RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

RUTHLESS FORGIVENESS

Victoria Jackson forced a bright, practiced smile onto her face, smoothing down her designer skirt as she stepped into the room.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she purred.

The response was a wall of absolute silence. At the long mahogany table, the Salvatore triplets didn't look up from their tablets; they merely offered identical, synchronized nods that felt more like a warning than a greeting.

Behind the massive desk sat Lowin Vance. His sharp, grey eyes were locked entirely on his laptop screen, the cool glow throwing his harsh jawline into sharp relief.

When he spoke, his voice was a clinical baritone that cut straight through the room's air conditioning.

"What happened to booking appointments?"

Debrin Salvatore who had just taken a sip of water, almost choked. He hastily swallowed, coughing into his fist. "So brutal," he muttered under his breath, exchanging a highly amused glance with Damien.

Victoria's chest tightened, a volatile mix of humiliation and anger stirring deep inside her. She marched closer, her heels clicking aggressively against the polished marble. "I want to speak with you, Lowin. It's important."

"Make it quick," he replied, his fingers moving across the keyboard with ruthless efficiency. "I'm busy."

Victoria stiffened, her manicured nails digging into the leather of her purse. She shot a pointed look at the side of the room. "Alone."

The triplets didn't need to be told twice. They rose in a fluid, synchronized motion, rolling their eyes with the collective boredom of men who had seen this drama a thousand times.

Debrin murmured a sarcastic "good luck" as he passed Lowin's desk. Dane delayed at the threshold, peeking his head back into the office with a teasing, dangerous glint in his eyes.

"I can leave my gun with you, boss," Dane said, tapping his leather holster. "It's loaded... just in case you can't use yours."

Lowin snapped his head up, leveling Dane with a fierce glare.

Dane shrugged, completely unfazed. "See ya."

The door clicked shut, sealing the silence. Victoria dropped her high-society shield, stamping her foot angrily as she rushed to his side. "Why are you treating me like this? Did I do something wrong?" Her voice cracked, instantly shifting into a pitiful, victimized whimper.

Lowin didn't look up. "You said it was important, Victoria. And I haven't heard you say a single important thing yet."

"Are my feelings not important to you?"

"They are, Victoria," Lowin stated flatly, his gaze still fixed on his data sheets. "I'm just entirely uninterested in your bullshit right now."

"Where did you go last night?" she burst out, her desperation finally breaking through. "And who the hell were you with?!"

Lowin clicked his tongue. The sound was tiny, but it carried the weight of a hammer. A dark, suffocating anger rose inside his chest. He reached out, his thumb deliberately striking a single key on his laptop.

Across the room, the massive wall monitor which had been quietly playing a loop of last night's red-carpet gala interviews flickered. The screen split, flashing to a grainy, high-definition security angle inside a VIP restroom corridor.

On screen, Victoria was distinctly shown slipping a small, translucent vial into the hand of a catering waiter.

The color vanished from Victoria's face so fast she looked bloodless under the office lights. A cold dread gripped her throat; she stared at the screen, genuinely wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

"What was this about?" Lowin asked softly.

"I-I..." her mind scrambled, her fingers trembling against her purse. "I left my diamond bracelet on the table. He... he was just bringing it back to me."

Lowin let out a low, dark chuckle. It was a terrifying, humorless sound that made Victoria's knees physically wobble. "Is that so? Okay."

Without breaking eye contact, he pressed the silver button on his intercom. "Tom. Send Mark in."

Mark was the head of the Vance security detail, Lowin's silent, right-hand executioner.

Panic seized her. "Aah, it seems you're incredibly busy," Victoria stammered, already backing toward the exit. "I'll see you when you're free."

"Next time, don't bother coming to my office without an appointment," Lowin commanded.

He stood up. The motion was slow, predatory, and massive. He closed the gap between them until his shadow completely enveloped her. Leaning down, his voice dropped to a lethal whisper that brushed against her ear. "And Victoria? That stupid stunt you pulled last night... I'll overlook it only because it's the first time you've tried this nonsense with me. If it happens again, you can forget about the Vance Empire. And you can say goodbye to your career."

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, her lips shaking.

Lowin let out a sudden, sharp laugh that made her curl inward with fear. "You really are shameless, aren't you? You must have really fooled me into thinking you were decent." He clapped his hands together twice in a slow, mocking rhythm. "Well done, Victoria. You should consider acting, too."

"Are you accusing me of drugging you just because of a single piece of CCTV footage?!" she shrieked, tears of frustration finally spilling over her lashes. "Lowin, are you being serious right now?!"

Lowin crossed his arms, leaning his lower back against the edge of his massive mahogany table. He let out a dark chuckle. "I never mentioned I was drugged, Victoria. Which makes me wonder... how exactly do you know about it?"

A cold sweat broke across Victoria's forehead. She bit her lower lip hard, her pulse racing. Realizing she had trapped herself, she shifted tactics, letting out a loud, miserable sob. "I got angry! I saw you with that shameless woman in the hall way. I wasn't thinking straight, I'm sorry... I thought you were cheating on me."

Lowin watched her, his grey eyes deadpan. He couldn't believe this woman was still performing. She really thought he was stupid.

"If the only reason I got drugged was because of your childish jealousy," Lowin said, his voice cutting through her crying like steel, "then explain to me why my personal driver left the property last night without my knowledge?"

"I-I just wanted to force you to spend the night with me..."

The door clicked open. Mark walked in, his expression completely unreadable.

Lowin picked up a printed high-definition photo from his desk and slid it across the wood. "Mark, I want something done immediately. Find this waiter. You know exactly where to take him, I'll be coming down to question him personally this evening."

"Okay, sir," Mark bowed slightly, taking the photo, and exited as silently as he entered.

Victoria felt the room spin. If Lowin was as brutal as the rumors claimed, that waiter wouldn't last ten minutes before spilling the orders she gave. Desperate to deflect, she lashed out with the only question left in her arsenal. "Are you cheating on me?"

Lowin turned slowly to face her, furrowing his dark brows as if she had spoken a foreign language.

"Why would I cheat on you, Victoria? To cheat, I would have to care."

Victoria staggered backward, the words hitting her like a physical blow.

"But... thanks to your pathetic little scheme," Lowin murmured, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his face, a smile so genuinely warm it sent electronic shocks straight to Victoria's brain. "I finally got to know what I actually need."

She stared at him in horror. She had spent a year as his secret girlfriend, and she had never once seen him smile like that. And it wasn't for her.

"I'm so sorry, it won't happen again!" she cried, reaching for his hand. "I was wrong! I just wanted you to acknowledge us... I want to stand beside yo-"

"You are not worthy of standing beside me, Victoria."

"Are you seriously discarding a one-year relationship for one mistake, Lowin? Is drugging you that unforgivable?"

Lowin chuckled, slowly massaging his temples. "Forgiveness, you say? I told you I will overlook it because I am actually grateful to you. Your little stunt made my dull kingdom bright. So, Victoria... I forgave you even before you asked for it."

A desperate spark of hope lit up her eyes. "Does that mean... we are still together?"

The smile vanished from Lowin's face, replaced by a cold, clinical finality.

"Forgiveness means I bear no malice. It doesn't mean I still desire your presence in my bed."

Victoria felt her world crumble into ash. Her legs felt liquid. Before she could force another sound out of her throat, his voice rang in her ears, sharp and cold.

"Get out of my office."

He sat back down, pulling a stack of financial documents toward him, completely erasing her from his space. Victoria staggered her way out of the grand suite, tears flowing endlessly down her burning cheeks.

---

High above the clouds, the steady drone of the jet engines did nothing to calm the storm in Amilah's mind. She was on a flight to see her parents, but her thoughts were trapped on a luxury penthouse bed.

The man from last night...

She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks, trying to force the phantom memory of his heavy hands and dark, commanding voice out of her head. It was impossible. Every road in her mind kept leading right back to him. With one hour left before landing in Country X, she desperately needed a distraction.

She pulled out her sketchbook, slipped her headphones on, and pressed her pencil to the paper to map out a new design. But his shadow haunted the page. Her fingers traced lines that kept mimicking the sharp angles of his jaw. Giving up, she closed her eyes, and within minutes, she drifted into a shallow sleep.

But he followed her there, his grey eyes commanding her absolute surrender in the dark.

When the plane finally touched down, Amilah hurried through the terminal, her heart easing the moment she saw Mr. and Mrs. Miles waiting in the receiving area.

"Oh dear, you look so tired," Mrs. Miles said, instantly pulling her daughter into a warm, protective embrace.

"I missed you so much, Mom."

"We missed you too, dear," Mr. Miles smiled, stepping in to take her heavy backpack before they hailed a taxi.

On the drive home, the car was filled with happy chatter. Amilah shared how one of her independent designs was going massively viral online, and that a high-profile actress had just requested a custom piece by the end of the week.

"Does that mean you can't stay a little longer?" Mrs. Miles asked feeling a little sad.

"Yes, Mom, I'll have to fly back tomorrow morning to start working on the fabric patterns."

"I am so incredibly proud of you," Mrs. Miles said, squeezing her hand tightly.

---

Back in the primary executive office of the Vance Empire, the double doors clicked open. Tom walked in, carefully placing a thick manila folder on the mahogany desk.

"Here is the comprehensive background information you asked for on Amilah Miles, sir."

"Thank you, Tom."

Lowin opened the file, his sharp grey eyes scanning the pages. His gaze froze on a specific line near the bottom of the first sheet. Her personal mobile number.

A relaxed, genuinely soft smile spread across Lowin's face. He closed the folder, looking up at his assistant. "Do you need anything, Tom?"

Tom stood frozen in sheer shock. His boss never smiled. A smile means an execution is coming, Tom thought, his blood running cold.

"S-s-sorry sir! I'll dig much deeper and bring more information to you right away!"

Lowin raised his dark brows in mild amusement. "But this is all I needed, Tom. I meant... is there anything you want as a reward for your good work?"

Tom opened and closed his mouth, entirely convinced his boss had suffered brain damage from the drug last night. Lowin Vance didn't offer rewards, he offered survival.

"Just go and think about it," Lowin murmured.

"Thank you, sir," Tom whispered, practically bolting out of the office before he lost his mind trying to decode his boss's bizarre behavior.

Left alone, Lowin stared at the screen, the eleven digits of her phone number already permanently burned into his memory. He picked up his personal cell phone, his thumb hovering over the dial pad. He thought of calling her, but stopped.

Too direct, he reasoned. She's a runner. She might panic and end the call before I even get a chance to apologize and explain.

Instead, his long fingers tapped against the glass, carefully composing a single text message. He stared at the screen for a silent beat, his thumb lowering onto the send icon.

Click.

---

In the quiet warmth of her parents' kitchen, Amilah was humming softly, helping her mother place the porcelain plates onto the dining table.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed sharply inside the back pocket of her jeans.

Setting a glass down, she pulled the device out and tapped the screen to clear the lock. The notification banner showed a message from an unlisted, restricted number.

Amilah slid her thumb across the glass, opening the text.

As her eyes scanned the words printed on the screen, the air left her lungs completely. Her face turned an ash-white, and her fingers locked so violently around the edges of the phone that her knuckles turned stark white. Her heart battered against her ribs like a trapped bird, a cold, breathless horror paralyzing her where she stood.