Chapter 4
1114 Words
Dirty Hands
(Leona POV)
Leona never believed in revenge.
Not in the poetic, bloodthirsty sense. Not in the way movies made it look like red lipstick and glass-breaking rage. She believed in justice. As a consequence. In dragging hidden hands out into the light.
The file Dorian left her without warning or demand was everything she needed to do exactly that.
Julian Crest.
Founder of Crestpoint Developments. Partnered with two Vale Global board members. Spearheaded the campaign to revitalize Crown Heights by pushing out nonprofits and small community spaces. A polished villain in a tailored suit.
And the man who nearly destroyed her center.
She read the file twice. Made calls. Dug deeper. Confirmed everything.
Then she scheduled a meeting.
Crestpoint HQ was sleek and glassy and insufferably smug. Leona walked through the main lobby like she belonged because, technically, she did. She did register her nonprofit’s proposal for a youth-art real estate partnership months ago, before she knew what they were really doing. The receptionist found her name and waved her through like clockwork.
Upstairs, she stepped into a private conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows and zero warmth.
Julian Crest arrived five minutes late. Tan skin. Gray temples. A smile made of teeth and oil.
Miss Hart, he said smoothly. Pleasure to finally meet you in person. I must say, I was surprised to hear from you again.
"I imagine you were," she replied, sitting straighter.
He settled across from her. I assume this is about funding?
"No," she said, sliding the manila folder across the table.
He opened it.
She watched the color drain from his face.
It was fast. A twitch in the brow. A tightening of the jaw. He closed the folder calmly but did not speak for a full five seconds.
Then, slowly, where did you get this?
Leona leaned in. That is not your question to ask.
This information is confidential.
So was your illegal lobbying to kill our grant. So was your scheme to flip a community center into condos.
He tilted his head. You realize this kind of accusation is… dangerous.
"I am not accused," she said. I am informing you.
Of what, exactly?
Leona smiled coldly. That I am not afraid of you.
He laughed once. Miss Hart, you’re playing a very risky game.
She stood. No. You played it. You are just lost.
She turned toward the door.
Then paused.
Oh, and tell Victor Langston I will be seeing him soon.
Outside, her hands were shaking.
Not with fear. With adrenaline. With the high that comes from watching powerful men realize you are, no one is a pawn.
She stepped into the elevator, heart pounding. Halfway down, her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She answered. Hello?
You really do not hesitate, do you?
Dorian.
She rolled her eyes. Were you spying on me?
Of course not, he said. I just had a feeling you had done something dramatic.
And let me guess you are standing outside?
No. I am in the lobby.
What she started, but the elevator doors opened… and there he was.
Dark gray coat. Hands in his pockets. Calm as sin.
She stepped out slowly. Did you follow me here?
I had a business nearby.
Right.
They exited the building together, silence stretching between them as the cold wind caught the edge of her coat.
Dorian finally spoke. That was bold.
I am not scared of men like him.
You should be.
Leona shot him a glare. It is not your responsibility, Vale.
No,he said. You are my wife.
She stopped walking.
So did he.
People bustled past them, but the world suddenly felt very still.
"Do not throw that word around like it means something," she said tightly.
He studied her face. Maybe it is not yet. But legally? It means a lot.
You are worried I will cause a scandal?
I am worried you will start a war you are not ready to finish.
Her jaw clenched. Do not tell me what I can or can not finish.
I am trying to keep you alive, Leona.
She stared at him, stunned.
Not because of the words but the tone.
It was not cold.
It was… scary.
Genuine.
For the first time since this arrangement began, Dorian Vale did not sound like a man in control.
He sounded like a man trying to be.
And that, more than anything, rattled her.
That night, she found him on the rooftop balcony of the penthouse.
He was alone, sipping something neat and dark, the city glittering behind him. She hesitated at the threshold, watching him from the shadows.
She could have walked away.
Instead, she stepped into the cold air.
He did not turn. Can't sleep?
I did not try.
She moved beside him, leaning on the rail.
They stood in silence for a moment. Just wind and lights and the hum of a city that never rested.
"You knew what Crest did to us," she said finally. You could have used it to manipulate me.
I could have?
But you did not.
No.
Why?
He was quiet.
Then, softly: Because I wanted to see what you would do with the truth.
She looked at him, studying the sharp lines of his face, so calm, so guarded, and wondered what he would have done if the roles were reversed.
"You act like this does not affect you," she said.
It does.
Then why do you hide it?
He took another sip, eyes on the skyline.
Because when I was twelve, he said, my mother told me emotions were weapons. And if you were not the one holding them, you were the one bleeding.
Leona did not speak. Could not
He had never mentioned his family before.
Was she wrong? He asked.
"Yes," she said quietly. Completely.
He finally turned to her.
For once, his mask had cracks.
And she… softened.
A little.
Just a little.
The next morning, Leona arrived at the studio early, her heart still buzzing from the rooftop conversation she could not explain.
Jazz was already waiting with two coffees and a raised brow.
Are you glowing or is that just winter frost?
Leona rolled her eyes. Neither. I had a weird night.
Jazz sipped her coffee. Define weird. Sexy? Scary? Billionaire?
He opened up. For like… five seconds.
Jazz’s eyes widened. Girl. That is like five years in Dorian's time.
I don’t know what it means.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Jazz paused. Do you like him?
Leona did answer.
Because maybe she did.
Just a little.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
At 10:04 a.m., Leona received an email alert.
Subject: Emergency Media Statement Vale Global
- Writer
