Chapter 115 The Price Of Her Betrayal
The car merged into the busy capital traffic. I stared out the tinted window. The towering skyscrapers blurred into streaks of gray and steel. I thought about the sheer terror I felt three years ago. The isolation. The panic of facing the world alone while the media ripped my character to shreds. My best friend handed the knife to my enemies, and then she vanished.
Marcus pulled the sedan to a stop in front of a sleek, modern glass building. A uniformed doorman stood near the entrance.
"Wait by the curb," I told my security contractor.
I stepped out of the car. I walked past the doorman. I entered an immaculate lobby decorated with imported marble and minimalist water features. Fifty thousand dollars provided an excellent foundation for a new, comfortable life.
I rode the elevator to the tenth floor. I stepped out onto a plush carpeted hallway. I found door 10B.
I raised my hand and knocked on the thick wood.
A moment later, the lock clicked. The door swung inward.
Vanessa Cole stood in the doorway. She wore a pristine white silk robe. She held a ceramic coffee mug in her right hand. Her hair fell in loose, styled waves over her shoulders. She looked rested. She looked wealthy.
She looked at my face and froze.
Her eyes went wide. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin a pale, sickly white. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
"Hello, Vanessa," I said.
I stepped forward. The sheer force of my presence made her step back. I walked into her home.
The loft featured high, vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. Expensive abstract art hung on the walls. A massive white leather sofa dominated the living room. It was a monument built on my pain.
"Minerva," Vanessa managed to whisper. Her voice shook. She closed the front door. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to admire your view," I replied. I kept my tone flat and even. I looked around the room. "You built a beautiful life for yourself."
Vanessa forced a tight smile. Her hand trembled, causing the coffee in her mug to ripple.
"I work hard," Vanessa said. She tried to sound casual. She failed. "It is good to see you. I saw your picture on the financial blogs. Aegis is a triumph. I always knew you would conquer the capital."
"Stop talking," I commanded.
The fake smile vanished from her face.
I reached into my coat pocket. I pulled out the wire transfer receipt Diego gave me. I dropped the paper onto her marble coffee table. It landed with a soft flutter.
"A fifty-thousand-dollar transfer," I read the numbers aloud. "From a shell company owned by Thomas Whitmore. Dated three years ago. The exact day my face appeared on the front page of every tabloid in this city."
Vanessa stared at the paper on the table. The ceramic mug slipped from her numb fingers. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. Dark coffee splashed across the expensive wood, staining the pristine white rug.
"Minerva," Vanessa gasped. She raised her hands in a defensive gesture. She backed away from me.
"You sold my private photographs," I stated. I advanced on her, closing the distance. "You gave the press pictures of me inside my own home. You handed them my private text messages. You gave Thomas Whitmore the exact ammunition he needed to brand me a mistress and a whore."
Tears welled in Vanessa’s eyes. They spilled over her lashes and tracked down her pale cheeks.
"I was desperate!" she cried out. Her voice hit a high, panicked pitch. "You do not understand the pressure I faced! You lived in a penthouse with a billionaire! You had everything you wanted! I was drowning in debt. The credit card companies called my phone every single day. The rent was past due. I was terrified of going back to the dirt in Port Sterling!"
"So you threw me to the wolves," I said. I felt no pity. Her tears looked like cheap theater.
"The Whitmore fixers approached me," Vanessa pleaded. She took a hesitant step toward me, begging for mercy. "They offered me a way out of the slums. They said you would be fine. They promised me Tristan would protect you from the fallout. I believed them. I thought you would stay in the capital. I needed the cash, Minerva. I am sorry."
"You are sorry I found the receipt," I corrected her.
I looked at her silk robe. I looked at the expensive art on the walls.
"You did not pay off debt," I continued, stripping away her victim narrative. "You spent three months in Europe. You bought designer clothes. You drank champagne in Paris while I scrubbed floors in a public charity ward."
Vanessa covered her mouth with her hand. A muffled sob escaped her lips.
"And you turned betrayal into a career," I added. I pieced together the reality of her current lifestyle. "You work as a freelance public relations consultant. You infiltrate corporate circles. You earn the trust of junior executives, discover their secrets, and sell the information to the Whitmore media syndicate. You are a spy for the gossip columns."
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut. She did not deny the accusation.
"You destroyed my reputation," I said. The anger in my chest burned hot and bright. "You watched the reporters camp outside my building. You watched me flee the city. You knew I was alone against the legacy families."
"I did not know about the baby!" Vanessa shrieked. "I swear I did not know you were pregnant!"
"It changes nothing," I told her.
I looked at the woman I once called a sister. The bond we shared in the industrial district was dead. She murdered it for a bank transfer.
"I forgave many things in my life," I said. I stepped closer, forcing her back against the large glass window. "I forgave the cold winters in the rust belt. I forgave the hunger. I even tried to understand Tristan's choices. But I do not forgive traitors."
"What are you going to do?" Vanessa asked. Terror filled her eyes. She pressed her hands against the glass behind her.
"You built your new life on my pain," I answered. I gave her a cold, empty stare. "I am going to take it all back."