The Scarred Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

Emerson pushed open the heavy, solid oak doors of the Aurora Private Club's penthouse suite.

The massive room smelled of expensive cigar smoke and old money. Clemens Pate was standing next to the custom mahogany pool table, casually rubbing blue chalk onto the tip of his cue stick.

Seeing Emerson walk in, Clemens immediately dropped the cue stick. He walked over to the wet bar, poured a glass of premium bourbon, and handed it to him.

Emerson took the glass without a word. He walked straight past Clemens and stood in front of the massive tactical whiteboard taking up half the wall. The board was covered in printed financial sheets, stock charts, and the internal data of the Anh Group.

Clemens walked up beside him, leaning against the wall. He let out a mocking, arrogant laugh.

"Look at this garbage," Clemens sneered, tapping the board. "Her cash flow is a joke. One little push and the whole company shatters."

Emerson's face was completely blank. He picked up a thick black marker from the tray. He raised his hand and drew a harsh, thick 'X' over the names of three core suppliers listed on the board.

"Use your contacts on Wall Street," Emerson ordered, his voice dead and mechanical. "Cut off their credit lines. I want these three suppliers to halt all shipments to Anh Group by tomorrow morning."

Clemens watched the aggressive strokes of the marker. A spark of genuine excitement lit up his eyes. "Brilliant. Starve her out."

Clemens stepped closer to Emerson. He lowered his voice, letting a venomous tone bleed into his words. "That bitch is like a ghost. I can't believe she has the nerve to show her face in this city again. I don't want to see you get dragged down by that woman again."

The marker in Emerson's hand stopped dead.

He pressed the tip so hard against the whiteboard that it let out a loud, ear-piercing screech.

Emerson slowly turned his head. His eyes locked onto Clemens. The look in his eyes was like a physical blade scraping across Clemens's throat.

"Watch your mouth," Emerson warned, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

Clemens felt his heart violently seize in his chest. The sheer terror in Emerson's gaze made him want to step back, but he forced himself to stay still. He immediately threw both hands up in the air in a mock surrender.

"Hey, relax, man," Clemens forced a dry laugh, trying to keep his playboy mask intact. "I'm just looking out for my brother. I don't want to see you get dragged down by that woman again."

Emerson pulled his gaze away. He stared back at the board. "I am only taking back what belongs to the Oneal family. Nothing more."

Clemens turned around to walk back to the bar. The second his back was to Emerson, the casual smile vanished from his face. His features twisted into a mask of pure, ugly jealousy.

He grabbed the neck of the bourbon bottle. He squeezed it so tightly his knuckles popped. He didn't hate Jerri because she lied to Emerson. He hated her because, even after seven years, she still owned every single piece of Emerson's heart.

Clemens took a deep breath, smoothing out his facial features. He turned back around, holding a thick manila folder.

"Here," Clemens said, handing it over. "The draft for the hostile acquisition intent. It's brutal."

Emerson opened the folder. He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the legal jargon. His eyebrows pulled together into a tight frown.

He suddenly pulled a pen from his inside pocket. He pressed the pen to the paper and violently scratched out a whole paragraph. It was the clause demanding Jerri issue a public apology and resign in disgrace.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Clemens asked, his voice rising in shock. "Why are you going soft? That clause is the best part. It will completely break her."

"I want a functional company," Emerson said, his voice hard as stone. "I don't want a worthless, scandal-ridden mess that tanks the stock price the second I buy it."

It was a flawless business excuse. It shut Clemens up instantly, but the dark suspicion in Clemens's eyes didn't completely fade.

"Fine," Clemens tested the waters. "But what are you going to do with her once you own the company?"

Emerson walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He turned his back to Clemens. He took a slow drag from his cigar and blew the smoke against the glass.

"I'm going to banish her from New York," Emerson said, his voice completely flat, devoid of any human emotion. "She will never step foot on Wall Street again."

Hearing that, a genuine, relieved smile finally broke across Clemens's face. He believed Emerson had finally let her go.

But Clemens couldn't see Emerson's face.

Staring at his own faint reflection in the glass, Emerson's eyes were filled with a crushing, suffocating sorrow. He knew the truth. The only way to keep her alive, the only way to hide her from his grandfather's assassins, was to force her out of the city and lock her away in his private estate on the West Coast—The Sanctuary.

Emerson raised his glass and swallowed the rest of the bourbon.

He had to see her. Tomorrow.