RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

CLAWS OUT

Inside the sleek leather interior of Victoria's sports car, the silence was suffocating. Susan kept her eyes glued to the road, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, before she finally found the courage to break the tension.

"Victoria, I know what I'm about to say isn't my business," Susan started, her voice tight. "But I really think you need to read that contract."

Victoria didn't even look up from her phone, her expression a mask of cold indifference. "It's no big deal. Just focus on driving. I'll deal with that little boutique witch first."

"Actually, it is a big deal," Susan pressed, her tone sharpening. "If you do anything scandalous, the clause states you have to transfer one hundred percent of your shares in Java Holdings directly to Lowin Vance."

"What?!" Victoria's head snapped up.

She violently yanked the contract out of her purse, her manicured fingers furiously flipping to the terms page. As her eyes scanned the fine print, they flew wide open, the blood draining from her face.

"This can't be..." Victoria whispered, her voice trembling with sudden rage. She gripped the papers so hard they crumpled. But a venomous smile slowly curved her lips. "Fine. If I can't get my hands dirty, I know the perfect pawn to do it for me. Turn the car around. Let's go home."

Susan sighed, shifting gears. "Victoria, you need to be careful. Mr. Vance seems completely fed up with you."

"Shut up and just drive!" Victoria snapped. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths. How dare he, she thought, fury boiling in her veins. He thinks my hands are tied? He thinks he's trapped me? Just wait and see.

Susan closed her mouth, refusing to waste another breath trying to knock sense into a woman blinded by vanity.

---

Meanwhile, inside the sunlit sanctuary of Amizee Trends, Amilah was buried in her work, putting the final, meticulous touches on Annah Vance's birthday gown. When her phone buzzed against the cutting table, she dropped her fabric shears and picked it up.

Psycho:You looked exceptionally beautiful today, little bird. I can't get you out of my head.

Amilah's lips involuntarily parted into a wide smile, her heart doing a frantic, traitorous flip in her chest. Am I falling for him? The thought terrified her. No. No, that's impossible. He's just a distraction.

She inhaled deeply, forcing the butterflies in her stomach to settle. I'm not in love. I'm just distracted. Focus, Amilah. Focus. Shaking her head to clear it, she picked up her needle and forced her attention back to the silk.

An hour later, the bell above the boutique door jingled. Zaria walked into the back studio holding a sleek, luxurious thermal bag.

"Did you order lunch?" Zaria asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Amilah blinked, confused. "No, I didn't. What is that?"

"It was just delivered by a guy named Logan," Zaria said, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. "He said he was specifically instructed to drop this off at Amizee Trends for the boss. And... there's a card."

She handed over a heavy, textured black card stock. Amilah unfolded it, and the moment her eyes caught the elegant, masculine cursive reading Little Bird, her heart did a violent backflip.

Enjoy your food, little bird. It's unhealthy to skip lunch, and stop working so late into the night. Take care of yourself.

Amilah bit her lower lip. This was no longer a mere distraction, she was fast sliding down a slope she wasn't sure she wanted to climb up from. She carefully slid the card into her top drawer, her fingertips lingering on the paper before she closed it.

"You can leave the food here," Amilah said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I know who sent it."

"Oh, reeeally?" Zaria crossed her arms, stepping closer. "Come on, boss, spill. Who is he?"

"Go back to work, Zaria. It's nothing."

"But you're blushing!"

Amilah rolled her eyes, her cheeks burning. "Why on earth would I be blushing?"

"Because a mystery man just sent you a gourmet lunch! "Beryl chimed in, stepping into the office at that exact moment with a dramatic gasp. "What did I miss?"

"Somebody is in love!" Zaria chanted.

"Guys, it's not like that," Amilah protested, secretly thanking the heavens that her assistants hadn't walked in on them this morning. If they had, she'd be subjected to a full interrogation, and the worst part was, she didn't even know his real name. She only knew his touch, his intense gaze, and the location of his penthouse.

A sudden, reckless thought crossed her mind: What if I drop by his place after work? I could finally figure out who he really is.

She instantly shook her head, a shiver running down her spine. Bad idea. That's just walking straight into the lion's den to be devoured.

"Boss?" Beryl waved a hand in front of her face. "Are you literally day-dreaming right now?"

Amilah snapped out of her trance and hurriedly pushed both of her giggling, stubborn assistants out of her office. "Back to work, both of you!"

Slamming the door, she leaned against it, biting her fingertip. She couldn't help but picture his face if she actually showed up unannounced. Giggling softly, she walked over to the sofa and unpacked the thermal bag. Inside were three hot, beautifully prepared dishes and a sleek insulated flask. As she lifted the flask, a smaller note fell out.

Make sure you finish the soup. It's good for nourishing your body. - Daniella

Amilah frowned lightly. Daniella? Who is Daniella? His sister? A girlfriend?

The sudden prick of jealousy caught her off guard. She opened the containers, and the rich, savory aroma of home-cooked broth filled the room. Her mouth watered. She took a small sip, and the rich flavor practically melted on her tongue. It was heaven.

Recklessly, she whipped out her phone, snapped a picture of the spread, and fired it off to his number.

Amilah: Thanks for the food, it's delicious. But who is Daniella?

She set the phone down, but her eyes remained glued to the dark screen. One minute passed. Then three. Then five.

Should I call? No, that's desperate. But who the hell is Daniella?

Before her rational brain could stop her, her thumb pressed the dial icon. The screen immediately lit up with the contact name: Psycho

---

In the grand executive boardroom of the Vance Empire, Lowin Vance sat at the head of a massive mahogany table, listening to a high-stakes presentation from the fashion acquisition department. The atmosphere was tense, executives sweating under his cold, calculated gaze.

Then, his personal phone vibrated on the table. The screen lit up.

Little Bird.

Lowin's eyes narrowed slightly, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him. But the screen kept flashing. His little bird was calling him. Without a second thought, he slid the answer button and abruptly raised a single hand.

The entire boardroom froze mid-sentence. Executives held their breath, terrified to even exhale.

"Hey, sweetheart," Lowin murmured, his deep voice dropping into a tone so terrifyingly gentle it made Tom, his Assistant, nearly choke on his own saliva.

"Are you busy?" Amilah's soft, hesitant voice filtered through the line.

Lowin leaned back in his leather chair, a rare, breathtaking smile breaking across his handsome face. "No. I'm not busy at all."

Tom adjusted his glasses frantically, his heart rate spiking. Sir, we are in the middle of a multi-million dollar merger, and you just said you aren't busy?! he screamed internally.

"I got the food," Amilah said on the other end. "Thank you. It's delicious."

"I'm glad you like it."

"So... who's Daniella?"

Lowin let out a low, hearty chuckle that echoed in the silent boardroom. She sounded exactly like a beautiful, territorial, jealous wife and God help him, he loved it. "Is my little bird jealous?"

"Why would I be?" Amilah shot back defensively, though her voice betrayed her curiosity.

"She's my mother," Lowin explained, his eyes softening completely. "Don't worry, little bird. I'd shoot myself before I ever cheated on you."

The executives exchange horrified, bewildered glances. Is this ruthless monster under the influence of a love potion? Who is on the other end of that phone?!

On the other side of the city, Amilah almost choked on her soup. Oh, so he wants to play games? A spark of mischief ignited in her chest. Two can play at that.

"That won't be necessary, hubby," Amilah purred into the receiver. "I'll shoot them myself before they even lay a finger on you."

Click. She hung up.

Lowin sat frozen, his phone still pressed to his ear, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. Hubby.

A genuine, booming laugh tore from his throat a sound so foreign to the boardroom that several executives physically recoiled in their seats. His little bird was finally showing her claws, and he was completely captivated. This was, hands down, the best day of his life.

Lowin snapped his phone shut, his face instantly reverting to his trademark icy composure, though a dangerous glint remained in his eyes.

"Continue," he commanded.

The presenter blinked, trying to find his notes. The man sitting at the head of the table looked like Lowin Vance, but the energy in the room had shifted entirely. It was terrifying.

---

Meanwhile, Victoria was pacing her bedroom floor like a caged animal, furiously biting her nails.

"If I can't touch that b***h myself, I'll find someone who will," she muttered to the empty room. "Rose leaked my plans to Lowin... why? Unless she wants him too. Stupid, desperate bitches."

Victoria paused, a wicked idea forming. If Rose wanted Lowin, then all Victoria had to do was point Rose in the right direction and watch the fireworks. She grabbed her phone and dialed Rose's number, instantly forcing her voice into a pitiful, trembling sob.

At that exact moment, Rose Williams was standing in a high-end luxury boutique, selecting a designer gown for Annah Vance's upcoming birthday gala. When her phone rang, she looked at the caller ID and scoffed. What does this loser want now? Is she calling to whine about her dead relationship again?

Rose slid the call open, her voice instantly transitioning into a warm, sisterly purr. "Vicky? Darling, is something wrong?"

"Everything is wrong!" Victoria cried out dramatically. "Can you believe the only reason Lowin threw me away was because of some cheap boutique slut?"

Rose's ears perked up, her grip tightening on a silk dress. "What do you mean?"

"He's already sleeping with someone else," Victoria wailed, playing her part perfectly. "I don't even want him anymore, she can have him!"

"And who exactly is this cheap slut, Victoria?" Rose asked. Her mask slipped for a fraction of a second, her voice laced with sudden, venomous rage.

"Some nobody designer. She owns a place called Amizee Trends," Victoria said, smirking triumphantly on her end as she heard the venom in Rose's tone.

"Uh... Vicky, sweetie, I'm actually slammed right now. Let me call you right back," Rose lied through her teeth, hanging up before Victoria could answer.

Rose's face contorted with fury. She furiously typed Amizee Trends into her search browser. The first thing that popped up was a breathtaking gown tagged by every major socialite in the country, even Annah Vance herself had left a glowing review.

Rose scrolled down, and a video of Amilah's interview from the gala began to play. The more she watched Amilah's effortless grace and striking beauty, the hotter the jealousy burned in her chest.

She designed that gown? If Lowin brings a designer into the Vance Empire family, it should be me! There is no way I'm letting some middle-class nobody take my spot.

Rose stormed out of the boutique, ignoring the sales assistants, and threw herself into the back of her custom Maybach.

"Drive to this location," she barked at her chauffeur, shoving her phone into his face. "And step on it."

---

Back at the boutique, Amilah was admiring Annah's completed gown, feeling an unusual surge of energy. That soup really was magical, she thought, a soft smile playing on her lips.

But a thought struck her: What should I give his mother in return for the soup?

After carefully packing Annah's gown into a premium garment box, she walked out into the main showroom. She drifted to the ready-to-wear section, scanning the racks. His mom is probably in her late fifties, she mused.

Her eyes landed on an elegant, chocolate-brown midi-dress made of heavy, premium silk. It was sophisticated, modest, and perfect for a distinguished woman. She carefully unhooked it from the mannequin. "Zaria, pack this up nicely for me, please."

Before Zaria could answer, the boutique's front door chimed. Rose Williams stepped inside. Her eyes swept the room with pure disdain until they locked onto Amilah.

Beryl stepped forward, professional as always. "Welcome to Amizee Trends, ma'am. How can we-"

Rose ignored her entirely, walking right past her to stand directly in front of Amilah, stopping next to a stunning emerald-green gown on display.

"Welcome," Amilah said calmly, sensing the hostile energy radiating off the woman.

Rose didn't reply. Instead, she evaluated the emerald dress. The intricate beadwork around the waist and the flawless drape of the high slit screamed elite craftsmanship. It was stunning, and that realization only made Rose's blood boil hotter.

"Is she mute?" Zaria whispered to Beryl from behind the counter.

Suddenly, Rose spoke, her voice dropping like poison into the quiet room. "So, you're the cheap slut sleeping her way to the top?"

Amilah's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, she's not mute, but her mouth is filthy," Beryl muttered under her breath to Zaria.

Rose didn't bother to argue. Instead, she reached out, grabbed both sides of the emerald gown's delicate silk slit, and ripped it violently down the seam.

Zaria and Beryl gasped in horror.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Amilah stepped forward, her voice dropping into a dangerous registry.

"Giving you a warning," Rose sneered, brushing her hands off as if she'd just touched garbage. "If you ever think about stepping foot inside the Vance Empire, I will come back here and burn this pathetic little shop to the ground. I am the only designer who belongs there."

Amilah looked at the ruined dress, a cold, unyielding anger overtaking her usual gentle demeanor. Rich heiress or not, this woman had crossed a line.

"Before you take another step toward that door," Amilah said, her voice terrifyingly steady, "hand over your credit card. You are paying for that dress."

Rose turned, incredulous that this nobody was challenging her. "You audacious little-"

Pffft!

Rose raised her hand and delivered a sharp, stinging slap right across Amilah's left cheek. The sound echoed through the boutique.

Zaria and Beryl lunged forward to protect their boss, but they stopped dead in their tracks.

Before Rose could even lower her hand, Amilah spun back around. With lightning-fast reflexes and the full force of her anger, Amilah swung the back of her hand.

CRACK.

The backhanded slap landed squarely on Rose's cheek with double the force. Rose's head jerked violently to the side, her designer heels skidding as she staggered backward, barely catching her balance against a clothing rack.

"This is my boutique," Amilah hissed, stepping into Rose's personal space. "You don't get to walk in here with your unearned arrogance and destroy my hard work. If your billionaire parents didn't bother to teach you manners, consider this your first lesson."

Amilah reached over to the counter, grabbed Rose's designer handbag, unzipped it without permission, snatched her sleek black card, and threw it to Beryl.

"Swipe it. Full price," Amilah ordered.

"Right away, boss!" Beryl said, a triumphant grin on her face as she slammed the card into the reader.

Rose stood frozen, her hand pressed against her burning, swelling cheek. Tears of shock and humiliation streamed down her face. In her entire sheltered life, no one had ever dared to raise a finger against her.

"Do you... do you have any idea who my father is?!" Rose shrieked, her voice cracking.

"And you? Do you know who my father is?" Amilah countered, her eyes flashing with fire. "Stop using your parents as a shield. We all have fathers. Mine might not be a billionaire, but at least I don't hide behind his coattails like a coward. Run home to daddy, and tell him you got slapped by a 'cheap boutique owner' because you don't know how to act in public."

"You-"

"Take your card and get out. And take your dress with you," Amilah interrupted coldly, catching the receipt from Beryl and tossing the ruined emerald gown directly onto Rose's shoulders.

Her vision blurry with tears of pure rage, Rose grabbed her card and stumbled out of the boutique, completely humiliated.

---

Inside, the silence stretched for a moment before Zaria rushed over. "Oh my god, boss, your cheek is turning red. It's swelling."

"It's fine. It'll go away," Amilah breathed, her adrenaline finally beginning to fade. She couldn't believe she had just slapped a high-society heiress, but the moment that woman tore her fabric, something inside her had snapped.

"Put some ice on it," Zaria said, rushing to the back and returning with a cold compress wrapped in a towel.

Amilah pressed it to her cheek, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to leave early today. I need to deliver this dress to someone."

I just hope that psycho is home, Amilah thought as she grabbed the beautifully wrapped gift box from Zaria.

---

An hour later, Lowin Vance had just unlocked the door to his private penthouse. He shed his suit jacket, tossing it onto the sofa, and was just about to head into the kitchen to pour himself a drink when the doorbell rang.

Frowning since no one had clearance to his private floor without his permission he walked over and pulled the heavy door open.

He froze. Standing on his welcome mat, holding a gift box, with a faint bruise on her beautiful left cheek, was his little bird.

Lowin's dark eyes narrowed, a lethal, protective instinct instantly flaring in his chest at the sight of her face.

"Little bird," he murmured.