Chapter 40 Venom
Hailey's POV~
The silence of the penthouse shattered as I threw a crystal vase against the wall. The humiliation from the gala stunned—Stefan’s cold rejection still ringing in her ears. I’d pulled him aside, my smile coy, and introduced him to an executive as “my first lover, the one who broke my heart.” His eyes had sparked, his jaw clenched, and he’d snarled, “Do not know her,” and shoved me out of his path, proving me a fool in front of the elite of Seren. My chest hitched, jealousy clawing my heart as I imagined him with her—Valenticia, beautiful Valenticia.
I staggered to the shining glass, my reflection a perfect specimen, a set of crimson lips the image of my raven hair, though my eyes were filled with rage. When I was 18, I tried to seduce Stefan, putting vodka in his drink at a Lovtan party, his tie loose, shirt half unbuttoned. Even drunk, he’d still shoved me, drunk and muttered “Not you, Haisley.” Now, he’d arrived at the gala with Valenticia; his hand on her waist, he referred to her as “my future.” I would ruin their engagement, and spoil her clawford heritage. In my left hand, I snatched up a bottle of whiskey and took a long drink, the pain in my throat adding energy to my pledge. I was practically pouring vodka into my eyes as I dialed an escort service on the phone. “Send a guy. Tall, dark hair. Now.”
The male escort approached wearing a too-tight leather jacket with hungry eyes. I pulled him close, and kissed him hard, whiskey on my breath, but the room spun. My knees went out from under me and I fainted, the world dimming to black.
I woke up to sheets wrapped around me, a stabbing morning light blinding my eyes, and my head pounding with a serious headache. A note on the nightstand read, Catch up soon, gorgeous. —R. The escort had vanished. I groaned, my headache pulsing, but the thought of Stefan’s jolted me fully awake and rekindled my rage. I sent a text to a back-channel contact, my voice hoarse. “For the love of me, let's meet by noontime, Vorne’s Snooker Lounge. Been too long since we played.” Lila Vorne, my cousin, responded immediately: “Game on, Hais.”
At the lounge, neon lights hummed, cues clacker. Sleek in leather pants, Lila grinned and threw me a cue. “Late, cousin,” she teased, setting the balls up with a wink. We laughed with her arm around my shoulder, family relief filling me. More beers, and I vented, drunk. “Stefan’s blind, Lila. That Clawford bitch has him on a string.” Lila’s eyes flickered as she shifted, coming closer. “Valenticia’s trouble. I have dirt — her history, sealed documents about her parents’ crash. Fuck up the next deal New Dream makes And it’s yours.”
I froze, her words clicking. Lila had been working for Galden —she’d boasted about their “projects” once, tossing out Gregor, Valenticia’s cousin, like a pawn in some game. “Gregor’s involved?” I asked, casually. She nodded, smirking. “His arm weakened for Clawford, taking Galden muscles. Get us some help, Haisley, and she’s done.” I gave her a cold, and calculating smile. “Deal.” We played on, my shots crisp, making the eight-ball with a crack, the win bitter and sweet.
That evening, I had sneaked into a charity auction, glittering of Seryne’s elite. Across the room, Valenticia shone in silver, and her poise was just perfect. I jostled a reporter and I whispered, “Clawford’s heiress skipped on the taxes — check her books.” He lit up, and the cameras huddled around her, and I smiled behind a champagne glass. Then Valenticia stepped on stage, her voice clearer, dedicating a million to “truth.” Her eyes met mine, boring into me, and my heart hitched—could she tell? I saw fear shadowed across her eyes, and I pushed it down, her calm a challenge for me to beat.
Alone in my penthouse, my fingers wrapped around a crumpled photo of Stefan and me with our arms around each other at 18, he looking like some unreachable star, the crush of my teen years now long dead. He had never wanted me, not then, not now. Blackstone International’s stock was sinking — Father’s voice whispered in her ear from last week. “Fix this, Haisley, or you’re cut off.” I was desirous to recover Stefan with fear, for his offer to Valenticia hovered. With my fingers shaking, I texted Lila. “Send the file. Now.”
After an obscenely hot shower, misting the marble bathroom, I swaddled myself in a silk robe, my wet hair damp at my shoulders. My phone hummed: a PDF from Lila popped up. “Lovtan 1999,” and a text, The heiress’s truth is here. It described Dr. Marrow, a Galden doctor, and Valenticia’s amnesia, and it implied a cover-up. My grin widened, and let out a laugh of disbelief bringing joy.
I danced across the penthouse, the file my weapon to bury Valenticia, to hell with Stefan’s love.