence is the only thing that matters.”

The elevator continued its climb—20… 30… 40…

My heart beat a little faster as the screen passed the 45th floor, where Joel worked at a middle-management desk in Acquisitions, still trying to prove himself to the family board.

Chime.

The elevator slowed and the doors opened onto the 48th floor.

It was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows framed a sweeping view of the city skyline and the river below. Clean white marble floors reflected the morning light. The air itself felt quiet, expensive, and carefully controlled.

“Welcome to your office, Director Eni,” Nathan said, gesturing down the wide carpeted hallway.

I stepped out, my heels clicking sharply against the floor. As we turned the corner toward the main suite, I saw them waiting near the double doors.

Joel stood by the glass entrance to my new corner office, a thick black folder tucked under his arm. His silk tie was slightly crooked, his hair disordered, and his face tight with stress. Beside him, Titi stood with her arms crossed over an expensive dress, glaring down the hallway with open annoyance.

Joel had known I was coming—Nathan’s legal announcement the day before had made sure the entire company knew about my appointment. But seeing me in person, walking beside Nathan, was different. His eyes moved over my navy blazer, the curve of my hips, the confidence in my posture, then settled on the shiny brass nameplate mounted beside the heavy glass door:

GABBY ENI — EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR OF HOSPITALITY

Even though he had been warned, Joel looked shaken. His face paled. His grip on the folder tightened until his knuckles turned white. He swallowed hard, struggling to accept that the woman he had discarded after two short months now stood three floors above him in the corporate hierarchy.

Eight months ago he had treated me like trash and left me with a broken heart. Today I was his executive superior—the person who would approve his department’s event budgets.

I did not flinch or look away. I took a calm step forward, smoothed the front of my jacket, and met his eyes directly.

“Good morning, Manager Vanny,” I said, my voice smooth, even, and completely professional.