Chapter 4 : You Call it Arrogance, I Call It Payback

The meeting ended with polite tension and sharp glances.

Zara walked out first, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. Father followed, his silence more cutting than any scolding. I remained seated, slowly sipping the now-cold matcha latte.

Let them walk ahead.

The real queen always made her move after the pawns had gone.

As the boardroom emptied, Ivy stepped in and shut the door behind her.

“Well,” she said with a raised brow. “You didn’t burn the place down. I’m impressed.”

“Would’ve been a waste of good architecture,” I murmured, standing. “Besides, that was only Act One.”

I walked toward the wide glass window overlooking the city. Wen Holdings towered above the skyline, but so many of its foundations were rotting from within.

They thought they could erase me.

They raised me for power, then replaced me when it suited them.

But this time, I was more than prepared.

“Ivy, send flowers to every board member who didn’t make eye contact with Zara,” I said. “They’ll be our first allies.”

Ivy smirked. “Aren’t you in a generous mood.”

“Oh, I’m always generous—to people who know which side of history they want to be on.”

⸻

That afternoon, I paid a visit to the private investor’s club downtown.

It was a discreet establishment—no flashy logos, no Instagram tags. The people who met here didn’t do business. They decided business.

I stepped inside and was greeted by a familiar face.

“You’re early,” said a man in a crisp navy suit, standing by the bar with a crystal glass in hand. “Still as dramatic as ever.”

My lips curled. “Still as nosy, Julian?”

Julian Yao—the ex-fiancé. The traitor.

He looked the same: soft brown eyes, perfectly ironed shirt, the subtle scent of sandalwood that once made my heart ache.

But now? Now he was just noise.

“I heard about the board meeting,” he said, sipping slowly. “Must’ve been quite the reunion.”

“Zara gives a lovely performance,” I replied coolly. “Too bad I’ve seen the script before.”

Julian’s expression flickered. “Arielle… I know I made mistakes before. But maybe this time—”

“Don’t,” I said, turning fully to face him. “Don’t try to rewrite the past. You didn’t make a ‘mistake.’ You made a choice. And it wasn’t me.”

He swallowed hard, the usual confidence dimming for a second.

Good.

Let him sit in that silence. Let him feel what I felt when he left me in a hospital bed, broken and alone.

But before the moment stretched too long, another voice broke the air.

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Miss Wen.”

I turned.

A tall figure approached from the hallway, dressed in black and charcoal gray. His presence wasn’t flashy like Julian’s—it was heavier. Like a loaded gun hidden under a tailored suit.

“Elias Qin,” Ivy whispered behind me, stunned.

Oh?

The youngest venture capitalist to dominate the Asian tech scene. Rumored to buy out competitors not with offers, but with threats so polished they sounded like compliments. Dangerous. Brilliant. Merciless.

And he was staring straight at me.

“I’ve heard the stories,” he said with an amused glint in his eye. “The discarded heiress who rose again. I didn’t believe the rumors… until now.”

“And do you always approach strangers with gossip?” I asked, unfazed.

He smiled. “Only when the gossip’s true. I like people who rise from the ashes. They make excellent partners—or enemies.”

I held his gaze. “Then I suppose you’ll enjoy watching me burn this city down.”

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