The Ruined Heiress Plans Her Vicious Revenge

At exactly seven o'clock, Brook walked out of the master bedroom. He was wearing a custom-tailored charcoal suit. He paused in the hallway, adjusting the strap of his heavy Patek Philippe watch.

He looked up. His hands stopped moving. His pupils dilated rapidly.

Farah was standing in the center of the living room. The blood-red silk dress clung to every curve of her body. She wore black stiletto heels that made her legs look endlessly long. She held a crystal flute of champagne in her right hand.

Brook swallowed hard, forcing the raw hunger out of his eyes. He pulled his eyebrows together in a deep frown. "Where do you think you're going dressed like that?"

Farah walked toward him. Her hips swayed with calculated precision. She reached out and wrapped her free hand around his bicep, leaning her weight against him. She tilt her head up and gave him a soft, innocent smile.

"I wanted to make up for my stupid behavior this morning," she said, keeping her voice light and breathy. "I thought I should accompany you to your business dinner tonight. Show a united front."

Brook stiffened. He tried to pull his arm away. "That's not necessary. It's just a boring meeting with some old investors. You'd hate it."

Farah let her smile drop. She blinked rapidly, forcing moisture into her eyes. She bit her lower lip, making it tremble. "Are you still mad at me? Are you ashamed to be seen with me now?"

Brook looked down at her fragile expression. His mind started working. Livia had always been arrogant, always looking down on him.

A cruel, satisfying thought crossed his mind. Bringing his beautiful, devoted, entirely dependent fiancée to dinner might be the exact power play he needed to put Livia in her place.

Brook's frown disappeared. He smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Farah's forehead. "Of course not. You can come. It would be my honor."

Thirty minutes later, the black Maybach pulled up to the discreet, dimly lit entrance of Le Bernardin.

The doorman pulled the heavy door open. Brook placed his hand firmly on the small of Farah's back, guiding her into the hushed, ambient noise of the main dining room.

The hostess led them to a semi-private booth tucked away in the back corner. Livia Alcott was already sitting there, sipping from a glass of water.

Livia looked up. Her eyes locked onto Farah's red dress. Livia's hand tightened around her glass, her perfectly manicured face turning instantly cold.

Brook pretended not to notice the sudden drop in temperature. He pulled out a chair for Farah with exaggerated politeness.

Farah sat down. She put her hand over her mouth, widening her eyes in fake surprise. She looked at Brook. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize your investor was such a beautiful woman. Who is this?"

Brook sat down. "This is Livia. We went to college together. She's a very important business contact now."

Livia let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She leaned back in her chair, looking Farah up and down. "It seems bankruptcy hasn't affected Miss Sterling's appetite for fine dining."

Farah lowered her head. She let her shoulders round forward, playing the part of the wounded, defenseless girl. Beneath the table, her fingernails dug into her own thighs to keep from smiling.

Brook slammed his hand flat on the table. He glared at Livia. "Watch your tone, Livia. Farah is going through a lot."

Livia's eyes flashed with anger. She immediately switched to rapid, flawless French. She began talking to Brook about their time in Paris, intentionally building a linguistic wall to shut Farah out.

Farah sat in total silence. When the food arrived, she picked up her silver knife and fork and began cutting her bluefin tuna into tiny pieces, acting like a pretty, uneducated ornament.

Halfway through the main course, Farah suddenly dropped her fork. The silver clattered loudly against the porcelain plate.She clutched her stomach, leaned forward, and her face turned pale.

Brook stopped talking. He looked at her, his annoyance turning into fake concern. "Farah? What's wrong?"

"My stomach," Farah gasped out, her voice tight with pain. "It's cramping horribly. I think I need to go home."

She looked at him with apologetic eyes. "I'll just take a cab. You stay here and finish your business. I don't want to ruin your night."

Brook's eyes lit up with hidden relief. This was exactly what he wanted-alone time with Livia. He put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure? I can have my driver take you."

"Yes, please," Farah whispered.

Brook signaled the waiter to pull the car around. Farah stood up. She gave Livia a weak, pained smile, turned around, and walked out of the booth.

She walked down the carpeted hallway. The moment she turned the corner and was out of their sight, she stood up straight. The pain vanished from her face, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a hunter.