The Ruined Heiress Plans Her Vicious Revenge

Brook shoved Farah forward. Her shoulder hit the velvet-lined wall of the private elevator car.

The heavy steel doors slid shut, cutting off the nervous stares of the lobby receptionists. The small space was completely sealed off from the rest of the world.

Brook reached up and grabbed the knot of his silk tie. He yanked it down violently, completely abandoning his calm, corporate persona.

He stepped toward Farah, backing her into the corner. He slammed both of his hands flat against the cold metal wall, trapping her head between his arms.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Brook hissed, his breath hitting her face. "Do you have any idea what that little stunt just did to my stock price?"

Farah forced her breathing to turn shallow and erratic. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the moisture out to create a steady stream of tears. She let her knees buckle slightly, projecting total emotional collapse.

She raised her fists and began hitting his chest. "My family is gone!" she screamed, letting her voice crack. "My brother is in a cage! And you won't even let me see my father!"

She hit him again, harder this time. "You only care about the acquisition! You don't care about me!"

Brook caught both of her wrists in one massive hand. He twisted her arms, pinning them firmly against the small of her back.

He leaned in close, his lips pulling back into a cruel sneer. "Let me remind you of something, Farah. That private facility in the Hamptons where your father is breathing through a tube? I pay for it."

He tightened his grip on her wrists, making her gasp. "It is a closed psychiatric and medical ward. I am his legal sponsor. Without my signature on the visitor log, the guards will not even let you into the parking lot."

Farah stopped fighting. She let her body go completely limp against the wall. She widened her eyes, letting a look of absolute, crushing defeat wash over her features.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal the top-floor executive suite.

Brook dragged her out of the elevator by her arm. He pulled her across the thick carpet and threw her into the center of his massive office.

Farah stumbled and collapsed onto the Italian leather sofa. She brought her hands up to cover her face, letting out loud, pathetic sobs.

Brook stood over her. He adjusted his cuffs, his breathing slowing down as he regained his sense of absolute control.

He walked over to the crystal decanter on his wet bar. He poured two fingers of amber whiskey into a glass and walked back to the sofa. He held it out to her.

"If you behave," Brook said, his tone shifting to a sickeningly sweet, patronizing hum, "and you smile for the PR cameras tomorrow to fix this mess..."

He tapped the rim of the glass against her knee. "I will authorize a thirty-minute visit for you to see your father next month."

Farah bit down hard on the inside of her lower lip. Her teeth broke the skin. The sharp, metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth, grounding her. She forced herself to swallow her pride.

She reached out with shaking fingers. She took the heavy glass. The ice cubes clinked loudly against the crystal, betraying her trembling hands.

She looked up at him. Her face was a mess of tears and smeared makeup. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice rough and broken. "I was just so scared."

Brook smiled. It was a genuine smile of victory. He reached out and stroked the top of her head, running his fingers through her blonde hair like he was petting a dog.

The intercom on his massive mahogany desk buzzed. Evan's voice came through, frantic. "Mr. Tyler, the board is demanding an emergency PR meeting right now."

Brook pulled his hand away. He walked to the mirror on the wall, straightened his collar, and tightened his tie, instantly becoming the untouchable CEO again.

He looked back at her. "Stay here. Rest. Do not leave this office."

Brook walked out. The heavy walnut door swung shut behind him.

The metal lock clicked into place. Farah set the whiskey glass down on the glass coffee table. The tears on her face dried instantly.

She stood up. She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the tiny cars moving through Manhattan.

She knew she couldn't win a direct fight. She needed to find her leverage.