Chapter 47 Tangled Web
Natasha's POV~
I was seated on the velvet chair, my laptop broadcasting Valenticia’s Lovtan summit speech, and each word hit me like another pin to the flesh. Standing at the podium in a sapphire gown on Saturday, her voice steady: “Those lies — created audios, fake contracts — won’t break Clawford. We’ll get up with New Dream, constructioning Wyllbron’s future.” Her composure was maddening, a slap to my plots, her jade hairpin-like a crown I’d never wear. The pain burned in my chest, and jealousy raked across it as the crowd roared and her victory sneered at Vakette’s ruin. Nails dug into my palms, anger, I was trembling—she was taking everything from me, even Dmitri’s heart.
Dmitri splayed himself across the couch, suit askew, the neck of a whiskey bottle wobbling between his fingers as his drunkenness assembled a depressing still-life. His eyes, bloodshot, remained glued to the screen, and he muttered, “Valenticia,” her name a blurred prayer. My heart turned over, part anger, how dare he care for her in my home? “Shut up!” I cried out, my voice high, but he gave the sum of what it ranked hardly a second glance, so charmed by her radiance was he. I struggled for breath; Vakette, my father’s legacy, was slipping through my fingers, and Dmitri, my husband, was falling away, our status as co-CEO a link I’d fashioned but could not keep.
I picked up my phone, fingers shaking, and texted Haisley: Blitz verified. Post the fake memo. My heart raced, and the media planned our last chance to put her down.
A memory welled up and enveloped me—two years ago, in Lovtan’s airport, Dmitri begged me to stay as I boarded the plane to Seryne. He had been holding my suitcase, eyes wide. “Natasha, don’t go. I need you, not her.” I’d laughed, cold. “You chose her, Dmitri. Don’t beg now.” He’d collapsed, he’d sworn fidelity, but his love for Valenticia was, a haunting ghost I could not slay. I was terrified—I’d lose him again if she climbed higher.
I stood, smoothing my scarlet gown, the sequins brittle against my hands, selected to the blind at today’s press conference at the summit. I’d play Lila’s video, shame Valenticia in front of Seryne’s best, and reclaim some of my power. My heels clicked as I snatched up my clutch, Dmitri’s drunken mumble—“She’s the strong one”—adding fuel to my fury. I’d make her fall.
The Galden yacht swayed lightly off Lovtan’s coast, its deck reflecting midday sun, champagne flutes left alone. Lila Vorne rested against the railing, her leather jacket a jarring contrast to the opulence, her smile a blade. She passed me a USB drive, her voice hushed. “Video of Valenticia ‘stealing’ Clawford funds, Gregor’s edit. Announce it at the press conference, Natasha, or Vakette burns.” My family’s pride, Vakette, was bankrupt, and my father’s anger was imminent should I fall short. I gripped the drive, pinned, my voice taut. “Why me, Lila?”
She laughed, cold. “You’re desperate, Anderson. Gregor’s orders — do it, or he’ll let out all your father’s deals.” I nodded, seething, but my gaze swept the deck—Gregor, the puppetmaster, was nowhere to be found, his silence was troubling. “Where’s Gregor?” I asked, my voice sharp. Lila shrugged and her eyes darted. “Busy. You don’t need him — air the damn video.” My heart hammered, suspicion tightening — Gregor’s lack of presence was a trap, but I was trapped, the shadow of Vakette’s destruction was a prison I could not escape.
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Reporters’ cameras flashed frantically at the Lovtan summit’s press conference. My dress sparkled blood red beneath the chandelier’s light, but my heart throbbed, Lila’s USB drive dancing in my clutch. Valenticia’s speech had whipped the crowd into a frenzy, her sapphire gown a signal in the night, and now was my chance to cut her down. I wormed my way through the crowd, shoes hardly clicking on the marble floor, passing beyond the high-rankers. Spotted the media booth — tucked behind a red velvet curtain, its tech sitting unattended — and pounced. Another technician looked away, and I bolted inside, panting. With trembling fingers, I inserted the USB into the console and selected the video, the thumbnail was still of Valenticia. A couple of quick keystrokes sent it to the main screen, and then I was swallowed up by the crowd, the pulse in my neck thundering as I willed myself to look just like another guest, one of thousands in a sea of suits.
The screen ignited, and the room fell quiet. The video played—Valenticia, or well-edited footage, at a desk, voice disguised: “I stole Clawford’s money for my personal use. Cost be blown, the heirship title’s mine.” The crowd gasped, whispers breaking out, reporters scrawling away in their notebooks. I took a step forward, pretended to be surprised, and sounded very loud and Incredulous. “How could she? Is Valenticia’s innocence all a lie?” Heads swiveled, and Valenticia took the stage, whilst keeping a cold fastening eye on me.
“Stop it, Natasha,” she said. She raised a tablet; its screen shined with bank records. “ You are a puppet, and this lie falls apart.” The room gasped, reporters, turning, questions pointed at me: “Miss Anderson, did you fake this?” “Are you Galden’s tool?” My face was burning, rage and shame clashing at Valenticia, who had only to lose her composure to expose me. Her evidence was convincing, her voice unwavering: “Clawford believes in truth, not your venom.” Applause shattered her star climbing, my disgrace a headline I couldn’t outrun. I ran, my robe flapping, the summit’s boom laughing at me.
Back at home, the silence was deafening. Dmitri was sprawled on the couch and still drunk, whiskey glass empty, his suit a mess. I was seething, full of rage, bitter burning rage, with the taste of Valenticia’s victory still fresh in my mouth when he turned, "I met Gregor in Lovtan," he mumbled, his eyes elsewhere. "He tried to get me to invest in his company and Vake
tte’s! It’s our only shot.” He had no regret in his voice.
I felt a massive pain in my chest, my vision blurring as I cried. “You chose her!” I screamed, my voice loud, my desperation rising. I slapped him, it rang loud, and my hand stung. “You betrayed me, Dmitri—for her, for Vakette’s!” He winced, but his silence registered it, his love for Valenticia was something I was not able to end. “I’ll ruin her on my own,” I promised through a hiss.