Chapter 119 Your Battlefield Should Change
Chapter 119 Your Battlefield Should Change
Stephanie's POV
Karon's words were like a stone dropped into the still surface of my mind, sending ripples that refused to fade. I might have drowned in that unspoken tension if not for the sudden swell of noise from the gala entrance, pulling me back to the present.
When I stepped into the grand, gold-lit ballroom with my arm linked through Karon's, the world seemed to fall into a hush. Crystal chandeliers cast rivers of light over silk gowns and tailored suits, and every gaze turned toward us as if drawn by gravity.
Shock. Envy. Curiosity. Calculation.
"Who is that man? His presence is... terrifying."
"Isn't that Stephanie from the Valerius Pack? What's she doing with someone from the Thorn Pack?"
"She's nothing but a pretty face living off her family's name. How does she deserve to stand beside the Alpha King?"
The whispers slid through the air, sharp as glass. I kept my smile perfectly polite, though my grip on Karon's arm tightened without thinking.
He must have felt it, because he leaned down, his voice brushing against my ear with quiet authority. "Relax. Tonight, your only job is to be beautiful."
The command was both arrogant and reassuring, and it washed away the edge of my nerves. I tilted my head toward him, letting a sly smile curl my lips. "That won't be enough. I plan to enjoy watching certain people squirm."
The words had barely left my mouth when a voice cut through the hum of the crowd like a discordant note.
"Stephanie."
Bennett.
He held a champagne flute, his smile stripped away, replaced by something darker—obsession threaded with madness. He moved through the crowd with unshakable purpose, stopping directly in front of me.
"You work fast," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Barely warmed the Elite Choice Executive Search Firm president's chair you got through Chloe, and now you're already clawing your way to a bigger, stronger patron?"
The barbed words were loud enough to spark a ripple of murmurs around us. I caught the faint tightening of Karon's brow. I, however, merely reached for a champagne flute from a passing tray, swirling the golden liquid with deliberate grace.
"Mr. Lightwood," I said, my voice smooth and unruffled, "my battlefield is mine to choose. I don't recall inviting your opinion."
I lifted my gaze to meet his, steady and cold. "But if you're so concerned about my career, perhaps you should focus on keeping your own acquisition plans from collapsing before they even take shape."
His expression froze. Around us, several onlookers drew in sharp breaths.
Acquisition plans? His attempt to buy a headhunting firm was supposed to be under strict confidentiality. How did I know?
"You've been investigating me?" Bennett's voice dropped low, his face hardening with each word.
"Mr. Lightwood," I said, the corner of my mouth curving in a blade-sharp smile, "know your enemy, win your war. I believe you taught me that."
His stare burned into me, feral and unrestrained. I had struck the nerve I aimed for. He thought himself untouchable, yet every secret he kept was already spread in the sunlight before me.
"Good," he said at last, his laugh edged with something unhinged. "Very good. You have changed."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering to a private growl meant only for the three of us. "The more you fight to prove yourself, the more you try to escape me, the more it proves you still care."
"I admit I overlooked you before. But so what? Now I'm back." His eyes locked on mine, burning with possessive fire. "And no matter how you struggle, you will always be mine."
Before I could respond, a voice rang out from the crowd—aged, but still strong enough to command attention.
"Mr. Lightwood, that's quite the claim."
Joe Pritchett.
He leaned on a cane, his face more haggard than the last time I'd seen him, yet his clouded eyes gleamed with reckless intent. I noticed how, just before speaking, he'd exchanged a glance with Bennett—casual in appearance, but heavy with meaning.
So that's it.
"Stephanie," Joe rasped, "your words sound impressive. But everyone knows you're a fresh graduate who hasn't even figured out your own family's business.
"What gives you the right to dictate terms to an entire industry? Your talent for dragging the Pritchett Pack into ruin overnight?"
The last sentence was nearly a shout, and it dropped over the ballroom like a shroud. Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
I stared at Joe's venomous expression, my blood cooling to ice. Bennett's fingerprints were all over this. He wanted to corner me, to force me back under his protection.
How laughable.
"Mr. Pritchett," I said evenly, meeting his gaze without flinching, "then tell me—how should I prove I'm not just trouble waiting to happen?"
"Simple!" His voice rose, clearly prepared for this moment. "Make a public pledge. Bet on the Valerius Pack's charity fund. Triple its size in three months, and I'll admit, here and now, that I misjudged you."
"And if you fail..." His eyes gleamed with malice. "You walk away from Elite Choice Executive Search Firm, and you never set foot in the headhunting industry again."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The Valerius charity fund was infamous—difficult to grow, politically tangled, and avoided by most. Doubling it in three months was near impossible. Tripling it? Madness.
I glanced at Joe's face, alight with certainty, then at Bennett's calculating stare from across the room. And I smiled.
"All right," I said, my voice calm and clear. "I'll take that bet."
The room froze around us, the weight of my words settling like stone.
Then, from behind me, came a voice cool as winter steel. "David."
Karon.
His assistant appeared as if summoned by the sound. Without looking at Joe or Bennett, Karon spoke with unhurried authority. "In the name of the Thorn Pack, make an additional donation to the Valerius charity fund."
He paused, turning his head just enough to meet my eyes. The faint curve of his lips was warm, indulgent.
"Consider it an early celebration of Miss Valerius's inevitable victory.