The mansion was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that brought peace….but the heavy, echoing stillness of wealth and emptiness. Every inch of Kian's estate in Montecito whispered excess; sleek black marble floors, dim golden lights glowing from imported Italian sconces, towering glass walls that opened to the Pacific .
He sat on the edge of his bed in the master suite….still in a black dress shirt, laptop balanced on his thighs, mind elsewhere.
The door knocked.
Not the usual soft knock of staff. This one was… deliberate.
He opened it.
Cassandra.
Wearing a sheer lace robe in moonlit silver, nothing but lingerie underneath. Her perfume hit the air before her voice did…heady, expensive, overapplied.
Kian's jaw tensed. "It's late."
"I know," she said, smiling too sweetly. "That's why I came."
She stepped past him without waiting for permission, her heels silent on the velvet-soft rug. She waved a hand at a maid waiting in the hallway.
"Bring wine. Red. 2003 Château Margaux."
Moments later, she stood in the center of his room, sipping from a crystal glass. The wine matched the shade of her lipstick. Her robe slipped slightly, revealing the curve of her thigh and the cut of her lace bra..
This room….was masculine opulence at its peak. Ebony wood. Onyx fireplace. A bed carved from stone and silk. A chandelier glittered just like a crown of ice. The sea stretched endlessly through the open balcony doors.
Cassandra approached him slowly, like a cat.
He hadn't moved.
Still working. Still distant.
She placed her half-empty glass on the sideboard.
Then, she leaned forward. Her fingers brushed his cheek….soft, desperate, rehearsed.
"I'm here for you," she whispered, slipping the laptop out of his hands, placing it aside as if it were a rival.
Her hands moved quickly now….arms around his shoulders, lips at his jaw, her fingers tugging at his belt.
But—
He didn't kiss her.
He didn't even look at her.
Just a blink. A long sigh.
Then he gently took her wrists and set them down.
"Not now, Cassandra."
He stood.
Took his laptop back.
Was already walking toward the door.
She froze. Stared at his retreating back. Then—
Crash.
The wineglass shattered against the wall.
Red wine dripped down the cream paint like blood.
She screamed.
"I love you, Kian! Why are you treating me like this?"
He paused in the doorway. But didn't turn.
Tears filled her eyes. "Six years. Six, Kian. I stayed…when you married her. When you picked that godforsaken bitch over me. I stayed because I loved you. Because I believed you would come back to me."
She moved closer, trembling.
"You promised we'd get married. We're getting engaged right? You said we'd go to St. Lucia for our honeymoon. You said we'd be happy."
Her voice cracked ..
She took a step closer.
"Don't tell me….don't tell me you're still obsessed with a woman who left you!"
The silence stretched.
And Kian….he didn't deny it.
His voice was cold. Measured. Cruel only because it was honest.
"Get a grip, Cassandra. You look a mess."
She ran after him. "Kian, don't walk away from me!"
But he didn't stop.
He looked at her once….pity, maybe. Regret. Something heavier.
Then he closed the door.
And didn't look back.
—-
The headline hit like a bomb.
KIAN VALE CALLS OFF ENGAGEMENT. "NO FURTHER COMMENT," HE SAYS.
Every media outlet had it. Every screen. Every whisper.
His face….cold, handsome, unreadable….broadcast across breakfast tables and stock market tickers. No emotion. No statement of regret. No explanation.
Just done.
The public gasped. The board speculated. Cassandra—
She broke.
Her apartment was a wreck of shattered glass and streaked mascara. The curtains were drawn just like mourning veils. Cassandra paced barefoot on marble floors, wearing last night's silk robe, her hair tangled, tears staining her cheeks in raw streaks.
"WHY?!" she cried, throwing a throw pillow across the room. "Why would he do this to me like this?! In public?!"
Her best friend, Jolie, had rushed over the moment she heard the sobs through the phone.
She stood in the doorway now, stunned at the scene…..wine spilled, broken frame on the floor, Cassandra curled against the couch just like a collapsed goddess.
"Cass…" Jolie whispered, gently kneeling beside her. "Don't do this to yourself. You're still you. Still stunning. There are men who'd crawl to have you."
Cassandra laughed bitterly, tears shining in her eyes.
"You don't get it," she snapped, voice cracking. "They're not him. They're not Kian."
Her voice broke again as she sobbed harder. "I loved him. I gave him everything. Why did he do this to me? Why would he humiliate me like this? We were meant for each other…"
Jolie wrapped her arms around her. Held her through the storm.
"I don't think men like him really know what love is," she whispered, stroking her hair.
But even she didn't believe that fully.
Across the city, under softer lights—
Lianna sat at a glass table on the terrace of a rooftop café with Damian. Sunlight spilled over her silk blouse. Her phone buzzed beside her croissant.
She picked it up lazily.
Paused.
Read the headline once. Twice.
"KIAN VALE CALLS OFF ENGAGEMENT."
She blinked.
Just a second of stillness.
Her hand curled slightly around the ceramic coffee cup. She lowered it without sipping.
Damian noticed. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, voice even.
But she wasn't.
Not entirely.
Because somewhere between the caffeine and the clatter of breakfast, something in her chest shifted…quietly, involuntarily.
—-
Lianna moved like a tactician now.
She wasn't just holding ground anymore….
she was advancing. Quietly. Precisely.
She began acquiring smaller firms; logistics suppliers, digital infrastructure startups, and maintenance contracts that all fed into the larger machine of Vale Corp. Each acquisition was clean. Legal. Almost invisible if you weren't looking closely.
But Kian would look.
Eventually.
And by then, it would already be too late.
They sat across from each other in Damian's glass-walled office downtown. Blueprints and acquisition reports lay scattered between them. The skyline glinted in the background like a silent witness.
Damian leaned forward, tapping a number.
"This one will give you influence over the shipping channels. It's buried in one of Vale's oldest outsourcing deals."
Lianna followed the line on the page with her finger, brushing over his.
Their hands paused. A moment passed.
Damian glanced up.
So did she.
Something charged moved between them… unvoiced , but present. Sharp.
He cleared his throat and leaned back. "You're surgical with this."
"I have to be," she said softly. "I can't afford to make noise."
She pushed the next file toward him.
"I'm not trying to take Vale down," she added, "just make it clear that I'm not leaving."
Damian studied her. "Are you doing this for power?"
She looked at him. Calm. Unflinching.
"I'm doing this because I was underestimated."
Later that night, Lianna walked alone to her car, heels echoing in the quiet underground garage.
She slid into the driver's seat and exhaled…cool, composed, but inside?
She was electric.
Because it wasn't just revenge anymore.
It was strategy.
And it was working.