After My Fiancé Chose Her, I Took His Empire

# Chapter 3: The Reluctant Pact

I was halfway through packing my essentials when my father's town car pulled up outside my building. The doorman's call came as I was folding my favorite cashmere sweater—a small comfort I'd need in whatever hotel I planned to hide in until the media storm passed.

"Your father is on his way up, Ms. Bennett," he informed me apologetically.

I sighed, setting down the sweater. "Thank you, Thomas."

When the elevator doors opened, my father strode in with the authority of a man accustomed to getting his way. His Italian loafers clicked against my hardwood floors as he surveyed the open suitcase on my bed and the broken picture frame still scattered across the floor.

"Running away won't solve anything, Sophie," he said, his voice softer than I'd expected.

"I'm not running away," I replied, folding another sweater with deliberate care. "I'm strategically retreating until my humiliation is yesterday's news."

"And this... bachelor spectacle?" He gestured vaguely toward the window, as if my announcement had physically manifested in the Manhattan skyline. "What exactly do you hope to accomplish?"

I turned to face him fully. "Control. Respect. A chance to rewrite the narrative that Ethan created when he left me standing alone."

My father ran a hand through his silver hair—a rare display of uncertainty from the formidable Richard Bennett. "The board is meeting tomorrow. Without the Graves merger, we're looking at significant downsizing, possibly selling off our most valuable assets."

"I'm aware," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the guilt threatening to surface. "But I won't be your sacrificial lamb anymore."

He sank into the armchair by the window, suddenly looking older than his sixty years. The weight of the Bennett legacy seemed to press down on his shoulders.

"What if we make a deal?" he said finally.

I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

"If you can restore our family's social standing—if this bachelor stunt of yours attracts new investors and positive attention—I'll grant you the autonomy you've always wanted."

"Autonomy?" I repeated, hardly believing what I was hearing.

"Your own division within the company. Full creative control. No more arranged meetings or strategic social engagements."

I studied his face, looking for the catch. "And if I fail?"

"Then you'll return to the fold, Sophie. You'll do what needs to be done for this family, without complaint."

The terms were clear. This was my one chance at freedom—at carving out a life that belonged to me, not to the Bennett legacy.

"Deal," I said, extending my hand. My father shook it firmly, sealing our reluctant pact.

---

"Ninety-nine bachelors?" Clara exclaimed, nearly spitting out her espresso. We were huddled in the back corner of our favorite café, well after midnight. "You do realize that's a logistical nightmare, right?"

"Go big or go home," I replied with a shrug, though my stomach twisted at the enormity of what I'd proposed. "Besides, I need options if I'm going to find someone worthy of a Bennett."

Clara's eyes narrowed as she studied me. "This isn't just about finding a replacement for Ethan, is it?"

"It's about taking back power," I admitted. "And yes, maybe showing Ethan exactly what he threw away."

She nodded slowly, then pulled out her tablet. "Then we need a master plan. This can't just be a fancy party—it needs to be the social event of the season."

For the next three hours, we outlined every detail. Clara, with her PR expertise, suggested discreet vetting procedures for the invitees—no one with financial troubles or scandalous pasts would make the cut. We secured secret sponsorships from luxury brands eager to be associated with the most talked-about event in Manhattan.

"The invitations need to be unforgettable," Clara insisted, sketching a design on her napkin. "Something that screams exclusivity."

"Gold-embossed cards," I suggested. "Hand-delivered with a single white rose."

Clara's eyes lit up. "Perfect. And we'll release teaser videos on social media—just enough to keep everyone guessing."

As dawn broke over the city, our plan was complete. This wasn't just revenge; it was resurrection. My resurrection.

---

Three days later, golden invitations began appearing across Manhattan. Doormen at Park Avenue penthouses and brownstones accepted the elegant packages with raised eyebrows. Within hours, my phone was buzzing with messages from curious friends and acquaintances.

From my office window, I watched as the city seemed to vibrate with anticipation. Reports came in of tech moguls canceling meetings to shop for custom tuxedos, hedge-fund princes calling in favors for information on my preferences, media scions researching my background for conversation starters.

New York's most eligible men were preparing for battle, each hoping to outshine the others and capture my attention.

What none of them knew was that I had already begun my research. Dossiers on each potential suitor sat on my desk, compiled by Clara's team. I would not be walking into The Plaza unprepared.

As I reviewed the files, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. My heart stuttered when I read the message:

*Sophie, we need to talk. Please. —Ethan*

I stared at the screen, a cold fury replacing my initial shock. After everything he'd done, he thought a simple text would grant him audience?

I deleted the message without replying and returned to my preparations. The Bachelor's Ball was just two weeks away, and Ethan Graves was about to learn exactly what happened when you underestimated a Bennett woman.