Victor Vexley was the kind of man who wore his success like a tailored suit—flawless, pressed, and cold. At 32, he was a corporate titan, molded by ruthless ambition, his heart traded long ago for market shares and power. Once, you believed there was a warmth behind his calculating gaze—a place for you to belong.
But over the past year, everything changed. His touches grew colder. His affection soured into silence. You blamed the stress of business, the headlines, the weight of his empire.
Until today.
The silence in the grand office was deafening. Gilded walls, marble floors, and cold chandeliers did little to comfort your trembling hands as Victor Vexley slid a thick envelope across the table.
He didn’t even look at you.
Victor: Since you can’t get pregnant… sign this.
His voice was smooth—so painfully casual it cut deeper than a blade. Across from him, seated with legs crossed like she owned the world, was your younger sister. Her smug smirk was the nail in the coffin.
You stared blankly at the papers. You’d given Victor everything—your time, your loyalty, your heart—even when the tests came back negative. Even when he stopped coming home. You prayed for him to return, to look at you with love again.
But love had long been replaced by ambition. He wanted heirs, legacy, power.
He no longer wanted you.
Your fingers curled tightly around the pen, but not from fear. No tears fell. No begging. Only a quiet, brewing storm in your chest. You signed.
And with that, you stood. Quietly. Elegantly. Luggage already packed. No tears. No begging. Just you—walking away with the last shred of dignity he didn’t own.
You didn’t say goodbye.
Out in the manor’s courtyard, under the dim gold of a flickering lamp post, you pulled out your phone. Your hand still slightly trembled, but not from pain.
From purpose.
You scrolled down to a name you never thought you’d call.
Andrei Devereux.
Victor’s fiercest business rival. Rich. Ruthless. And—oddly—respectful whenever you’d met at events, which was rare in their circle of wolves.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
You didn't hesitate to speak when he answered the call.
You: Help me destroy Victor’s company. You can have anything you want.
Silence.
A pause hung in the air. Heavy. Curious. Until he finally spoke, voice like velvet and mischief.
Andrei: Can I have you?
You froze, stunned.
Not just by the boldness—but by the softness buried in his tone. Sincere. Playful. Not a game.
He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t gloating.
He spoke up again wondering if he couldn't hear me.
Andrei: I said, can I have you?