Chapter 42 Fractured Alliances
Natashas POV~
My Seryne apartment was thrown in sharp relief with the dim light of my laptop screen, which flashed with a new headline: Clawford Heiress Defies Scandal at Auction. Valenticia’s fine speech, of dedicating a fortune to “truth,” returned to mock me. My fingers tensed around the wooden armrest, my nails burrowing into it, and sweats from jealousy trickled down my veins. Dmitri lounged on the sofa next to me, his tie slack, his eyes far away, in one hand he held a whisky. He’d been like that ever since we’d stumbled on the video late last night, a Vakette internship forwarding us the link with a smug Thought you’d want to see this. Dmitri had been silent as he’d watched Valenticia defy them, his jaw locked, her brilliance a shock he was marveled at. “You’re disgusting,” I snapped, my voice poisoned, but he didn’t sway, his lack of reaction slicing, sharp, into my gut.
Rage boiled over as my phone buzzed and I ignored it. The projector hack at the gala, the fake audio of mine — none of it had rattled her. Valenticia, who was scrambling up with Stefan’s arm around her, as Vakette hovered on the edge of ruin, my father’s company. I lunged for my phone, shooting off a text to Gregor: Safehouse. Now. We need to talk. My hands were shaking, desperation pushing me. I snatched my coat and pushed through the door, diamonds glinting against my ears, the door slamming, Dmitri’s silence a heaviness I could no longer endure.
The narrow, featureless warehouse by Seryne’s docks known as the Galden safehouse smelled of oil. Gregor parked inside, his tailored suit sharp, his grin cold as he smugged himself against a crate. His ambition mirrored mine. He pushed a worn manila folder across a table. “A Clawford contract,” he replied, voice mellow. “Signed by Valenticia, meaning insider trading.” Leak it, Natasha, or I publish your Vakette connections — your old man’s soiled bargains.”
My breath caught, his threat was very bad. Vakette had been my family’s name, my father’s pride, and I’d used its money for Galden’s ambitions, depending on Dmitri’s wealth to keep us afloat. If I spilled, then Father would abandon me. “You son of a bitch,’’ I snapped, wrenching the folder out of his hands, the forged signature glaring -- the name “Valenticia,” a lie I would use. “I’ll do it,” I said, trapped, my voice shaking with anger. Gregor’s smirk grew wider, and I hated him, hated her, hated this world, hated everything.
Sitting behind the wheel of my car, I held the folder to my chest, my heart racing. I had to get to Valenticia—to watch her break, fall apart in front of Stefan’s eyes. I called her, tears stinging, my voice breaking. “Valenticia, it’s Natasha. I have a matter of importance—please meet me at Café Vorne.” I said, wary, and I wiped my eyes, bracing. This was not a weakness; it was the strategy.
The café hummed with Seryne’s noontime crowd, espresso steam fogging the air. Valenticia came as I had expected, her emerald dress cool and her sapphire ring lit. I whipped out the contract, my smile poisonous. “Disclaim your heritage, heiress Or I let this — insider trading, your name in ink.” Glee dripped off my voice as fear sprouted up, but Valenticia threw me the most offensive, jaded look, one lip raising in a sneer.
“You’re pathetic, Natasha,” she said, her voice low, cutting. “Black is a forgery by the history classes, and I’ve transcribed your audio to the Gregor Nexus account. You’re drowning in his game.” She rose, her dignity intact, when she would have been perfectly justified in walking out and leaving me sitting there, dumbstruck, paparazzi catching every smug step. I could feel my face burning and humiliation overcome by rage—how dare she dismiss me? The chatter of the café felt like a taunt, and I clutched at the table, feeling the weight of my diamond earrings, a symbol of the status I felt was slipping through my fingers.
When I got back to the apartment, Dmitri was still on the couch, a new whiskey by his side, his bloodshot eyes.
I blew up, my voice high and screeching. “Get up, Dmitri! Recommit to me, to Vakette, or we’re through!” He lifted his hollow eyes and laughed a bitter laugh. “Vakette’s bankrupt, Natasha. My trades went south, and Valenticia … she’s better than us.” His words were a slap, his regret for her a betrayal. I reached over and slapped his face as hard as I could, the sound of the slap reverberating. “You weak fool!” I yelled, at the peak of my desperation. “I’ll destroy her myself!”
I lurched to the kitchen, my heels clacking, and texted Lila Vorne, Galden contact. There's a job for you, plot to frame Valenticia for corporate theft. Name your price. My heart quickened, the apartment’s gloss chiding my spreading disarray. Dmitri, silent, behind me was an absence, our marriage breaking because of Valenticia. My phone buzzed — Lila’s response, was a picture of a Lovtan clinic file Valenticia Galden, 1999, suggesting a medical cover-up. My lungs spasmed, the file was a weapon but a new one, and before I could react my phone was ringing, Gregor’s name appeared on the screen.
“Leak the contract, Natasha, or you’re next.” And with that, the call ended, my hand trembling, the weight of the folder crushing. I was damned – Gregor’s ambition, a cold fucking machine, had used me to destroy Valenticia, while her ascension to the power source just laughed in my face. The blankness in Dmitri’s gaze, his affection for her, had been the final veil to fall between us, and I stood, alone, shaking with the horror of it, trapped in a web I’d helped spin.