Chapter 1: The Queen of Her Castle

Rhea Sloane walked into the glass-paneled lobby of Vortex Global like she owned it—because in a way, she did. Not by title, not by bloodline, but by presence. The kind that silenced rooms before she even spoke.

Her heels clicked with a rhythm that echoed power. Perfectly tailored black slacks, silk blouse the color of dried blood, and a diamond-studded watch that whispered old money—though she’d earned every cent of her fortune. Her coffee, triple shot, almond milk, no foam, arrived in the hands of a trembling intern before she even reached her floor.

“Morning, Ms. Sloane,” he stammered, eyes avoiding hers.

“Of course it is,” she said smoothly, taking the cup without breaking stride.

The elevator doors parted like obedient servants. As she ascended, her reflection stared back—bold lips, sharp cheekbones, eyes lined like she was heading to war. And maybe she was. Every day in this building was a battle. And she hadn’t lost one yet.

Rhea wasn’t just the youngest executive at Vortex—she was the executive. Her department brought in more clients, more money, and more headlines than any other. Her strategies were studied at conferences. Her negotiation skills were feared on three continents. And yet…

“She’s impossible to work with.”

“I heard she made someone cry in the boardroom.”

“I’d rather flip burgers than be on her team.”

The whispers were constant. But they were also background noise—white static to someone like her.

What they called arrogance, Rhea called clarity. Clarity about what she wanted. Clarity about who she was. The only people who had a problem with her attitude were the ones who couldn’t keep up.

By 9:00 a.m., she’d already slashed through five emails, three phone calls, and a proposal presentation that made the finance team sweat. Her assistant, Marnie, poked her head in around 9:15, holding a clipboard like a shield.

“You have the tech merger presentation at eleven,” she said. “And a surprise audit meeting at three.”

Rhea arched a brow. “Surprise audit?”

“Legal flagged something in the Helios account.”

She tapped her pen against her lip. “That’s not possible. I signed off on Helios myself.”

“I know,” Marnie said. “Which is probably why they want to question it.”

The air shifted. Rhea leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Get the files. All of them. And tell legal I’ll see them at three—with my own lawyer present.”

Marnie nodded and retreated quickly.

Rhea stared out the window. The city looked small from twenty-six floors up. Almost manageable. But inside these walls, the sharks circled. And she could feel it. Someone was baiting her.

Good. Let them try.

By the time eleven rolled around, Rhea was armored in facts and fire. She stepped into the pitch room to find the entire board seated—and someone else she hadn’t expected.

A man.

Tall. Suit tailored to perfection. No name badge, no nervous energy, and eyes the color of storm clouds—sharp, unblinking, unreadable.

“Rhea Sloane,” she said, extending a hand, businesslike.

“Damian Vale,” he replied, taking it briefly. “Consultant. Brought in to assist with the transition.”

Transition? Since when was Vortex in transition? She forced a smile, lips tight.

“Interesting they’d bring in an outsider,” she said coolly. “What exactly are you here to fix?”

He smiled. “Depends on what’s broken.”

Her eyes narrowed a fraction, but she didn’t flinch. The meeting began. Slides. Projections. Strategy. She spoke flawlessly, anticipating every question before it was asked.

But Damian watched her like he was studying a map—searching for hidden paths, or weaknesses. And every so often, he’d write something in his notebook. Just one word. No emotion.

She hated that.

After the presentation, as the room emptied, he lingered behind.

“You don’t like me,” he said casually, leaning against the wall.

“I don’t know you,” she countered. “But I don’t like the timing.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe the board thinks your empire could use a little humility.”

She turned to face him fully now, arms crossed. “And maybe they’ve forgotten I built this empire from nothing. You don’t fix what’s not broken, Mr. Vale.”

“Maybe,” he said, that infuriating calm never faltering. “Or maybe pride makes you blind.”

That stopped her—just for a beat. But she recovered fast.

“What’s so bad about being a little arrogant?” she said with a smirk. “It keeps the sheep from thinking they’re wolves.”

And with that, she turned and walked away—leaving the scent of power and challenge behind her like expensive perfume.

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