Chapter 69
Arabelle’s phone slipped from her manicured fingers and landed on the marble countertop with a loud clatter. She barely noticed the sound, her ears were still ringing from what she'd just heard.
“He did what?” she snapped into the speakerphone, demanding confirmation again.
Her father’s voice, usually measured, sounded weary and humiliated. “It’s true, Belle. Lucien bought out the Delacroix showroom this morning. Full acquisition. The ink is still wet. He’s cutting the Weng family out of all existing floral and design collaborations, effective immediately.”
Arabelle’s world spun.
“No. No, that can’t be right, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that over some charity flowers!” she barked. “He knows what Delacroix means to our family. It was our territory! We built the look! The elite brands! The clientele! All those years...”
“Apparently, he doesn’t care. He’s pulling out of our shared ventures too. Feng Group is freezing three major import agreements as we speak. I tried to ask for a meeting, he said the Wengs needed to ‘learn their place.’”
The words sliced through her like shards of ice.
Arabelle stood frozen in her silk robe, her hands clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms. The wine she'd been sipping moments ago now sat forgotten beside a gold rimmed saucer on the table. The opulence around her, the fresh orchid arrangements, the hand stitched Italian upholstery, the commissioned wall art, felt suffocating.
Because Lucien wasn’t just lashing out.
He was declaring war.
And it was all for her.
Serena. Fucking. Lin.
“That bitch,” she hissed under her breath. “That two faced, polished little phoenix. How dare she still walk around like she matters? After everything I did to ruin her… After everything we set up to break her?”
She stormed across the penthouse, snatching her phone from the counter and redialing Lila with frantic fingers. The line rang twice before her new best friend slash partner in sabotage picked up.
“Belle? What’s going...”
“He bought Delacroix, Lila! Lucien bought it from under us! Because of Serena! And now he’s gutting our floral accounts! I just lost half my event clients in one afternoon!”
Lila gasped. “Wait, what?! That’s not possible, Delacroix doesn’t sell...”
“Well, they did!” Arabelle screeched. “And he’s putting that weird countryside peasant Marigold as the head designer. You know, the one who wears boots to luncheons and thinks foliage is avant garde?! That woman!”
Lila didn’t respond fast enough.
“Oh, don’t you dare go quiet on me now,” Arabelle spat. “You said Lucien was only using Serena. That she was a rebound. That he’d get bored and come crawling back. You promised he wasn’t serious.”
“I thought he wasn’t!” Lila insisted. “He was with you just a few days ago, right?! You said you were at his place...”
“I lied, Lila!” Arabelle shrieked. “He barely touched me! He was cold as ice, didn’t even kiss me, and now I know why. Serena called during the damn shower and he didn’t even get the message, I deleted it! I thought I was getting ahead. But now he’s burning everything to the ground for her!”
Lila groaned. “This is spiraling.”
“No, this is war.” Arabelle’s voice dropped, dangerous and venomous. “She wants to steal Lucien? She wants to dance around in Delacroix flowers like she’s some benevolent duchess? Fine. Let’s see how long her little fairytale lasts.”
Lila hesitated. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s time we remind Serena who she really is. A disgraced heiress. A cast off. A secondhand socialite with a pathetic taste for vengeance and glitter. And no matter what Lucien says now, men don’t marry their revenge toys. They use them.”
“Arabelle…”
“Don’t ‘Arabelle’ me. You help me take Serena down, and I’ll make sure you finally get your precious Ethan. He’s already broken and frustrated that she’s not crawling back. A little nudge and we can finish this. Together.”
Lila was silent for a beat.
Then she sighed, cold and resigned. “Fine. Let’s end her.”
Arabelle’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Good. Because I’m not just getting Delacroix back… I’m going to ruin whatever love story they think they’re writing. I’m going to cut the roots and salt the soil.”
She hung up, walked to the mirror, and adjusted her hair, her expression now a mask of perfectly composed fury.
If Serena Lin wanted to play queen?
Arabelle Weng would become the viper beneath her throne.
And this time, she wouldn’t miss.
The city was quiet, the high rises basked in a molten orange glow as the sun dipped beyond the skyline.
Arabelle now sat in her penthouse, a glass of untouched red wine on the table beside her, her gaze cold and fixed on nothing.
She had been pacing for the last twenty minutes, back and forth, back and forth, the silence around her broken only by the clicking of her designer heels and the occasional hiss of her shallow breathing.
Then, finally, she stopped.
She reached for her phone.
No names in the contact list. No numbers stored. But she remembered this one by heart, a number she had never saved but had used only once before in a situation that had demanded discretion, precision, and silence.
Her fingers moved swiftly over the keypad.
The line rang only once.
A deep, smoky male voice answered on the other end. “It’s been a while.”
“I need something,” Arabelle said without hesitation. Her tone was ice. “Skin activated. Lethal. Untraceable.”
A beat passed. The man didn’t even ask why.
“You do understand what you're asking for,” he said. “That’s not a threat. That’s a death sentence. Exposure guarantees absorption. No taste, no smell. Ten seconds of contact, less if there’s sweat. You sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Ah. So this is personal.”
“I don’t need your commentary. I just need the product. You still have access?”
“I do. But that sort of chemical’s not meant for playing dress up, Belle. This isn’t designer revenge, it’s irreversible.”
“I know exactly what it is. And I want it delivered within the week.”
The man was quiet for a moment longer, then exhaled. “I’ll send someone. Unmarked package. Your name won’t be attached. You’ll get instructions. You get caught, you never got it from me.”
“I won’t get caught.”
“People always say that,” he muttered. “But eventually, someone bleeds.”
She ended the call without saying goodbye.