My cheeks burned with rage as I scanned the curt letter trembling in my grasp. The paper crackled beneath my fingers, but I barely noticed—I was too consumed by the fire spreading in my chest. My breath hitched, shallow and sharp, as my gaze darted to Rohan, who stood silent and tense just a few steps away.
I tore the letter in two, the sound ripping through the tense air like a scream.
"How dare he respond like that?" I exploded, my voice raw and shaking. "Through his secretary? His secretary?"
Humiliation and fury tangled in my throat. My heart pounded like a war drum against my ribs.
"I addressed him as the Chairman of The Lunara Collective, Inc.—not some common associate! And he sends this in return?" My words trembled, my shoulders shivering with disbelief and wrath.
And as if the sting of rejection wasn't enough, the storm brewing around my family had reached a violent pitch. My father—Vorthen Draventhall—was facing prison for crimes he didn't commit, all because of falsified accusations from clients and greedy investors with too much power and too little conscience.
This was the nature of the empire we moved in. The higher you climbed, the more hands reached out to pull you back down. I'd seen it before—lived it. But I had never, ever, let them succeed.
Now this? This letter? This cowardly dismissal?
"Only letters with importance," it read.
I pressed my fingertips to my temples, breathing hard, the cold leather of my swivel chair grounding me as I spun slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. Rohan and Edward stood like statues before me, unwavering. They were my shadows—my silent strength.
But even their presence couldn't quiet the storm inside me.
Not this time.
The silence they gave me was deafening—so complete, so thick, it felt like it had teeth. It stood in stark contrast to the distant clamor of protestors bleeding in from the building's lower floors.
I rose sharply from my chair, annoyance radiating from every inch of me. My heels struck the floor like warning shots—click, click, click. I stopped, mid-step, then pivoted. Walked a few paces in the opposite direction. Then turned back again. Like a storm pacing in its cage.
Fury rippled beneath my skin. My jaw clenched. My nails dug into my palms. I could tear apart anything that crossed my path right now—including, without question, the arrogant bastard who had the gall to send that letter.
A soft, polite cough escaped from Rohan.
I glanced at him, and regretted it instantly. Even his biceps looked smug today, flexing subtly beneath the taut fabric of his sleeves as he shifted slightly in place.
"What?" I snapped. My voice was low, threatening.
He met my glare with calm indifference. "Which one are you angry about, Ma'am? The letter's content… or the fact that he dared to dismiss you?"
Oh, I was seconds away from turning him to ash.
But fate had other plans.
The phone rang.
That shrill, goddamn sound sliced through my anger like a blade. I'd told Marical not to take any more calls. Protestors, investors, reporters—none of them mattered right now.
"Hello?!" I snapped into the receiver.
"M-Ma'am, I'm sorry! It's Sir Ivan. He asked to speak with you—"
I closed my eyes. Counted to two. Three was too generous. Every nerve in my body screamed to hurl the phone at Rohan's smug face.
What now, Ivan?
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Connect him."
I sat back in my chair, arms crossed tightly, frustration radiating off me like heat from sun-baked concrete. I waited, fuming, as Ivan took his sweet time on the other end of the line. My dear cousin—always knowing the worst possible moment to call, and choosing it with precision like it was an art.
And today? Apparently no exception.
"Hello, cousin..." His voice slithered through the line, laced with that signature smugness I hated more than I hated bad coffee and weak men.
God, I wanted to flip him off so badly. My middle finger actually twitched. But instead, I exhaled, my shoulders sagging in reluctant restraint.
"Have you given any thought to what I asked of you?" he added, feigning patience.
I didn't flinch. "Which part, Ivan? If you mean handing over my company—this company—just to start over in yours? Then no. Absolutely not."
He laughed. Of course he did.
Lucky for him he wasn't within arm's reach. I might've broken something—preferably his smug face.
"You've got two choices," he said smoothly. "Either you take the position I've generously offered and pay off your father's debts through my company, or you sell that overpriced fantasy island you keep flaunting."
His tone darkened. "This isn't the time for luxury, Vyn."
My jaw clenched. "Why do you even care what I do?"
"Because I care about the Lunara Collective," he said, as if that excused everything. "It's where our fathers started, where I learned everything. That foundation led to Le Grande, and I'm offering you a real shot here—an executive position, real power. If you'd just stop being so—"
"Shut up, Ivan!" I hissed, my voice rising like a whipcrack. "We don't need your company. I don't need your offer. I have mine. I am the heiress of this empire, and I will lead it through this."
"No, Vyn," he said softly, with a weariness that chilled me more than anger ever could. "You can't. Not yet. You need to accept that your father made a mistake. After your mother died, he spiraled—casinos, reckless decisions, loans stacked higher than pride. And now you're standing in the ruins."
"I'm not denying that," he added. "But this—this shouldn't be your first battle. It's too big. Too bloody. And you don't have to do it alone."
I felt the sting building behind my eyes—the kind of ache that warned of tears I refused to shed. Ivan's voice had been drenched in concern, but my mind was a battlefield of doubts and racing thoughts, too loud to hear anything clearly anymore.
Lunara Collective wasn't just a company. It was a legacy. The first of its kind—a real estate pioneer in the Philippines, built to serve those who had the least. Low-cost housing for the marginalized, the forgotten, the overlooked. It was a dream with foundations built on compassion, and I had dedicated my life to it.
Hell, it was why I became an architect in the first place.
"What do you even know about what I can do, Ivan?" I hissed, voice shaking with a fury I didn't bother to hide. "I know how this world works. And I don't need your help."
I slammed the phone down before he could respond.
The silence that followed was deafening—and heavy. Regret crept in like a slow-moving tide, and I closed my eyes, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding.
If Ivan found out I hung up on him like that, he'd probably storm into my office, toss me over his shoulder, and drag me out just to prove a point.
"Maybe... maybe there's another way, Ma'am?" Rohan said gently, his voice tinged with something almost like fear.
I looked at him and let out a dry laugh. He knew I was being sarcastic—and still, he flinched.
"Like what?"
He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "The guy who handed me that letter earlier mentioned there was a follow-up from THI. Said it's an invitation. Looked like... an engagement party."
My eyes went wide.
I crossed the room in an instant, and Rohan—who normally towered over me like the Hulk—actually took a step back. He might have looked like a warrior, but when I was pissed, he shrank down like a kitten cornered in the rain.
"Whose engagement party?" I asked, my voice sharp with disbelief—and something sour twisting in my gut.
"His?" I spat the word out like poison.
Spain felt like a distant memory. I'd gone there to chase my master's degree in architecture. A future. A dream. But all of it had been put on hold the moment this company began to collapse beneath the weight of my father's sins.
And now—this?
An engagement?
"Don't you dare play me for a fool, Rohan!" I snapped, voice slicing through the thick air of my office like a whip.
"I swear it's true, Ma'am," he said, his tone steady but cautious. "I was going to wait to give it to you later, but when I found out it was just an invitation to a party... I knew you'd explode. So I handed it over right away."
I bit my lip hard. The kind of bite that kept me from slow-clapping him into the next room.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, pacing now, breath sharp. "A man like him wouldn't—"
I let out a bitter laugh that shook my shoulders. "Oh wait, what am I saying? He's rich. He owns a company. A maid would marry him for that alone."
Goddamn it. Is this really what I'm left with?
Rohan watched me with that unspoken question hanging between us: What now, Ma'am?
I sank into my chair with a weight that wasn't just physical. I was trying to breathe, trying to be rational, trying to remember how to care about anything else besides saving what's left of my father's empire.
My father—my once-godlike father—is probably on his way to prison right this moment.
And me? I'm gambling everything I have left on one last desperate move.
This has to work.
It will work.
Failure isn't a luxury I can afford.
"Edward," I said calmly, with steel behind each syllable. "Go back to their company. Retrieve the invitation they should have handed to Rohan."
Edward nodded wordlessly and slipped out the door. Leaner than Rohan, but with the same quiet intensity. Like a battle-scarred soldier dressed in a suit.
Now it was just Rohan and me in the room.
I leaned forward, voice low, deliberate.
"Position the chopper near the golf course. And buy me a smuggled vehicle."
He nodded again, his face unreadable. But I saw it in his eyes—he knew what this meant. He knew what my next move would cost me.
But I didn't care.
Because I needed this.
I needed this so goddamn much—and I was prepared to burn everything for it.
"Alert everyone who might be involved. And find out—what agency handles his bodyguards?" I asked, arching a brow with sharp precision.
"Ma'am," Rohan replied, clearing his throat. "He... doesn't have any."
For a moment—just a breath—I actually smiled. And from the way Rohan's expression lit up, you'd think I'd just handed him a medal. He lived for rare moments like this.
"I don't believe that," I said, eyes narrowing.
I wasn't stupid enough to fall for such a story. And just like that, Rohan's hopeful grin withered into uncertainty.
"It's true," he insisted. "Sir Vorthen and I saw him several times—during product launches, meetings, even investor summits. No bodyguards. Not one."
"A man at the top of the corporate food chain? No protection? That's either suicidal or egotistical," I muttered, starting to pace. "How the hell does he expect to fend off angry mobs? Disgruntled employees? Or those scandal-hungry reporters?"
Rohan chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused. "Maybe his people aren't like that, Ma'am. Maybe they actually believe in what they're building."
I stopped mid-step, the bitterness twisting my lips into a faint sneer. He caught it, and his voice faltered.
Well... if it's true, that's even more interesting. But either way, we prepare for the worst.
"I'm going to that party," I said with finality.
Rohan blinked. "Ma'am? Are you sure? That'll make things... harder."
"If I don't show up, they'll talk. Accusations will spread faster than wildfire. You'll continue with the plan while I'm there. We'll sync before I head to the golf course and before we leave."
He hesitated, eyes searching mine. "Aren't you going to try, Ma'am? You know... at the party?"
I rolled my eyes so hard it could've shattered glass.
"I'm going to make a statement, Rohan. Not win hearts."
But deep down, something stirred. Something I didn't want to name yet.
"If this really is an engagement party, do you honestly believe I can change the course of everything in just an hour? Worse—thirty minutes?" I snapped, my voice sharp as broken glass. "No. That's why I won't even bother trying once I get there. The moment I leave this house... we execute the plan."
My gaze dropped to the invitation resting in my hands—a thick white card embossed with gold lettering. Elegant, expensive, unmistakably deliberate.
So this is real.
Of course it is.
With their names proudly displayed in metallic gold, I'd be a complete fool to think it was just a birthday celebration.
Guests were instructed to wear gold and silver. Typical. My eyes darkened as I read the names again, over and over, fury smoldering in my chest like a flame starved for oxygen.
Gold and silver. I love those colors. I always have.
I was raised in the golden years of Lunara Collective—years when I could afford to wrap myself in anything that glittered. Silk gowns from Milan. Diamonds straight from Antwerp. Velvet from Paris. I wasn't just born into luxury; I was sculpted by it.
And in that sparkling world, I learned to measure everything by its price.
But I also learned that some things—like my family's company—held value far beyond what any check could cover.
Still, it burned. All of this. Watching everything collapse around me when I had once stood at the top of it all, untouchable. My father, the great Vorthen Draventhall, didn't deserve this. He was tricked, and this mess? This fallout? This burden?
Now it's mine.
And I will carry it—crush it—if I have to.
After checking in on my father and making sure he was in capable hands, I gave myself one final look in the mirror.
I adjusted my diamond earrings, smoothed the fabric of my dress. No wrinkles. No weakness. No second thoughts.
My strapless gold pencil-cut dress hugged me like second skin. Gold platform heels clicked confidently beneath me. A matching clutch sparkled in my hand like a challenge. I was a walking warning—do not underestimate me.
I stepped into my BMW, engine growling to life beneath my control, and hit the gas.
When I arrived at the hotel's basement, I sent a quick message to my team: I'm here.
I stepped into the elevator, which opened onto the lobby floor lined with mirrored walls. I didn't need to look directly—I caught my reflection in the corners of my vision. My natural chestnut-brown hair was swept into a sleek French twist. My cheekbones sculpted with precision, my nose sharp and proud. Sophistication wasn't an act—it was my armor.
Media personnel hovered like flies near honey. I smiled faintly at them, knowing the effect I had.
They weren't ready.
Their jaws dropped as I passed—golden, poised, untouchable. I didn't slow my stride. I wasn't here to be worshiped or torn apart. But if they wanted their moment so desperately that they'd risk tripping over themselves just to get it—well, maybe I'd toss them a headline.
"Miss Draventhall! You're here!" one of them shouted—round-faced, with a press ID from a well-known magazine swinging from his neck.
I turned just enough to acknowledge him.
Let the games begin.
I smiled. The cameras flashed wildly, their shutters snapping like insects swarming to light. So I smiled wider. Posed stronger.
Of course they'd flock to me—I was invited by the host himself. The audacity. After everything that happened between us? And now this? An invitation delivered in gold foil and mock civility.
"I just arrived from Madrid for a vacation," I said sweetly, lips curving like a polished blade.
"Wow! Where are you staying, Miss Draventhall? Are you planning to stay here in the Philippines for good?" one eager reporter asked, his voice too excited for someone asking an obvious question.
God, does no one think anymore?
"It's a vacation," I answered, voice laced with polite exasperation. "Naturally, I won't be staying long."
"No? But we heard your father is facing lawsuits—what about the company?"
I didn't miss a beat. "My cousin Ivan is handling that. He's more than capable." Then I turned, meeting their eager eyes with steel in mine. "Or... are we here to talk about my father, or are you finally going to ask me about what I'm wearing tonight?"
That earned a round of awkward laughter, though my arched brow quickly reminded them I wasn't joking.
"Of course!" a woman beside me chimed in, someone from one of the more fashionable glossies. "I've always admired your style. I follow your Instagram. So luxe, so you!"
Now that made me smile.
She asked about my gown, and I gladly obliged. I told her the dress was a last-minute pick, chosen with mere hours to spare after I received the invitation far too late. Still, it worked, didn't it?
"And how long has it been since you last visited the Philippines?" someone asked, tilting their head with faux curiosity. "We thought you'd never come back."
"I visit," I replied smoothly. "Just not publicly. I tend to avoid gatherings that serve no purpose."
"Oh! That explains it."
The questions felt endless. Predictable. Repetitive. A glossy editor even approached, asking if I'd be open to a cover story. I slipped her my card—never say never—and finally escaped inside.
God, if they only knew the chaos I was wading through. Social events were the last thing on my priority list.
The venue was washed in lavender and deep violet tones, with lush green ferns curled in every corner. Golden chairs and tables glittered under dim chandeliers. I clenched my jaw, trying not to grimace at the overwhelming opulence.
And yet... I had to admit it. It wasn't awful. In fact—it was stunning.
"Hi, Miss Draventhall!" chirped a familiar voice. I gave a short wave, half a smile.
Another group of overdressed women approached, asking about my friends, and why I came alone.
Of course I came alone. I'm not here to socialize, for heaven's sake.
I snatched a champagne flute from a passing server and took a long sip. My gaze swept across the ballroom, noting the crowd of industry giants. I spotted a few former schoolmates, too. Time hadn't been as kind to them. That's marriage for you.
A hush fell over the room as an older couple entered—elegant, proud—and beside them, a girl.
Long, gold gown. Perfect posture. Doll-like grace. Fiancee? Most likely.
I rolled my eyes, set my glass down with too much force, and reached for another. Well done, Vyn. Brilliant prediction. You always were sharp, weren't you?
I downed the second champagne faster than I should've.
Her skin was porcelain, her hair a sheet of jet-black silk, her movements calculated and elegant. It made my stomach turn.
"You've really outdone yourself this time, haven't you?" I muttered under my breath, bitter and sharp. "Well done, indeed."
My gaze lingered on the woman again. Petite, delicate—barely five feet tall, perhaps five-two at best. Her movements were fluid, polished with the kind of poise you only learn from years of charm school and expensive etiquette lessons. She smiled demurely at every guest who approached her, eyes fluttering like she belonged in some glossy bridal magazine.
A classic girly girl. The type who probably cried over broken heels and wedding Pinterest boards.
My phone buzzed, slicing clean through my brewing irritation. Thank God.
Rohan:
Ma'am, ready.
I downed the rest of my champagne in one decisive gulp, then slipped back into the crowd, wearing a perfected smile. I greeted a few guests, allowed the inevitable small talk, and feigned interest when they asked how I'd been. Let them all see me—remember that I was here. Just in case anyone got the idea to accuse me of anything later.
Another buzz. I didn't bother to check. I already knew: he was here. Or rather, had been.
The Master of Ceremonies took the stage, his voice echoing through the crystal chandeliers and murmuring guests. I grabbed another flute of wine, sipping slowly as the tension began to build. Murmurs rippled. Whispers rose. No groom.
Where was the star of the show?
I watched her. The would-be bride, standing poised beside her parents, anxiety blooming in her posture. She clutched her phone, thumb dancing over the screen, texting—maybe begging. After a moment, she called. Her mother leaned in to ask something. She shook her head.
I licked my bottom lip slowly, savoring the moment. My phone buzzed again. I looked down.
Rohan:
He's secured, Ma'am.
When I glanced back at the girl, I saw a security guard lean down to speak with her. She frowned. Confused. She turned to the MC, who nodded and smiled awkwardly at the audience.
"We'll be starting a little later than expected, ladies and gentlemen," he announced.
Perfect. No trails. No slip-ups. If even the security had no clue where he was, then Rohan and Edward had done their job immaculately. I really ought to give them a raise.
"Excuse me, where's the powder room?" I asked a passing guest, feigning urgency though I knew very well where it was.
"Just down that way and left, Miss.:
"Thank you," I replied sweetly, already walking.
But as I neared the restroom, I turned sharply—heels clicking softly on the marble—as I made my way to the exit instead. With an air of grace, I entered the elevator, rode it down to the basement, and approached the valet.
"I'll need my parking space cleared. It's urgent," I told him. He nodded quickly, sensing the authority in my voice. Moments later, I slipped into my BMW.
As the car rolled out of the hotel grounds, a smile curved on my lips. One more buzz.
Rohan:
Complete.
I stepped harder on the gas, the engine roaring beneath me, pushing the BMW past a hundred-twenty as I took a sharp turn toward the gated village where my grandfather's estate stood—massive, opulent, and cloaked in shadows of its own legends.
I caught the silhouette of the mansion from the corner of my eye. It had been years since I last set foot near it. But I wouldn't linger now. This wasn't a nostalgic visit. I had a job to finish.
Near the edge of the property, our private chopper waited, its blades already cutting the air in slow rotations. I pulled up beside it, threw the keys to one of the guards, and grabbed my clutch.
With purpose in every step, I approached the black chopper. Rohan was already at the door, holding out his hand to help me into the front seat. I slid in, adjusted my seatbelt, and felt the hum of anticipation buzz through my veins.
Behind me were more of my guards. Belle. And, of course... our special guest.
Kael. Blindfolded. Hands bound. Helpless.
Poor man. Couldn't even make it to his own engagement party.
Rohan took the pilot's seat beside me, his fingers expertly moving across the controls. The chopper lifted into the air, roaring into the night sky.
We didn't look back.