Fatal Transaction

Thick cigar smoke filled the presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton, London. On a bed draped in silk sheets, a middle-aged man with a protruding belly peeking through his bathrobe panted, struggling to catch his breath. This was Senator Richard, a politician whose face frequently graced city billboards with the slogan "Integrity and Morality." Vivienne stood before a large mirror, ignoring the man's presence. She was fastening the buttons of a designer black backless gown that clung perfectly to her slender frame. "Vivienne, wait," the Senator’s heavy voice pleaded. He reached into the vanity drawer and pulled out a checkbook. "One more hour. Just one more hour, and I'll write whatever number you want." Vivienne glanced at him through the reflection. Her eyes were cold, untouched by the tempting offer. She picked up her small handbag and turned around. "My principle is one transaction, one night, Senator. No repeats, no overtime," Vivienne said in a low, authoritative voice. "But I can pay you ten times your usual rate!" the man began to despair, his reddened face looking pathetic. Vivienne walked closer, the scent of her expensive sandalwood perfume piercing the Senator’s senses. She leaned down slightly, offering a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "My time is the only thing in this world you cannot bribe, Senator. If you want more, please contact my assistant and wait in line like everyone else. That is, if my schedule even has an opening for next month." Without waiting for an answer, Vivienne stepped out, leaving the powerful man in deep disappointment. In the quiet hotel hallway, her private assistant, Marcus, was already waiting with a tablet in hand. They walked toward the private elevator. "The schedule for tonight is complete, Miss. But there is an urgent request for the day after tomorrow. Someone is offering a one-million-dollar deposit just for an introductory session," Marcus reported, showing her the tablet screen. Vivienne initially wanted to refuse. She needed rest. However, as her finger skimmed through the client’s digital profile, her movement stopped. A photo of a man with a sharp jawline, ice-cold piercing eyes, and a suit that radiated high authority was displayed there. Maximilian Thorne. CEO of Thorne Insurance Group and a man rumored to hold control over the "dark" businesses of the East District. Vivienne’s heart raced—not because of the man’s charm, but because of a sudden hatred that burned in her chest. Memories of cold school corridors, mocking laughter, and the shame that had destroyed her life ten years ago replayed like a broken record. "Maximilian?" Vivienne hissed. The name felt bitter on her tongue. "Do you know him, Miss? He wants the meeting to take place at his exclusive bar," Marcus asked, surprised by his boss's change in expression. Vivienne smirked—a predatory smirk that was beautiful yet lethal. "Of course I know him, Marcus. He is the reason I became the woman I am today." She handed the tablet back to Marcus firmly. "Set the schedule. Don't miss a single cent of that deposit. Tell him, I will be there." Vivienne stared at her reflection in the polished elevator wall. That miserable nerd was dead. All that remained was Vivienne, and she would make sure Maximilian Thorne paid for every tear she had ever shed—with very heavy interest. The elegant black Bentley glided smoothly through the cold London drizzle. In the back seat, Vivienne leaned her head against a plush leather pillow, her eyes staring blankly at the city lights blurring against the window. Beside her, Marcus was still busy with several phones and tablets, ensuring his employer's privacy remained tightly guarded. The silence inside the cabin was broken only by the barely audible hum of the engine. Vivienne closed her eyes, but Maximilian Thorne’s face continued to haunt her darkness. The traumatic memories of high school suddenly felt so real, as if she had just escaped that school yesterday. "We will arrive in ten minutes, Miss," her private driver’s deep voice broke her reverie. "Thank you, Arthur," Vivienne replied shortly. She then turned to Marcus. "Marcus?" "Yes, Miss?" Marcus immediately diverted his full attention from his tablet. He had worked for Vivienne for four years. He had seen her at her lowest and helped her build her exclusive "service" empire from scratch. To him, Vivienne was not just a boss, but someone he respected for her resilience. Vivienne adjusted her seating position, her slender fingers playing nervously with the hem of her gown. "Has Maximilian replied?" Marcus checked his tablet screen once more before answering. "His personal assistant just sent a confirmation, Miss. One million dollars has entered the escrow account. He agrees to your terms. Monday night, nine o'clock, at The Obsidian—his private bar." Vivienne gave a lopsided smile, though her gaze remained sharp. "His own bar. He wants to show his dominance from the start." "It seems so. Should I arrange for extra security?" Marcus asked with a tone of measured concern. "No need. He wants to play on his home turf, so I will arrive as his most special guest," Vivienne took a long breath, staring at her reflection in the dark phone screen. "He won't recognize me, Marcus. To him, I’m just another 'luxury item' he can buy for a boring night. He doesn't know that he just bought a ticket to his own destruction." The car slowly entered the underground parking area of Vivienne’s luxury penthouse apartment. Before getting out, Vivienne turned back to Marcus. "Make sure all data regarding his insurance business and his dark connections in the East District are on my desk tomorrow morning. I want to know every inch of his weakness," Vivienne said flatly. In truth, she wasn't particularly interested in the name Maximilian, but given the bitter past, that hatred surfaced again, and Vivienne hated that feeling. "Certainly, Miss. Everything will be ready before you wake up," Marcus replied obediently. The private elevator doors opened directly into the foyer of Vivienne's two-story penthouse. Dim lighting welcomed them, highlighting the white marble and the minimalist yet incredibly expensive interior that decorated the room. Arthur, the driver, remained in the car, while Marcus stepped in behind Vivienne to ensure everything was secure. The first floor of the apartment featured very high ceilings with large glass windows stretching from floor to ceiling, offering a view of the wet London skyline. "Pour me a glass of bourbon, Marcus," Vivienne ordered as she kicked off her high heels and let her feet sink into the thick, plush carpet. She walked toward the large window, staring at the glittering city lights that felt so far below. Marcus moved deftly toward the private bar in the corner of the room. The clinking of ice cubes against the crystal glass broke the silence of the night. He brought the glass to Vivienne with total respect. "Here, Miss." Vivienne accepted the glass, sipping the warm liquid that burned her throat, trying to banish the coldness that had crept into her heart since she saw Maximilian’s name. Her gaze was fixed on the spiral staircase leading to the second floor, where her private room lay—her final sanctuary. "I hate him, Marcus," Vivienne murmured suddenly, her eyes still fixed on the rain washing over the glass. "Not just because of what he did, but because after all these years of building this new life, just one mention of his name can still make my hands shake." She raised the hand holding the glass, revealing a subtle tremor that was nearly invisible. "You are no longer that weak little girl, Vivienne," Marcus said softly but firmly. "Now, you are the most sought-after woman by the powerful men in this city. This time, he is the one who will come kneeling to you." Vivienne drained her drink, letting anger replace her anxiety. She placed the empty glass on the marble table with a sharp 'click.' "Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock. I want those files ready," Vivienne said as she began walking toward the stairs. "I want to sleep. Prepare yourself, Marcus. Monday night will be the beginning of a very long performance." Marcus bowed slightly as Vivienne ascended the stairs. "Good night, Miss." Vivienne continued her climb, each step on the staircase feeling like an assertion of power. Behind the door of her room, she would take off the Vivienne mask and become the woman who was mapping out a strategy for war.