RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

COLD EXECUTION

The next morning, the interior of the moving Porsche was dead silent, except for the rhythmic, unsettling tap, tap, tap of Lowin Vance's long fingers against his left thigh. Sitting in the leather luxury of the backseat, his mind was a calculated storm. Debrin hadn't traced the anonymous sender yet, and Lowin despised blind spots.

The sharp vibration of his phone cut through the silence. The screen lit up: Jade Houston.

Lowin clicked his tongue, a sound of pure dismissal, and slid the phone to his ear.

"Speak."

On the other end of the line, Jade Houston was pacing his expansive corner office, his polished shoes squeaking frantically against the marble. Panic clawed at his throat.

"G-g-good morning, Mr. Vance. I called because... well, I've given your demands regarding the contract some serious thought. I think I'm ready to agree to the forty percent benefit split."

Lowin's grey eyes narrowed slightly. The anonymous text from last night flashed in his mind. Jade Houston and your girlfriend are scheming something. The piece of trash was actually walking right into the crosshairs.

"So?" Lowin murmured, his tone entirely flat.

Jade felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead, wiping it away with a trembling hand.

"Can we meet tonight? To finalize everything? Say, the VIP lounge at the Crescent Hotel?"

Lowin's jaw tightened in dark amusement. The anonymous shadow was entirely right.

"Okay."

He ended the call without another word, leaving Jade Houston staring blankly at his receiver in absolute confusion. Did he just agree or not? The man was a walking psychological minefield.

Back in the Porsche, Lowin slid the device into his tailored pocket, a low, dark chuckle vibrating in his chest. Up front, Mark's hands instantly gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. That specific chuckle meant Lowin was preparing to tear someone's world apart.

Lowin leaned forward slightly, his gaze catching Mark's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Mark, don't you think it's time I showed them how nasty games are truly played?"

"Yes, sir. You absolutely should," Mark responded instantly, a cold sweat breaking down his own spine. He didn't even know who was on the phone, but he already pitied them.

Lowin's expression flattened. "It was a rhetorical question, Mark."

Mark's breath caught hard in his throat. What a terrible way to start a Tuesday.

The Vance Empire corporate headquarters was a monolith of glass and steel, and by 7:30 AM, the executive boardroom was already radiating pure terror. The mandatory shareholder meeting wasn't scheduled to start until exactly 8:00 AM.

Tom, Lowin's executive assistant, was casually sipping his morning coffee in the hallway when Mark sprinted past, his face entirely pale. "Vance is already in the boardroom."

Tom choked, nearly dropping his scalding ceramic mug. The other board members hadn't even parked their cars yet. It's over for all of us today, Tom thought, throwing his coffee into the nearest trash can, gathering his files in a panic, and practically sprinting down the hall.

He pushed open the heavy mahogany doors, breathing heavily, only to find Lowin sitting perfectly straight at the head of the massive table.

Lowin raised an eyebrow, his cold gaze piercing Tom.

"Is someone chasing you?"

"N-No, sir," Tom squeaked, quickly pulling out his chair.

"Good. Sit."

Lowin went right back to staring at his phone screen, his slender finger tapping a slow, agonizing rhythm against the polished wood. Tom sat in rigid silence, desperately wondering who had triggered the monster today.

Slowly, the other board members trickled in one by one. Every single executive froze at the doorway, their faces draining of color to find the CEO already waiting for them. Usually, Lowin Vance arrived exactly one minute before the clock struck the hour. Today, he was the apex predator waiting in the high grass. The room grew so quiet you could hear teeth literally chattering.

The heavy doors swung open a final time, and the Salvatore brothers stepped in, completely unfazed by the suffocating atmosphere. As major shareholders and Lowin's inner circle, they walked in with their usual shameless grins.

Dane pulled out a chair, smirking. "Well, look at that. Big boss? Did someone evacuate you from your fancy top-floor office?"

Damien leaned back, crossing his arms. "I don't think so, Dane... doesn't he look a bit like a heartbroken lover boy today?"

Debrin slid into his seat next to Lowin, whispering loudly, "No way. Who actually managed to break the iron heart of Mr. Vance?"

The executives in the room collectively held their breath, praying the Salvatores wouldn't get them all killed. But what Lowin said next made the entire boardroom completely still. The air vanished from the room.

"My little bird is yet to reply to my message," Lowin said smoothly, tilting his head slightly to the right, his eyes never leaving his dark screen. "And the digital timestamp says she read it exactly twenty-two hours ago."

Tom's eyes widened so wide they nearly strained. The boss has finally snapped. Putting a face that handsome in a mental asylum is going to be an absolute tragedy for the society.

The Salvatore brothers exchanged a quick, stunned look, completely silenced. They had only been trying to lighten the dark, heavy aura radiating off him, but realizing he was genuinely unhinged over a girl completely derailed them.

What Lowin didn't know was that across the border in Country S, his little bird had just walked out of a smooth two-hour flight, and she had already caught the eye of the city's most notorious playboy Mike Houston, the sole heir to Houston Corporations.

Mike was leaning against a pillar at the Arena Airport VIP terminal, having just sent his mother off on a flight, when Amilah stepped into the terminal. She was breathtaking. She wore an off-shoulder, long-sleeve crop top paired with a structured, high-waisted pencil skirt that perfectly framed her petite, hourglass curves.

"Who is that angel?" Mike murmured, letting out a sharp, low whistle.

He immediately smoothed down his designer jacket and stepped directly into her path. His driver, watching from a distance, just sighed, Mike Houston never let a beautiful face pass him by.

"Hey, angel," Mike purred, flashing a practiced, high-wattage smile. "I've got to admit, your beauty almost blinded me right there."

Amilah stopped short, her designer sunglasses sliding down her nose. She looked him up and down with an unimpressed, cool gaze.

"Is that a compliment, Mr...?"

"Houston. But you can call me Mike," he said, smoothly extending his hand for a handshake.

"Okay, Mr. Houston," she replied smoothly, deliberately ignoring his hand and adjusting her purse.

Mike chuckled, pulling his hand back smoothly. "Nah, come on. It's Mike. Just Mike."

"So, Mike," Amilah said, her voice dripping with polite exhaustion. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get into my cab. I don't want to keep the driver waiting."

"Why take a basic cab? I can drop you off wherever you're heading. I don't mind at all."

"I appreciate it, but no thank you. My ride is already requested."

Mike stepped closer, completely ignoring the rejection. "Maybe we could sit down first? Have a quick cup of coffee, get to know each other. You know how it is."

Amilah's inner temper was flaring. She had a mountain of work waiting for her at her boutique, specifically starting on Annah's gown, and this rich i***t was physically blocking her exit. Realizing he wasn't going to let her pass without a scene, she calculated the fastest escape.

"Fine you can drop me off," Amilah said reluctantly. "I am late for an appointment."

"Perfect. Let's go."

minutes later, Amilah was trapped in the backseat of a luxury Maybach, feeling a massive headache coming on. The ride felt entirely endless. Mike Houston didn't stop talking for a single second, loudly bragging about his father's immense wealth, his own inheritance, and how he would be taking over the multi-million-dollar Houston empire within the year. He hadn't asked a single question about her. He was just performing for an audience of one.

When the car finally screeched to a halt in front of her luxury boutique, Amilah couldn't unbuckle her seatbelt fast enough.

"I didn't catch your name, angel," Mike said, leaning across the leather.

"Amilah Miles," she threw over her shoulder, pushing the door open.

"See you around, Amilah."

Amilah stepped onto the pavement, heaving a massive sigh of relief as the Maybach tore away. These elite heirs really think the world revolves around them, she thought, clicking her tongue in annoyance. She pushed open the glass doors of the boutique, the overhead chime ringing softly.

"Welcome to-Boss!" Zaria dropped the measuring tape in her hands, her face lighting up with a massive smile as she ran over to help Amilah with her bags. "You're back!"

"Thank you, Zaria. How are things looking around here?"

"You won't believe it!" Zaria squealed, practically vibrating. "Your broadcast interview from the gala went completely viral the second it aired. More than a hundred elite clients have called wanting the exact same gown from the red carpet, just in different colors. Boss, your schedule is booked for the next six months!"

Amilah smiled, the heavy weight of the airport interaction instantly washing away.

"We need to clear space first. I have to design a custom piece for a high-profile model I met at the event."

"Really? That's incredible!."

"Boosssss!" Beryl emerged from the back room, throwing her arms around Amilah. "We missed you so much!"

"I missed you guys too," Amilah laughed, hugging her back.

Beryl pulled away, her eyebrows wiggling excitedly. "I have a massive surprise for you. I didn't even tell Zaria yet because I wanted you to see it first."

Amilah arched an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"We received an official corporate proposal," Beryl gasped, holding her hands to her chest. "Our boutique was selected for an exclusive corporate merger. Guess from who?"

"Spill it, Beryl."

"The Vance Empire!"

Zaria's jaw hit the floor. "What?!"

Amilah froze, the name hitting her like a physical blow to the stomach. "Wait... a merger? With the biggest business dynasty in the country? How does that even make sense, Beryl? We only own a single floor of this building."

"The contract is sitting right on your desk," Beryl explained rapidly, pulling Amilah toward the office.

"If you sign it, the Vance Empire will buy this entire commercial building out. It will officially be branded as Amizee Trends. But the catch is, you have to work as the lead executive fashion designer for their corporate branch. Every gown you design, Vance Empire will globally market it. And that's not even the best part, you'll be completely in charge of the Vance Empire modeling division. You choose which high-profile models wear your art."

Amilah stood in the center of her office, staring at the thick, gold-embossed folder on her desk. The opportunity was staggering. It was the kind of deal designers killed for. But deep in her gut, a cold intuition flared.

"I don't know, Beryl..." Amilah murmured, her voice tight. "This doesn't feel right."

Beryl stared at her in utter disbelief. "What do you mean it doesn't feel right? It's a blank check!"

"Think about it," Amilah said, pacing the room. "The Vance Empire clears billions a month. They only partner with multinational corporations. Why would an untouchable entity like that suddenly be interested in a boutique shop that just launched its first major line?"

Zaria stepped into the office, leaning against the doorframe. "It's not about the boutique, boss, it's about you. Look at the data. In forty-eight hours, you secured over a hundred high-net-worth clients just by existing at a gala. A company like Vance don't wait for talent to grow, they buy it before anyone else can touch it."

Amilah stared at the folder, her heart racing against her ribs. "I'll think about it. Who did you say the CEO was?"

Beryl shrugged. "I tried digging, but the man is like a ghost in the media. Only his executive assistant handles the public signings, and the PR department issues statements. I couldn't find a single verified photo of him."

Amilah took a deep breath. "When do they expect a finalized answer?"

"The brief says one week. So you have six days left."

"Let me focus on finishing these current orders first," Amilah said, pushing the folder into her desk drawer. "Then we'll discuss the merger."

If she had known the monster who had drafted that proposal personally, she would have burned the building down right then.

Back at the Vance Empire headquarters, the grueling executive meeting finally ended. Lowin Vance barely spoke a word the entire time, his focus entirely consumed by the silent phone on his desk. The moment the room cleared, he strode back into his private office, the Salvatore brothers trailing closely behind him.

Lowin threw his jacket onto the leather sofa and aggressively loosened his tie, summoning his assistant. "Tom. My office."

Tom walked in, his shoulders rigid. Lowin stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, rubbing his thumb against his jawline. The heavy silence made Tom's knees shake.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Tom?" Lowin asked quietly.

In the corner of the office, the Salvatore brothers choked on their laughter, horror flashing in Dane's eyes. "Oh s**t, big boss... I thought you liked women. Don't tell me you're changing teams because of a text message."

Lowin sent a lethal glare in Dane's direction, cutting him off instantly.

Tom swallowed hard, sweating through his suit.

"I'm married, sir."

"Good," Lowin said, leaning back. "I want you to get the finest flowers in the city and have them delivered to Amizee Trends. But bring the custom card directly to me. I will write the note myself."

Tom's mind spiraled into chaos. Okay, so he isn't losing his mind over a guy, he's just completely obsessed with the designer. "Which... specific flowers does the receiver prefer, sir?"

Lowin's eyes turned cold. "I don't know, Tom. You have a wife, figure it out. If she doesn't like them, you can consider your position at this company permanently terminated."

Tom's heart did a backflip. Yup, he's not crazy. Still completely ruthless. "Right away, sir." He backed out of the office, quietly whispering the Lord's prayer under his breath.

Debrin leaned against the leather sofa, his playful demeanor instantly vanishing as he tossed a secure tablet onto Lowin's desk. "Get over the love-struck attitude for a second and focus on the foul play. I traced your anonymous tipster."

Lowin's focus snapped into place instantly. His entire aura sharpened. "What did you get?"

"Rose Williams," Debrin said, a cold smirk touching his lips.

Lowin raised an eyebrow, a dark, dry chuckle escaping him. "Victoria's childhood best friend."

The puzzle pieces snapped together with terrifying clarity. Victoria had run her mouth to her inner circle, completely unaware that she was sleeping with a snake.

"Damn," Damien laughed from the sofa. "She completely snitched on her own bestie."

"Birds of a feather," Dane muttered.

Before Lowin could speak, the office door clicked open. Mark stepped inside, holding a secure encrypted tablet. His face was entirely serious as he stood at attention before the desk.

"Sir, I have the intelligence report you requested regarding Amilah Miles," Mark reported, his voice low.

Lowin's eyes snapped directly to him, his posture instantly rigid. "Speak."

"She is was out of the country, sir. She boarded a commercial flight and landed here early this morning. Our ground detail confirms she went directly from the terminal straight to her fashion boutique."

A flash of possessive dark energy rippled through Lowin's eyes, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the information. She had fled his radius. He gave a single, dismissive nod of his head. "Dismissed."

Lowin stood up smoothly, buttoning his tailored suit jacket as his eyes flashed with a lethal light. He looked over at the Salvatores. "You guys ready to show them how a real trap operates?"

The Salvatore brothers smiled in unison, a dangerous, synchronized look. "Always."

At the Crescent Hotel's luxury production set, Victoria arrived flanked by her styling team. She was scheduled to shoot a high-end promotional ad for the hotel's new culinary menu, but when she stepped onto the floor, the director informed her of a sudden change: she was now promoting the hotel's newly manufactured private-label wine.

Victoria didn't care about the swap. Wine was her element. She smiled for the cameras and took her place under the hot studio lights.

But the moment the cameras started rolling, the shoot turned into an absolute nightmare.

"Cut! Bad take! Let's go again from the top," the director yelled.

By the time they hit the thirty-fifth take, Victoria had been handed a fresh, real glass of premium wine every single time. By take fifty, she had consumed an entire bottle by herself, and a fresh one was immediately brought out. What her blurred mind didn't realize was that the director was missing cues on purpose.

Within two hours, Victoria was completely slurred and intoxicated, stumbling over her own feet without the director even needing to fake a bad take. Another bottle was cleared.

The director called for a break, walking over with a fake look of concern. "Victoria, what's wrong today? Are you not feeling well?"

"I-I'm totally fineee, director," she slurred, her eyes heavy as she gripped the back of a prop chair.

The director offered a polite nod, stepped into the dark corner of the studio, and pulled out his phone.

[Director]: She is completely drunk.

Almost instantly, the typing bubbles popped up on his secure line.

[Mr. Vance]: Good job. Wrap it up.

Susan, Victoria's manager, came running onto the set after receiving a frantic call from the assistant.

"Victoria! What happened to you?"

"I'm fine... just need to lie down for a little bit before Lowin gets here," Victoria mumbled, her body completely limp as Susan hoisted her arm over her shoulder.

Susan practically dragged her toward the elevators, heading for the luxury penthouse suite Victoria had reserved for the trap. But the moment the elevator doors opened on the top floor, a head waitress stepped out, blocking their path with an apologetic bow.

"I am incredibly sorry, Ms. Jackson," the waitress said smoothly. "But the penthouse suite is currently occupied. You'll have to utilize one of our standard executive rooms on the lower floors."

Susan frowned, keeping her grip on a semi-conscious Victoria. "What are you talking about? Victoria made explicit arrangements with management to secure this specific suite tonight."

"Unfortunately," the waitress replied, her voice entirely professional, "there was a scheduling error in our records. We only realized this afternoon that Debrin Salvatore had booked this entire floor months in advance."

At the mention of the Salvatore name, Susan's blood ran cold. You didn't argue with that family if you valued your life. Realizing she had no choice, and with Victoria completely passing out in her arms, Susan quickly booked a standard room on the fourth floor, tossed Victoria onto the bed, and quietly left the hotel to head home.

Thirty minutes later, Jade Houston arrived through the VIP entrance of the Crescent Hotel. Seeing the production crew packing away their cameras, a victorious smile spread across his face. The plan is going perfectly, he thought.

He walked with an elite, arrogant stride straight toward the secluded VIP lounge, expecting to wait for the arrival of the tyrant. He rounded the corner, pushing open the heavy glass doors to the private section.

Lowin Vance was already there. He was sitting completely still at the center booth, his long, slender fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the polished table. He didn't have a drink. He didn't have a file. He was simply waiting patiently, like a spider in the center of an empty web.

Jade felt a sudden, inexplicable tremor in his chest. Why is he early? He pushed the dread down, convincing himself Lowin was just desperate to finalize the corporate merger.

"Good evening, Mr. Vance," Jade said, sliding into the leather booth across from him.

"Good evening, Mr. Houston," Lowin replied smoothly, his hand stopping its tapping.

Jade's hands trembled slightly as he unbuttoned his suit. The sheer, quiet stillness of the man was terrifying. "Shall we look at the contract?"

"Let's have a drink first, Mr. Houston," Lowin purred, his voice steady. "To mark the official birth of our partnership."

"Of course, of course."

A waitress stepped out from the shadows almost instantly, carrying a silver tray. She placed two pre-poured crystal glasses of expensive wine on the table between them.

Jade grabbed his glass, eager to get the transaction over with, and gulped the entire drink down in one go. Lowin raised his own glass, taking a slow, calculated sip while his silver eyes tracked every movement of Jade's throat with an unreadable, lethal expression.

Jade's executive secretary stepped forward, placing the contract folder on the table. Lowin finished his glass, setting it down with a soft click. He didn't reach for the pen. Instead, he slowly reached up and loosened his silk tie.

To mess with Jade Houston mind Lowin pretend the drug has started its effects on him.

"Is it just me, or is it remarkably hot in here?" Lowin murmured.

Within seconds, a sudden, violent wave of heat hit Jade Houston's chest. His forehead instantly broke out into a thick sweat, and a vicious wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. His heart began to hammer erratically.

"Excuse me..." Jade gasped, his vision suddenly blurring into a chaotic haze. He pushed himself out of the booth, stumbling blindly toward the public restrooms.

But as he reached the corridor, a large, yellow sign blocked his path: OUT OF ORDER.

Jade cursed under his breath, the unnatural heat traveling straight down to his groin with terrifying intensity. His balance failed, his knees buckling, when a figure suddenly stepped out of the shadows, politely gripping his elbow and opening a nearby door on the fourth-floor corridor.

"Sir, you can use the private bathroom inside this room," the voice whispered.

Completely out of his mind and burning alive, Jade didn't think twice. He slammed his body through the door and stumbled straight into the bathroom, collapsing against the cold porcelain.

Behind him, the heavy room door clicked shut and the distinct sound of an electronic deadbolt locked it firmly from the outside.

When he finally crawled out of the bathroom minutes later, the aphrodisiac had completely taken over his nervous system. He staggered into the dimly lit bedroom, his blurry vision catching the form of a woman lying comfortably on the mattress, her dress riding up to expose her thighs.

Through the ringing in his ears, his hallucinating mind heard her calling his name.

Outside the hallway, Lowin Vance and Debrin Salvatore stared at the closed door with smirks on their faces. Lowin tilted his head slightly, his expression dropping into one of pure, dark amusement.

"Is that what we call checkmate?" Lowin murmured.

Debrin simply shrugged, a lazy grin cutting across his face. Without another word, they turned on their heels and walked away into the shadows of the corridor.

Inside the room, Jade Houston staggered toward the bed. Sensing someone entering the space, a heavily drunk Victoria lifted herself up from the mattress, her slurred mind misidentifying the shadow.

"Lowin, you came... I knew you would," she whispered triumphantly, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

Driven completely by the drug, the fire inside Jade intensified at the touch. But as he looked closer at the woman before him, listening to her cadence, dread hit him, the voice and the face sounded exactly like Victoria. Before his compromised brain could pull away, the intoxicated Victoria surged forward and captured his lips. The brutal drug took the absolute best of him, shattering his final line of restraint.

Meanwhile, in a private news station across the city, John a notorious paparazzi known for digging up the dirtiest scandal on high-profile business tycoons, sat hunched over his desk.

A sharp notification chimed, and a message from popped up on his phone screen.

[Unknown]: Want some juicy headline for your paper? Jade Houston is having an affair with a model behind his wife's back. Happening now at Crescent Hotel, room 412.

John stood up abruptly from his chair, his eyes widening as pure adrenaline spiked through his veins. He grabbed his coat, a dark grin spreading across his face. The media bloodbath was about to begin.