Chapter 4 - The Aftermath in the ApartmentThe car ride back to Victoria’s luxury high-rise apartment in the Gold Coast was an exercise in pure, suffocating terror.
Neither of us spoke a single word. Victoria gripped the steering wheel of her black sports car so tightly her knuckles turned bone-white, the engine roaring through the empty downtown streets well above the speed limit. Every few seconds, she would shoot me a sideways look filled with murderous rage, her teeth clenched so hard I thought they might crack.
When we finally burst through the front door of her penthouse, the dam broke.
"What the hell was that?!" Victoria shrieked, slamming her designer handbag onto the marble entryway table so hard the strap snapped.
I kicked off my heels, rubbing my aching feet, and walked toward the kitchen. "I didn't do anything, Victoria."
"Don't lie to me!" she screamed, storming after me, her face contorted with ugly fury. "I spent six months cultivating contacts, attending charity galas, and playing every single card I had to get Mason Bennett’s attention! And the second he walks into the room, he ignores me—me—and chases after my pathetic, good-for-nothing little sister who spends her days covered in turpentine and old oil paint!"
"He didn't chase me," I said evenly, pulling a bottle of cold water from the fridge. "I walked away."
"He followed you!" she roared, grabbing a decorative glass vase from the counter and smashing it against the tile floor, sending shards flying everywhere. "He gave you his private card! Do you have any idea who Mason Bennett is? He owns half of Chicago! People like us don't even breathe the same air as him unless he permits it!"
"Clearly," I murmured, taking a slow sip of water.
Victoria marched up to me, jabbing a manicured finger hard against my chest. "Listen to me, Emily. You are going to call his office tomorrow morning. You are going to tell him it was a mistake, that you’re just a nobody, and you are going to hand that card over to me. Do you understand?"
I looked down at her finger pressing against my ribs. For twenty-eight years, I had folded under that pressure. I had apologized for breathing, stepped aside so she could take the spotlight, and swallowed every insult she ever handed me.
Slowly, I raised my eyes to meet hers. My voice wasn't shaking anymore.
"No."
Victoria froze. Her hand hovered in mid-air. "What did you just say?"
"I said no," I repeated clearly, setting my water bottle down on the counter with a quiet thud. "I didn't ask him to follow me. I didn't ask for his card. But I am not your servant, Victoria. And I am certainly not going to clean up a mess you made just because your charm wasn't enough."
Before she could wind up to slap me across the face, I turned my back on her, walked down the long hallway toward the guest bedroom, and locked the door behind me.
My heart was hammering a million miles an hour. I leaned my back against the heavy wood, sliding down to the floor until my knees hit my chest. I had just declared war on the most powerful person in my immediate world.
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Little did I know, Victoria’s rage was only the prologue.
Deep within the financial district of Chicago, hidden inside the high-security computer servers of Bennett Holdings, a quiet storm was brewing. And the secret I had been carrying in my sketchpad for the last three months—a secret concerning stolen land deeds, forged architectural permits, and a shell company registered under Victoria’s own name—was about to land directly on Mason Bennett’s desk.
