War Declaration

Xander pushed himself up from the lounge bench, his jaw tightening as he muttered under his breath. "Damn it... damn it all." His fingers raked through his already tousled hair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. He shot a glance at the Tower, the very structure he had assumed was his to oversee; now he knew better.

His steps were heavy as he made his way back to his room, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step. He shoved open the door, letting it slam behind him before marching straight to the desk. His fingers sifted through stacks of papers, drafts, and archived documents; until he found it. The undeniable proof.

A contract, signed under his name. The Tower’s debt. Five months ago.

Xander let out a sharp exhale. "While I was locked up like a damn pet," he muttered, his knuckles tightening around the paper. "Five months ago. She planned this." The realization settled into his bones, weighing him down like iron chains. He wanted to rage. He wanted to tear this entire place apart. But he had nothing. No leverage. No power. Just this title, this burden thrown onto him by Valeria’s whims.

If the debt was under his name, fine. He'd pay it. He'd take the Tower for himself. At least then, this wouldn’t be her game anymore.

But the problem wasn’t just the debt.

The problem was her.

Valeria. The trickster. The untouchable. The lovely mistress who bent reality in her favor with a mere tilt of her lips. She was always two steps ahead, always waiting for him to realize he had already lost.

And then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the door creaked open.

Valeria entered without a word, her heels clicking softly against the floor. She didn’t smirk, didn’t taunt; she didn’t have to. She knew. She knew he was trapped.

Xander clenched his teeth. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, filled with nothing but seething acknowledgment. He had underestimated her once. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unspoken. The weight of her presence was suffocating, yet effortlessly elegant, as if she were simply watching a play unfold exactly as she had written it.

And Xander?

Xander sat at his desk, eyes burning from scanning through stacks of dusty archives and digital records. His jaw clenched tighter with each document he flipped through—confirming, over and over again, that the debt had been signed under his name five months ago. Five months ago, when he was still imprisoned by Valeria. Five months ago, when he had no say in any of this.

His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles turning white. "Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, voice barely above a growl.

It wasn’t just a debt. It was a war.

Valeria had played him like a well-tuned instrument. He had believed—just for a moment—that his role here was one of management, of command, of oversight. But in reality, she had handed him a sinking ship and shackled him to its helm. The Tower, an establishment that should have been a symbol of power, was instead a pit of financial ruin. And now, he was the one expected to pull it out.

For what? To serve her?

Xander pushed back his chair so abruptly that it scraped against the floor, an irritated screech echoing through the room. He couldn’t stay here. Not while the walls felt like they were pressing in, not while Valeria’s invisible presence lingered, suffocating.

He had to move.

Storming out, he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, boots hitting the polished floors in heavy steps. His mind raced, strategizing—there had to be a way to turn this situation around. He refused to argue with her, refused to let himself be baited into another verbal battle that would end with him further tangled in her web. If debt was his prison, then the only escape was conquest.

He needed to take control.

If he was going to win this war, it wouldn’t be through words; it would be through action.

Xander stepped out of his office, feeling the weight of Valeria’s silent dominance pressing against his back. Staying inside would only invite more of her games, and he had no desire to become her entertainment tonight. Instead, he stormed down the grand hall of the Tower, where every pillar and polished marble floor reminded him of the debt that now shackled him. It wasn’t just a financial burden—it was a battlefield.

If Valeria thought he would accept this as his fate, she was wrong.

Xander needed a war strategy, and the first battle was reclaiming control. The Tower was drowning because of parasites—tenants who had exploited the loopholes, who had whispered their way into extensions, and who had bled the estate dry with unpaid leases. Three years of unpaid rent. It was time to collect.

The Purge Begins

By noon, Xander was in the main business wing, facing down the worst offenders.

A boardroom filled with so-called “businessmen” turned silent when he entered. They had ignored every legal notice, every warning, thinking that the Tower’s previous administration was too tangled in its own corruption to touch them. They were wrong.

He threw a thick file onto the table—one filled with contracts, overdue balances, and the evidence of their years of freeloading.

“Effective immediately, your grace period is over,” Xander announced, his voice edged with cold finality. “Pay what you owe, or leave.”

There were protests; there were always protests. Excuses spilled like cheap wine. Talks of “negotiation,” of “consideration.” Someone even had the audacity to suggest a new contract extension.

Xander cut them off with a single raised hand.

“No deals. No negotiations. You’ve had three years of stealing from me. Today, you either return what’s mine or you lose everything you have in this Tower.”

One by one, the walls started to crumble. The tenants who had arrogantly thought they could manipulate the system suddenly realized that Xander was no longer a passive player. Calls were made. Funds were transferred. By the end of the night, billions had poured into the Tower’s accounts, and the once-defiant tenants were forced out. Security escorted them, their protests ringing down the empty halls.

The Tower was no longer a safe haven for leeches.

Late Night Return

By the time Xander returned home, the city was drowning in midnight silence. His body ached, exhaustion wrapping around his bones like iron chains. Yet, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a sense of power, a sense of reclaiming what was his.

He stepped into his suite, barely remembering to remove his tie before collapsing into the chair. Then, a realization hit him.

The Zenith Summit.

It was tomorrow.

And he had almost forgotten.

Xander stepped out of the elevator, already knowing what awaited him inside the penthouse. It wasn’t just a hunch—it was a certainty. Valeria was there. She always was. This place might be called a penthouse, but it wasn’t his home; it was her domain, and he was nothing more than a tenant bound by invisible chains.

As he entered, Valeria stood near the panoramic window, her silhouette illuminated by the city lights. She turned to him with a slow, knowing smile.

"You worked hard today," she said, her voice laced with amusement.

Xander didn’t respond immediately. He was still processing the day's chaos—the ousting of tenants who had bled the tower dry for years, the billions that had finally flowed back into the account. He had fought, negotiated, and won. But something about Valeria’s demeanor unsettled him.

“How did you know the money was back?” he asked, his tone sharper than intended.

Valeria’s smile didn’t waver. "Because the account is under my name, Xander.”

His breath hitched. He had spent the entire day clawing his way out of financial ruin, yet somehow, the tower’s wealth had been funneled under Valeria’s control.

"Then what about the debt?" His voice was dangerously low now.

She stepped closer, her presence suffocating. "Still under your name, of course."

Xander clenched his jaw. He should have seen this coming. He had been so focused on fixing the financial black hole that he hadn’t considered the strings Valeria could still pull.

"But I sent three million dollars to ease your burden," she added, faux sympathy dripping from her voice.

His fists tightened. "To stop me from drowning, but not to let me swim free."

She tilted her head, as if admiring a piece of art. "Freedom, Xander, is something you earn."

Xander felt the weight of his reality press down on him again. The war against debt wasn’t over. He had won a battle today, but the war? It was far from finished.

At dawn, Xander walked into the financial district, the weight of his burden finally lifting as he transferred the last three million dollars to settle his debt. A cold sense of relief washed over him. It was over. No longer a pawn, no longer shackled—this was his time to claim the Tower.

Yet, as he strode along the pedestrian walkway, a sleek McLaren rolled up beside him, its engine humming like a predator lurking in the shadows. The tinted window lowered, revealing Valeria, her gaze unreadable.

"Get in," she said. It wasn't a request.

Xander hesitated, his jaw clenching. The same woman who had bound him in financial chains now sat there, expecting compliance.

"You won’t want to walk the entire empire," she added smoothly, as if they were business partners and not former adversaries.

Xander exhaled sharply before stepping into the car. The city blurred past them as Valeria guided him through the towering monuments of her business empire; his battlefield, his torment. Skyscrapers glinting in the morning sun, industry hubs where fortunes shifted in seconds, elite districts where power was measured in silence.

She spoke of expansion, of wealth, of the Tower’s newfound strength under her control. But Xander barely listened. He didn’t want to appreciate any of it; not after everything she had done.

Instead, he stared out the window, his mind racing. This wasn’t gratitude. This was unfinished business.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***