CHAPTER 6
1426 Words
The sound of crystal shattering against the marble floor rang through the conservatory like a gunshot.
Conversations died instantly. The classical pianist’s fingers faltered on the keys. Dozens of high-society guests and Vance family members turned, their eyes locking onto Mark, who stood frozen near the central fountain, his face drained of all color.
"U-Uncle Alexander..." Mark stammered, his eyes wide with utter terror as he stared at Elena. "This... this has to be a joke. Elena is a mid-level campaign writer. She doesn't have the qualifications to run an entire creative department!"
Alexander didn't even blink. He slowly raised his crystal tumbler to his lips, taking a measured sip of scotch. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating.
"Are you questioning my executive judgment, Mark?" Alexander asked, his low baritone voice echoing off the glass-domed ceiling. It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.
"N-No! Of course not!" Mark swallowed hard, his hands trembling as a servant rushed forward with a cloth to clean up the spilled liquor. "It’s just... she was my girlfriend until yesterday! She’s doing this to get back at me! She's manipulating you!"
A soft, amused chuckle broke from the top of the marble staircase.
Harrison Vance, the iron-willed patriarch of the family, leaned on his silver-headed cane, his sharp blue eyes twinkling with cold entertainment. "If a young woman can manipulate you out of a executive position in under twenty-four hours, Mark, then you never deserved the chair in the first place."
A few distant cousins snickered behind their champagne flutes. Mark’s cheeks flushed a furious, humiliated crimson.
Elena kept her chin high, her hand resting comfortably against the sleeve of Alexander’s tailored jacket. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Vance," she said smoothly to Alexander, "the air in here has gotten a bit stale. I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air."
"Of course," Alexander murmured, his thumb lightly stroking the back of her hand before releasing her. "Don't wander too far. The estate grounds can be treacherous for those who don't know where they stand."
Elena turned gracefully, the high slit of her burgundy silk gown flashing with every confident step as she walked out the French doors into the rain-slicked rose garden.
The cool night air hit her face, carrying the scent of wet earth and blooming flora. She took a deep, steadying breath, resting her hands on the damp stone balustrade overlooking the manicured lawns. Her heart was hammering against her ribs—not from fear, but from the intoxicating rush of total vindication.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Heavy, hurried footsteps scrubbed against the wet gravel behind her.
"Elena! What the hell are you playing at?!"
Elena didn't even turn around. She slowly pulled a delicate lip gloss from her clutch, touching up her scarlet lips in the reflection of her compact mirror. "You should really learn to walk quieter, Mark. It lacks dignity."
Mark marched around the balustrade, grabbing her by the shoulder to force her to face him. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
The moment his fingers gripped her silk sleeve, a tall, shadowy figure stepped out from the darkness near the hedge line.
It was Viktor—Alexander’s chief of security. Built like a brick wall in a three-piece suit, Viktor stood six-foot-four with a scar running through his jawline. He didn't say a word. He simply placed a heavy, calloused hand on Mark’s forearm.
The pressure must have been immense, because Mark instantly let go of Elena with a sharp gasp of pain, stumbling back two paces.
(Behind his stoic, terrifying expression, Viktor was secretly rating Mark's performance as a '0 out of 10 antagonist' compared to the dramatic alpha leads in the romance webnovels he devoured during his night shifts.)
"Step back, Mr. Vance," Viktor rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "You are crowding Miss Hayes."
"Get out of my way, Viktor!" Mark hissed, rubbing his bruised arm. He turned back to Elena, his eyes bloodshot with desperation and rage. "You think you're smart, don't you? You think sleeping with my uncle makes you untouchable? Alexander doesn't care about you! He's a cold-blooded monster who uses people until they're hollow and throws them away! He's using you to punish me!"
Elena snapped her compact shut with a sharp click.
She stepped closer to Mark, her diamond wrist cuff catching the soft garden light. "He didn't have to use me, Mark. You handed him the ammunition on a silver platter."
"Elena, please," Mark’s tone suddenly shifted from rage to pathetic pleading. He took a half-step forward, his hands raised. "I made a mistake. The text... taking Barnaby... I was stressed about the promotion! We can fix this! Come back home. I'll tell Alexander you changed your mind about the job. We can go back to how things were."
Elena looked at him—really looked at him. For four years, she had believed this man was her future. Now, seeing him pathetic, desperate, and stripped of his unearned arrogance, she felt nothing but icy pity.
"How things were?" Elena said softly, her voice laced with lethal sweetness. "You mean the four years where I wrote ninety-page marketing proposals while you played golf? The four years where you took credit for my brilliance while treating me like a comfortable piece of furniture?"
"Elena—"
"Starting Monday morning at eight o'clock," Elena interrupted, leaning in so close he could smell her expensive perfume, "you will address me as Director Hayes. You will submit your weekly reports to my desk by 5:00 PM every Friday. And if a single comma is out of place, I will personally reject your budget."
"You wouldn't dare," Mark breathed.
"Try me."
"Is there a problem out here?"
A deep, commanding voice sliced through the damp night air.
Alexander stepped out from the glass doors, adjusting his gold cufflinks. He walked slowly toward them, his tailored tux making him look like an apex predator holding court in his own forest.
Mark instinctively took three steps back, looking down at the gravel. "No, Uncle Alexander. We were just... catching up."
Alexander stopped right next to Elena, casually sliding a warm, possessive hand onto the small of her back. His touch burned straight through the burgundy silk, grounding her instantly.
"There is nothing for you to catch up on, Mark," Alexander said, his storm-grey eyes locking onto his nephew with absolute frost. "In fact, I suggest you head inside, pack your belongings, and leave the estate."
Mark gasped. "What? Uncle, it's the family dinner!"
"And you have ruined the evening by making a scene," Alexander countered smoothly. "Furthermore, David Miller from our legal department will be contacting you at 7:00 AM tomorrow regarding the illegal possession of Miss Hayes's registered pet."
"You're sending corporate lawyers after me over a dog?!" Mark yelled, his voice cracking.
"I am sending corporate lawyers after you because you took something that belongs to my Senior Creative Director," Alexander corrected, his grip tightening subtly on Elena's waist. "Touch her again, speak to her without professional decorum, or step within five feet of her space... and I won't just freeze your trust fund. I will audit every single expense report you have submitted since joining this company."
Mark’s face went dead white. An expense audit meant prison time for the fraudulent dinner bills he had been charging to the company card.
Without another word, Mark turned on his heel and fled up the garden steps toward the parking court, soaking wet and utterly defeated.
Elena let out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned her head slightly to look at Alexander. "An expense audit? That was ruthless."
Alexander down at her, the coldness in his grey eyes melting into a dark, intense flame. "I don't play games with people who try to intimidate what is mine."
Elena’s pulse gave a heavy, nervous thud against her ribs. "What is yours?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I don't recall signing an ownership contract, Mr. Vance."
Alexander leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his deep baritone sending shivers straight down her spine.
"Not yet, Miss Hayes. But the night is still very young."
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD