RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

WITCH'S POISON

Walking down the pristine marble hallway toward the fashion department, Lyla and Amilah chatted happily. Lyla eagerly shared every single detail she had overheard about Amilah from Debrin, and Amilah found herself genuinely liking the girl already.

Lyla locked her arm through Amilah's, her eyes shining. "So, since I'm going to be showcasing your incredible talent to the world, what do I get in return?"

Amilah giggled, the warmth in her chest spreading. "You want a reward, huh?"

"Of course I do!"

"Tell me, then. What is it that you want?"

Lyla stopped walking for a second, her lips forming an adorable, hopeful pout. "Well... I don't really have a best friend. It's only ever been Debrin. So I was thinking... how about you become my best friend?"

Amilah's heart melted. "We are already friends, Lyla. And if you don't mind, I'll happily take you to meet the rest of my close circle soon."

"I don't mind at all!" Lyla beamed, practically bouncing on her heels. "Honestly, it gets so boring being locked up in that penthouse all day with nothing to do."

"So," Amilah murmured as they resumed walking, a gentle curiosity taking over. "How long have you and Debrin actually been dating?"

"I think it's been about two months now," Lyla replied smoothly. She nudged Amilah's shoulder playfully. "What about you and Lowin?"

Amilah's heart skipped a violent, chaotic beat. "I-I... we aren't officially dating. But... he says he likes me."

Lyla let out a loud, giggle. "Oh, please. It is blindingly obvious that he loves you, judging by the predatory way he was looking at you back there." She raised her dark eyebrows, her voice dropping into a thrilling whisper. "Have you guys... you know... done the thing yet?"

Amilah's entire face erupted into a deep, burning crimson.

"Ooh," Lyla teased, pointing a finger. "Someone is blushing!"

Walking a few paces ahead of them, Tom adjusted his glasses, completely unable to believe his ears. He shook his head in disbelief. How on earth had these two sweet, innocent women managed to cross paths with the two most terrifying demons in the city, the exact same men who made his knees tremble with a single glance?

"Mrs. Vance," Tom called out formally, stopping outside a set of towering double doors. "Here is the fashion department. Your private office is located right inside."

Amilah flinched at the heavy title. "It's okay, Tom. Please, you can just call me Amilah."

Tom's eyes widened behind his lenses. Call you by your first name? Do you want me to die a miserable, bloody death? he thought in panic. Lowin would skin him alive.

"No, ma'am," Tom insisted, his voice squeaking slightly. "You are my boss."

Amilah waved her hand in gentle dismissal. She could see the pure terror radiating off the poor man; there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. Lowin's reputation clearly preceded him.

Tom cleared his throat loudly, pushing the heavy doors open and stepping onto the massive creative floor. The sudden noise made every designer, stylist, and assistant instantly look up from their desks.

A collective wave of audible gasps escaped from the male employees.

"What a beautiful day..." one murmured.

"Are we seeing actual angels?" another whispered.

"Who is the other girl? Is she a new supermodel too?"

A storm of frantic murmurs instantly rippled through the department. Sensing the heavy gaze of the crowd, Amilah urgently tugged on the sleeve of Tom's suit, leaning in to whisper fiercely, "Please, whatever you do, do not introduce me as Mrs. Vance."

Tom nodded rapidly, understanding the assignment. He stepped forward, raising his voice to command the room. "Well, everyone, today we are incredibly privileged to welcome our brand-new lead designer. She joins us straight from Amizee Trends downtown."

The room went dead silent for a beat before erupting again.

"Amizee Trends?! Isn't that the exclusive boutique that designed the famous gown from the charity gala?"

"Yes! Yes, I remember the press release! She is the designer Amilah Miles!"

The employees stared in awe. Seeing her in person, her hourglass curves framed perfectly by her high-waisted jeans, she was a breathtaking beauty.

Over in the corner, Victoria Jackson was viciously slamming files into a cabinet. The second the name Amilah Miles echoed across the floor, she froze. She snapped her head around, her beautiful face twisting into a mask of pure, toxic hatred.

"Since you all clearly know her reputation," Tom smiled, "let's give her a warm welcome. She officially begins work tomorrow."

A senior designer, Diana, stepped forward with a genuine smile. "It is an honor to meet you, Ms. Miles. We are incredibly thrilled to be working under your direction."

Amilah smiled warmly, the nervous tension leaving her shoulders. "Thank you so much. I am so glad I get to work alongside all of you."

Victoria's chest heaved up and down, a volatile, explosive rage boiling over in her veins. My boss? No way in hell am I letting this low-class b***h rule over me.

In a pathetic bid for attention, Victoria deliberately dropped the heavy stack of folders she was holding. The papers scattered violently across the floor, the loud smack drawing the eyes of the entire room.

Lyla rolled her eyes, leaning closer to Amilah. "Urgh... that miserable witch is still hovering around here."

Amilah's eyes drifted to Victoria's hands, her brow furrowing. "What on earth happened to her palms?"

Lyla let out a sharp, dark giggle, entirely unbothered by Victoria's glaring. "You won't even believe it. Put it this way, the exact hands she used to push you down those stairs now have permanent bullet holes in them."

Amilah gasped, her hand instinctively dropping to her flat stomach. "What? How did that happen?"

"Debrin did it," Lyla whispered. "And the other snake who leaked their relationship to the press? She's currently lying in a hospital bed with a broken leg."

Amilah raised her eyebrows, thoroughly confused. "Who?"

"Some woman named Rose Williams. She's Victoria's ride-or-die best friend."

Amilah's mind raced. The memories solidified, Rose was the exact same arrogant, cruel woman who had insulted her at the boutique. Looking at Victoria now, the terrifying realization of how close this woman had come to ending her life and the life of her unborn child, made her motherly instincts violently flare. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by pure, protective steel.

Amilah stepped forward, her gaze cutting into Victoria like glass. "What a privilege it is to have the famous face of Vance Fashion working with us today... or should I say, the former face?"

A few female employees let out cruel, sarcastic giggles, thoroughly enjoying the fall of their tormentor.

"You-" Victoria screeched, her face flushing a dangerous purple.

"Tsk, tsk, Victoria," Amilah interrupted smoothly, her voice dripping with an effortless authority. "Honestly, I think the paperwork duties you're handling right now suit you perfectly. At the very least, it might finally shape your character."

Victoria clenched her teeth so hard a sharp pain shot up her jaw. She hated this woman with every single fiber of her being. If Amilah was here to publicly humiliate her, she was going to drag her straight down into the mud with her.

"You finally managed to sleep your way to the top, didn't you, you pathetic slut?" Victoria spat, her voice echoing off the walls. "Congratulations."

The entire room let out a collective, terrified gasp.

Tom adjusted his glasses, his face completely pale. This psychotic witch is officially a dead woman walking, he thought, bracing for impact.

Instead of screaming, Amilah let out a soft, melodic laugh that echoed beautifully across the massive floor. She turned to the girl beside her. "Lyla, tell me... do sluts always recognize other sluts?"

Lyla didn't miss a beat, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. "Obviously, darling. How else would they know, if they weren't thoroughly experienced in the trade themselves?"

Diana muttered under her breath, "savage."

Victoria's chest heaved frantically, her vision blurring with tears of utter humiliation. Trapped, she resorted to her all-time ultimate defense mechanism. "Just you wait! The second Lowin is done toying with your body, he is going to come crawling straight back to me! Only I fit the profile to be Mrs. Vance!"

The gossip on the floor instantly re-ignited like wildfire.

Wait, is Amilah Miles dating the Big Boss too?

Didn't you see the internet leaks two days ago?

What actually happened?

Apparently, the Boss and Victoria were secretly dating, and Amilah stole him right out of her bed!

Ew, it makes total sense now why Victoria says she slept her way to the top.

Are you blind? The post was taken down instantly, and Victoria was literally demoted to a servant. It's obvious who the real Mrs. Vance is.

Hearing the whispers, tears finally spilled over Victoria's eyelids. "Shut the f**k up, all of you!" she roared. "You don't know a damn thing! She drugged him! She forced herself into his bed, and that is the only reason she is standing here today!"

"Let this be the last time you utter a single word of disrespect toward my business partner, Victoria."

An ice-cold, terrifying voice exploded from the entrance of the department, instantly freezing the oxygen in the room.

The entire room stiffened into statues. Lowin Vance stood framed in the doorway, his massive, imposing figure radiating a dark aura. His eyes were pitched completely black with fury.

He strode into the room, the heavy thud of his designer shoes sounding like a death march. He stopped directly in front of Victoria, his towering height completely casting a shadow over her trembling form.

"If your tongue is no longer useful to you," Lowin whispered, his voice a low, vibrating growl that shook the floorboards, "I can gladly help you get rid of it permanently."

The employees shifted uncomfortably in their seats, dropping their heads to avoid his gaze. Victoria stepped back in terror. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Why was he here? Had he walked her down here himself? Victoria wasn't ready to accept defeat, not to this woman.

"Lo-Lowin..." she stammered, her voice shaking. "You're... you're back."

"You are a low-level employee in this empire," Lowin roared, the sudden volume making everyone jump. "And I do not recall my servants addressing me by my first name!"

"I'm... I'm deeply sorry, Mr. Vance," she whimpered, clutching her chest.

Lowin clicked his tongue in deep disgust, turning his back on her as if she were nothing more than trash. He looked out over the entire department. "From this exact second forward, Amilah Miles is your boss. If anyone in this room dares to make a single thing difficult for her, you will answer directly to me. And you can say a permanent goodbye to your career."

The employees lowered their heads even further, silently cursing Victoria in their minds for putting their livelihoods in jeopardy.

Amilah stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Lowin's tense arm. Her touch instantly acted like a cooling balm to his raging fire. "It's okay, Lowin. They don't harbor any bad intentions. Actually... they welcomed me beautifully."

The employees nodded frantically, looking up at Amilah with eyes full of desperate gratitude. She was the only shield they had against the billionaire's wrath.

Lowin turned his gaze down to her, his harsh expression instantly softening into pure tenderness. "Come. I'll take you to your office."

"But Tom was supposed to-"

"No buts," Lowin commanded gently, his arm winding around her waist.

Amilah nodded, a soft smile returning as she followed him across the massive creative floor toward a set of massive, frosted opaque glass doors. Emblazoned across the center in elegant silver lettering were her initials A.M.

Lowin slid the heavy doors open, ushering her and Lyla into the suite. "I hope it meets your standards."

Amilah stepped inside, and her breath was instantly stolen away. The office was colossal. One entire wall was made of solid floor-to-ceiling glass, offering the most breathtaking, view of the entire city skyline. Placed prominently on her massive, polished executive desk was a striking, framed portrait of Lowin Vance a constant reminder of who owned her heart.

To the left sat a luxurious guest lounge with two plush designer sofas and a sleek glass coffee table. Lining the walls were glowing glass cases displaying the prestigious global trophies the Vance Fashion Empire had won over the decades. Amilah felt completely overwhelmed by the scale of it all. The pressure hit her, she would have to give this her best to keep up with their legacy.

"I love it," she whispered, turning to him.

Lowin pulled her tightly against his side, leaning down to plant a soft, possessive kiss on her lips. "I'm glad you do, sweetheart. Now, you're going to need a personal secretary. You can choose any of the employees out there on the floor."

Amilah shook her head. "Can I bring in someone from the outside?"

"Of course you can. Anyone you want."

"Then I want Beryl to be my secretary," Amilah stated firmly. "Only she knows exactly how I operate."

Lowin looked at her in mild surprise, a small smirk playing on his lips. His little bird was incredibly picky; she would rather bring her own trusted boutique employee along than waste time training a corporate stranger. "Okay. She can report for duty tomorrow morning. But... who is going to manage the boutique in her absence?"

"Zaria is still there," Amilah explained, her eyes lighting up with ambition. "I'll promote her to full manager. She can hire new entry-level staff, because our overall workload is about to violently increase."

Lowin's brows furrowed slightly as he thought of the child she was carrying. "There are massive pending orders for the upcoming summer season collection, Amy. But I do not want you stressing your body out over deadlines."

"I'll be perfectly fine," she reassured him, leaning against his chest. "My role will strictly be sketching the concepts and providing the structural guidelines to the other design teams. Their job will be physically constructing the dresses based on my visions."

Lowin nodded, approving of the strategy. "Good idea. But you will be designing the signature pieces. For every master sketch you produce, you will create one physical gown. The production team will handle the rest. I want exactly twenty manufactured dresses per sketch. eighteen will go into production, ten will be shipped directly to Amizee Trends, and eight will remain here in the corporate archives."

Amilah tilted her head, calculating the numbers. "Wait... what about the remaining two dresses?"

Lowin leaned down, his deep voice vibrating against her ear. "One is exclusively for Lyla to keep after the runway... and the final one belongs entirely to you. For every single collection launch, the lead model deserves the prize, and the mastermind designer does too."

"Oh, but we are going to end up with a ridiculous mountain of dresses if we keep them all to ourselves," Amilah laughed, trying to bring him back down to reality. "Think about it, Lowin. If I launch ten different designs a season, that means we each inherit ten custom gowns in a single month!"

Lowin didn't even blink. "Well, the corporate account is paying for them."

Standing near the lounge, Lyla's dark eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She looked back and forth between the two of them. "Wait... so for every single custom gown I showcase on the runway, I get to just keep it? And the company forks out the bill?"

"Yes," Lowin replied flatly.

Amilah threw her hands up. "Come on, Lowin! We can just keep the ones we actually like, not every single piece."

"You will both be attending high-profile global galas and charity auctions from now on," Lowin countered, his tone laced with that unyielding, protective dominance. "You will need a fresh rotation of gowns for the press. I am not letting you repeat outfits."

Amilah slapped her palm against her forehead, letting out a defeated groan. Trying to reason with a billionaire alpha was an exercise in futility. "Fine. Let me get this straight. If I manufacture a collection of twenty dresses, we only sell eighteen to the public. Lyla and I get the remaining two, and the Vance corporate treasury buys them out for us?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

Amilah leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms. "Why? What is the actual logic behind that?"

Lowin stepped closer, his large hands resting on the edge of the wood on either side of her hips, trapping her in his space. "Because you two deserve it. End of discussion."

Lyla rolled her eyes dramatically toward the ceiling. Unbelievable, she thought. These men possess the exact same arrogant, possessive traits. No wonder they are best friends.

"Fine," Amilah sighed, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. "But if a high-paying client absolutely begs for a specific dress after our retail stock runs completely dry... I am selling mine."

Lowin's jaw tightened. "I won't let that happen. You cannot sell a piece of luxury that I have already bought specifically for you."

Lyla chimed in from the couch, a smirk playing on her lips. "Then I'll just sell mine instead."

"I am highly certain Debrin would have a massive problem with that," Lowin countered smoothly, throwing a look over his shoulder.

Amilah's brow furrowed in confusion. "Wait, but you just said it was the corporate account buying the dresses, not you two personally."

Lowin let out a low, gravelly chuckle. "Amilah, Debrin and I are the primary business partners who own this entire empire. If we buy the dresses, it is fundamentally the exact same thing as the company buying them. There is no difference."

"Fine. There is no point in arguing with you," Amilah huffed, though a soft smile betrayed her frustration. She turned toward the lounge. "I'll be taking Lyla with me down to the boutique for the afternoon since she has nothing to do here anyway."

Lowin's hands left the desk, his eyes instantly tracking her movements. "That's no problem. But can we please have lunch together before you leave?"

Amilah shook her head. "I already have plans with Annah. You know... since you ruthlessly refused to let her tag along with us earlier."

Lowin rubbed the bridge of his nose, a dark scowl settling on his face. "What plans?"

"We are going out for a private girls' lunch," Amilah explained, her tone dripping with satisfaction. "And I want her and Lyla to finally meet and get to know each other."

Lowin groaned, stepping back into her space. "You do realize you are legally supposed to be on medical bed rest right now, don't you?"

"I feel perfectly fine, Lowin," she countered, her voice softening as she reached up. Her delicate fingers slowly began tracing the solid, muscular contours of his chest beneath his shirt. "Besides, Zaria and Beryl are incredibly worried about me. I need to make a quick appearance to ensure everything is running smoothly at the boutique. After lunch, I promise I will head straight back home. I'm staying at your place tonight, remember?"

The words hit him like a physical shock. The dark, brooding scowl instantly melted from Lowin's face, replaced by a genuine, heart-warming smile that completely transformed his rugged features. The warmth of it illuminated the entire office.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, possessive purr. "You can go. But I am personally picking you up the second my clock runs out."

"How about after lunch, you just have Mark drive me straight back to your estate?" Amilah suggested, her fingers curling into his lapels. She offered him a blindingly sweet, innocent look. "That way, I can personally prepare a home-cooked dinner for us before you get off work."

Lowin's mind instantly fractured. Images of his fierce, beautiful little bird waiting for him in his kitchen, wearing his shirt, welcoming him home after a brutal day in the corporate trenches, it was pure, intoxicating torture.

He gripped her waist, his thumbs digging into her skin. "Are you absolutely sure you won't use this as an excuse to run away from me again?"

"I gave you my word," Amilah whispered, her eyes locking onto his. "But... tomorrow, I am officially returning to my own apartment."

Lowin sighed, knowing better than to push her fortress walls down all at once. "Fine. Call me the exact second your lunch is over, and I will dispatch Mark to your location."

Amilah smiled softly, standing on her tiptoes to plant a quick, lingering kiss directly onto his cheek. Before he could even wrap his arms around her to capture her lips, she spun around, grabbed a giggling Lyla by the hand, and stormed out of the private suite, the frosted glass doors sliding shut behind them with a sharp click.

Lowin stood entirely frozen in the center of the massive office. He lifted a hand, his fingers tracing the exact spot on his cheek where her lips had just burned his skin. A slow, completely captivated smile spread across his face as he stared at the closed doors.

When Lowin Vance finally stepped out of the private design suite and walked back onto the main creative floor, the terrifying corporate tyrant was gone. He was still smiling, his eyes bright as the thrilling thought of Amilah waiting for him at his penthouse consumed his mind. He shoved his hands casually into his trousers pockets, striding toward the elevator bays.

The moment his massive frame cleared the floor, the female employees dramatically clutched their chests, letting out collective, breathless gasps.

"Did you actually see that?!" one designer squealed. "He was... he was literally smiling!"

"Oh my god, today is officially the single greatest day of my life," an assistant fanned herself.

"He is so incredibly handsome when he lets his guard down... Ugh, Ms. Miles is the luckiest woman on the planet."

The frantic, adoring whispers rippled across the floor, each word acting like a drop of pure acid on Victoria Jackson's soul.

Standing by the filing cabinets, Victoria felt hot, bitter tears finally sting the corners of her eyes. The man she had obsessed over for years, the man who was supposed to belong to her had completely erased her from his existence. He hadn't even looked at her. He didn't care that her hands were ruined. Because of Amilah Miles, she was nothing more than a ghost cleaning up paper.

Victoria slowly closed her eyes, squeezing them shut as the tears tracked down her cheeks. The humiliation inside her chest violently mutated, hardening into a cold, psychotic resolve.

You think you've won, you low-class b***h? Victoria thought, her bandaged fingers curling into a painful fist. Just you wait.

As the employees continued to gush over Lowin's smile, Victoria's mind began frantically tracing her next move. If Lowin wouldn't come back to her willingly, she would ensure there was absolutely nothing left of Amilah Miles for him to protect.