Damn it. These silver stilettos cost three thousand dollars, but they feel like I'm standing on burning coals. Valerie Vance muttered under her breath every time her heels struck the polished marble floors of the St. Regis, which were slicker than hell. She had to keep her balance; the last thing she needed was to humiliate herself in front of these suits busy flaunting their Rolexes. Valerie hated this place. It was crawling with hypocrites, all wearing fake smiles while secretly calculating how many tax write-offs they could squeeze out of this charity gala.
Valerie took a deep breath and adjusted her red gown, which felt like it was slipping a bit at the chest. She needed a drink. Not the watered-down champagne the terrified-looking waiters were lugging around, but something stiff to wash down the nausea rising in her throat.
Her eyes scanned the room, trying to ignore the old men staring at her like she was some new exhibit. And then, she saw her target.
Julian Blackwood.
He stood in the center of the crowd, clutching a glass of whiskey as if it were the most precious thing in the world. His black Tom Ford suit fit his broad frame perfectly, looking as though it had been stitched directly onto his skin. Julian was laughing at some garbage a senator was spewing, but his eyes remained cold. Those were the same eyes that, eight years ago, had remained indifferent while watching Valerie's father beg for mercy in court.
Valerie's stomach suddenly lurched. That nausea was back, now fueled by a rage that made her fingertips tremble. She still remembered vividly how Julian had signed the papers that turned her family into vagrants overnight. Julian hadn't even bothered to look at Valerie when her father pleaded for a little more time to pay off the debt. To Julian, the Vance family was just a number that needed to be erased from his ledger.
"Val, stop daydreaming. You look like you're about to strangle someone," Arthur whispered in her ear.
Valerie forced a crooked smile, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from grinding. "I am, Arthur. But don't worry, I won't start a scene that'll make you work overtime tonight."
"Good. Remember, Julian is as slippery as an eel. One wrong move and he'll know you're up to something."
"Let him know," Valerie replied shortly, snagging a glass of whiskey from a passing waiter's tray. "I want him to look me right in the face when I destroy everything he's proud of."
They began weaving through the crowd. Valerie intentionally took the long way, passing several groups of businessmen so they'd notice her first. She wanted Julian to feel a new "disturbance" in his room before they actually met face-to-face. She wanted to catch his eye without looking like some cheap girl chasing after him.
"Julian, how've you been?" Arthur greeted him with a fake, chummy tone that made Valerie want to gag. "Meet Valerie Vance. The new CEO of V-Creative, fresh back from London. She's been the talk of Wall Street since that startup acquisition."
Julian turned slowly. His movements were lazy—the way a man moves when he knows he owns the room. He looked Valerie up and down, from her heels to her flowing brown hair. His gaze was incredibly bold, like he was eyeing a luxury item in a shop window. Valerie didn't look down. She met his eyes with a look that was almost a challenge, wrapped neatly in a fake professional smile.
"Valerie Vance," Julian murmured her name in a deep, raspy voice. "A decent name. But it seems you aren't exactly enjoying my party, Miss Vance?"
Valerie took a sip of her whiskey, her eyes locked onto Julian's dark ones. "The party is fine, Mr. Blackwood. I'm just not a fan of crowds busy kissing your ass just to snag a project next year."
The air around them suddenly turned stiff. Arthur nearly choked on his drink, his face pale. Julian just paused for a second, then gave a thin smirk. There was a spark of curiosity in his eyes—the look of a predator finding a new toy.
"Brutally honest," Julian said. "Then why bother coming if you think this is all just a suck-up fest?"
"I just wanted to see for myself if the 'Genius Julian Blackwood' from the magazines is real, or if it's just the work of an overpriced PR team polishing your image."
Julian took a step forward, invading Valerie's personal space. He was so close she could smell the sandalwood cologne and the scent of expensive whiskey on his breath.
"And? What's the verdict after seeing me in person?"
Valerie looked at Julian's lips, then back to his eyes. She paused for a few seconds, intentionally making him wait.
"My verdict? You're far more dangerous than I imagined. But that's good. I'm bored with opponents who give up easily or are too predictable."
Julian let out a short laugh. It wasn't a polite laugh for small talk; it sounded like a challenge thrown back at her.
"Careful, Miss Vance. People who challenge me usually go home empty-handed, or they don't have a home to go back to at all."
"Let's just see who goes home crying tonight," Valerie whispered, low enough so only Julian could hear.
For the rest of the night, Valerie played it cool. She didn't stay in one spot. She moved from group to group, chatting with Julian's business rivals, laughing with bank directors, but she made sure Julian could see her from across the room. She wanted to make him dying of curiosity. She wanted him to think: *Who is this girl? Why is she so bold?*
At eleven o'clock, Valerie left without saying goodbye to anyone, not even Arthur. She walked quickly toward the parking garage elevators, and the moment the doors shut, she kicked off her stilettos. Damn, her feet hurt so bad she wanted to cry. She leaned against the cold elevator wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Being near Julian felt like standing on the edge of a massive cliff.
When she reached the quiet underground parking lot, Valerie broke into a light jog toward her black Audi parked in a dark corner. She got in, locked the doors, and immediately opened her laptop in the passenger seat. Her hands were still shaking as she pulled a small flash drive out of her clutch.
She'd snagged it at the bar earlier. She had "accidentally" spilled a bit of her drink on Julian's assistant—the one who looked like a total idiot—and while he was busy wiping his suit, Valerie calmly swapped the flash drive in his jacket pocket with an empty one she'd brought along. An old trick, but the assistant had been too busy staring at Valerie's cleavage to notice how fast her hands were moving.
The laptop screen flickered to life, displaying thousands of transaction files Julian had been hiding. Tax evasion data, shady transfers to offshore accounts, even proof of the forged documents that had ruined her father's company. It was all there.
"Just getting started, Julian," Valerie whispered in the dark, stuffy car.
The tears she'd held back all day finally fell, but her eyes remained sharp and full of vengeance.
"You made my father die like a loser. Now, I'm going to make sure you live long enough to see yourself begging at my feet. I'm taking everything from you, until you've got nothing left but your own rotten name."
She cranked the engine and tore out of the St. Regis. In the rearview mirror, the lights of the luxury hotel grew smaller and smaller, and the pain in her feet began to fade, replaced by a cold sense of satisfaction. The game was just beginning, and Valerie Vance wasn't going to stop until Julian Blackwood was leveled to the ground.