Chapter 2

Christian chuckled on the other end.

"A deal with Mrs. Sterling? I doubt I can afford it."

His tone was sharp with caution and distance.

I couldn't blame him.

In my past life, I had made him lose face in public more than once to protect Julian.

His current reaction was completely expected.

"You can afford it," I said, my voice icy calm.

"The South District waterfront project. Julian is obsessed with winning it."

"To make sure he gets it, he's liquidating all of Sterling's cash reserves and even mortgaging two offshore subsidiaries."

I rattled off a string of exact financial figures.

A sharp intake of breath came over the line.

Julian had bragged about all these numbers in bed, wanting to show off how bold and powerful he was.

He had no idea that his pillow talk would become the very weapon I handed to his worst enemy.

Christian fell completely silent.

A long moment passed before he spoke, curiosity creeping into his low voice.

"What do you want?"

"Ten percent of Sterling Group's equity."

I demanded an astronomical price.

Christian laughed again, this time pure disdain.

"Mrs. Sterling, you're overestimating yourself."

"And underestimating me."

"Why on earth should I trust you?"

I smiled.

"Because I'm Scarlett Vance."

"I'm the one who took Julian from a nobody and built him into an empire's heir."

"Mr. King, you can only see what Julian chooses to show you."

"But I can hand you every single trump card he is desperately trying to hide."

The line went dead quiet.

"Fine," he finally said.

"Just one condition."

"The bidding conference for the South District project is at ten tomorrow morning."

"Make Julian walk away."

"If you pull that off, we'll talk."

He hung up immediately.

Listening to the dial tone, the smile on my lips only deepened.

Testing me?

Christian, you're about to realize that partnering with me is the best business decision you will ever make.

Right after I put my phone away, the doorbell rang.

The security team had arrived.

Two men in utility uniforms holding toolboxes gave me a brief nod.

I stepped aside to let them in.

"Master bedroom, home office, living room, and the hallway leading to the backyard," I instructed concisely.

"Route every feed straight to my private cloud server. Leave zero local trace."

The lead technician flashed an OK sign.

"Thirty minutes, Ms. Vance."

They worked with seamless efficiency and clinical precision.

Just then, my phone screen lit up.

I opened it. It was a short fifteen-second video.

The location: Julian's home office.

Blair was wearing my favorite silk bathrobe, the neckline pulled down scandalously low.

In the background, Julian's drunken voice called out,

"Blair, come here."

At the end of the clip, Blair stared directly into the lens with a coquettish, mocking smile.

Below was a text message:

*Julian got so drunk tonight, so I'm staying to look after him. You won't mind, will you, Scarlett?*

Looking at that innocent yet venomous face, I saved the video locally and backed it up to an encrypted drive.

Then, I texted back four words:

*Take good care of him.*

On the other side of that screen, Blair was probably fuming that she didn't get a reaction.

What she wanted was an angry confrontation, a screaming match, a mental breakdown.

Too bad. I wasn't giving her that satisfaction.

I deleted our chat history and muted my phone.

Upstairs, faint drilling sounds echoed down.

Half an hour later, the lead technician walked over.

"All set, Ms. Vance. The app is installed on your phone, giving you live streaming access anytime. We've also synced all previous records to your device."

"Excellent."

I handed him the pre-prepared cash envelope.

He weighed it in his hand and smiled with satisfaction.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Once they left, I poured a glass of red wine and walked up to the second-floor office.

Whatever had just happened upstairs had already concluded.

Julian's heavy footsteps sounded from the master bedroom, carried by impatience and exhaustion.

Seeing me standing there, his brow furrowed fiercely.

"Scarlett, what kind of sick mind games are you playing now?"

He reeked of another woman's perfume, mingled with the scent of the same body wash as my silk robe.

Disgusting.

I swirled the wine in my glass without looking up.

"Julian, let's talk about the South District project."