The Scarred Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

Harsh morning sunlight sliced through the window blinds, throwing sharp, jagged shadows across the expensive Persian rug in the Oneal Group CEO office.

Emerson sat behind his massive mahogany desk. His face was carved from ice as he flipped open the morning edition of the Wall Street Journal.

The front page headline screamed in bold black ink: ANH GROUP UNDER SIEGE BY UNKNOWN SHORT SELLERS.

The heavy office doors opened. J. Moss walked in quickly, clutching a thick stack of briefing folders to his chest. He looked nervous as he approached the desk.

"Good morning, sir," Moss said, speaking fast. "Your schedule for today is extremely tight. At ten o'clock, you have the sit-down with Wall Street titan Preston Hancock. At two o'clock, you are teeing off with Senator Clarence Dover."

These were not just meetings. These were the foundational pillars of the Oneal Group's strategy for the next five years. Missing them was not an option.

Emerson didn't even blink. He didn't look up from the newspaper. He just opened his hand and let the paper drop flat onto the desk with a soft slap.

"Cancel it," Emerson said.

Moss froze. He almost dropped the folders. He stared at his boss, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I... I'm sorry, sir? Did you say cancel?"

Emerson slowly lifted his head. His dark eyes locked onto Moss with a crushing, physical weight.

"Cancel everything," Emerson repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Clear my entire schedule for tonight."

Moss swallowed hard. He forced himself to speak. "Sir, Mr. Hancock has a notoriously vicious temper. If we stand him up today, it could blow up a multi-billion dollar merger."

A flash of raw, violent irritation ripped through Emerson's eyes.

He reached down and grabbed the solid gold fountain pen resting on his desk. He gripped it in his fist and squeezed.

Snap.

The thick gold barrel bent and broke in half. Black ink exploded from the cartridge. It splattered across the pristine white cuff of his custom shirt, looking exactly like a spray of black blood.

"The Oneal Group," Emerson growled, his voice vibrating with rage, "does not answer to anyone. Do you understand me?"

Moss physically shrank back. "Yes, sir. Right away, sir." He scrambled to pull out his tablet, his fingers shaking as he deleted the meetings.

Emerson leaned back in his leather chair. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"Send a private invitation to Jerri McMahon," Emerson ordered, keeping his eyes closed. "Use the official company letterhead. Tell her to meet me tonight at eight o'clock. At The Scarlet Lounge. In my private room."

Moss's eyes went wide with absolute shock. He couldn't comprehend why his boss would choose that specific, traumatizing location to meet her.

But looking at the broken gold pen bleeding ink onto the desk, Moss kept his mouth shut. He nodded quickly and rushed out of the office to execute the order.

When the door clicked shut, Emerson stood up. He took off his ruined suit jacket and threw it on the chair. He walked over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.

He stared at the cold, ruthless billionaire looking back at him. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a bitter, agonizing smile.

He had to see her. He couldn't just watch her suffer through a screen anymore. But he knew his grandfather's spies were watching his every move. Meeting her at The Scarlet Lounge was the only way to make the old man believe he was dragging her there to torture her, not to save her.

His cell phone buzzed loudly on the sofa.

Emerson walked over and picked it up. It was Clemens.

He answered the call. Clemens's voice immediately blasted through the speaker, yelling, "Are you out of your mind?! Preston just called me screaming! Why did you cancel the meeting?"

"I have more important business to handle," Emerson said, his voice completely dead.

Before Clemens could say another word, Emerson pressed the end call button. He tossed the phone back onto the sofa.

He walked over to the liquor cabinet, poured a drink, and stood by the window. He looked out over the city, his eyes fixing on the distant skyline where the Anh Group building stood.

Tonight, he was going to break her heart all over again. It was the only way to keep her breathing.