Chapter 45 Desperate Attempt
Hailey's POV~
I drove my Porsche through the city, my knuckles white on the wheel as the road passed out of sight and Lovtan’s skyline smeared. I went to meet Lila and Gregor at a Galden backroom. I had pulled into a dark alley, the rusted door to the warehouse above me. A guard nodded me through, and I entered the dim, musty air, my heels clicking along the concrete. The sight before me made me freeze: Lila, my cousin, with Gregor, their lips locked in a passionate kiss, him moaning mean and low. I chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, teasing in my tone. “I’d hate to spoil the party, but we’ve got some unfinished business.”
Lila pulled back, her leather jacket creaking, her grin unapologetic. “Jealous, Hais?” she murmured, tidying her hair. Gregor tugged on his tie, his smirk cold. “Shall we?” he said, motioning to a metal table covered in files. My heart pounded — business, at last. I sank into a chair, the neckline of my scarlet dress constricting, my heel desperate.
Gregor’s eyes flashed as he leaned in. “I came across something in the drawer of my late uncle—a journal, Dr. Marrow’s notes. His ‘Lovtan’ clinic changed Valenticia’s memories in ’99, removing the memories to cover a secret.” He spoke in a low careful voice. “Her parents didn’t die in an accident; it was a cover-up of an experiment—Subject V, her.” I froze, the words a jolt. Lila nodded, her voice sharp. “She’s a loose end, Haisley. Galden wants her gone.”
I swallowed, jealousy flaring—Valenticia, was always the center, even when there was nothing left. Gregor passed an altered version of the Clawford memo across the table: Valenticia's signature on greenlighting a merger scam. “Put this with the board,” he instructed, his voice steel. “It’ll sink her.” My hands trembled as I ran a finger down the page, fury and longing pulling me. “Why me?” I asked, my voice tight.
Lila’s laugh was cold. “You’re hungry, cousin. You’re hoping for Stefan. Do this, and we’ll bury her.” My chest ached—Stefan, my obsession, his ring on her hand. I nodded, my voice a hiss. “I’m in.” The memo would be a great task. Valenticia’s fall would be my salvation.
Back in my Lovtan suite, I held on to Stefan’s letter, its folded paper from when I was 15, his scrawl tender: Haisley, you’re a friend but my heart is somewhere else. I’d stood in his family’s vineyard, my sundress blustering, and I’d told him that I loved him, and he’d smiled at me, sad, his I don’t love you breaking me like a cut. Now, he was Valenticia’s. I wadded the letter into a ball, hot tears stinging my cheeks, my fixation a flame I could not extinguish.
My phone screen lit up — Blackstone International stock, was down 12%. Father’s voice replayed from last week’s phone call: “You’re flunking, Haisley. Fix this, or you’re out.” I could not stop my hands from shaking as I texted Stefan frantically: Please, come meet me. We need to talk. Minutes went by, no answer, his silence the cut that was still fresh. I threw my phone across the bed, and my scream was muffled in silk pillows. He was her’s, and I’d claw him back.
The forged memo smoldered in my purse, and I took action. First, a Clawford intern, Tim, was in my debt – his sister’s modeling job, my favor. I called him, my voice syrupy. “Tim, dear, just stick this memo in the board’s files. Urgent, confidential.” “‘Miss Pierce, I—I don’t know…”’ he stuttered and I interrupted him, sharply. “Do it, else your sister’s career is over.” He said yes, in a small voice, and I hung up on him, and I sort of smirked.
I called Natasha, my voice calm and my pulse racing. “Natasha, it’s Haisley. How about we collaborate in a Joint media assault? Let's pretend Valenticia stole something in that merger and sweep her under the carpet.” She stopped, then laughed, and it was probably as good as mine sounded. “I’m in.” I leaned back, the suite’s luxury a replica of my very cold heart. An involuntary memory bubbled to the surface and dragged me down.
A Flashback from five years ago, it had been Paris Fashion Week and another model, a competitor, Clara Voss, had gotten the best of me, walking in before me, her walk creating more of a buzz than mine. I’d set her up with a different lover, then stabbed her with a paintbrush. I had watched her bleed, my heart pounding with excitement. Now, Valenticia in turn was my goal.
A Lovtan announcer, on TV, raved about Valenticia’s summit speech, “Clawford’s heiress rises from scandal to stand tall, a real leader.” My fist tightened the remote cracking. She was busy rising while my plans failed.