The Scarred Heiress's Spectacular Comeback

At exactly eight o'clock, Jerri stood in the dimly lit hallway outside the VIP room.

She was wearing a razor-sharp, tailored black suit. It was her armor. She took a deep breath, fighting down the violent nausea twisting in her stomach just from breathing the air inside this club.

She reached out and pushed open the heavy, soundproof door.

The scene inside hit her eyes like a physical strike.

The lights in the room were low and moody. Emerson was leaning back against the dark leather sofa. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, radiating a raw, dangerous energy.

And Aliyah Oconnell was sitting practically on his lap, leaning heavily against his chest, holding a glass of red wine.

Jerri's feet stopped moving. It felt like an invisible hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart until it bruised.

She dropped her arms to her sides. Her hands instantly curled into tight fists. She drove her fingernails so hard into her palms that the sharp pain finally sliced through the fog in her brain, forcing her to stay rational.

Hearing the door open, Emerson slowly raised his eyes. His cold, predatory gaze cut through the air and landed on her.

He didn't push Aliyah away. Instead, he moved his hand and placed it flat against Aliyah's waist, his thumb slowly rubbing the fabric of her dress.

Aliyah turned her head. When she saw Jerri standing there, a nasty, victorious smirk spread across her face.

Jerri swallowed hard, forcing the metallic taste of blood down her throat. She stepped forward. Her high heels clicked evenly against the hardwood floor. She walked straight to the armchair opposite them and sat down.

She elegantly crossed her legs and placed her Birkin bag on the table. Her posture was flawless. She looked like a CEO ready to execute a hostile firing.

"Let's skip the games," Jerri said, her voice freezing the air in the room. "What is your bottom line for the Anh Group acquisition?"

Emerson stared at the perfect, emotionless mask on her face. A violent, destructive urge ripped through his chest. He wanted to tear that mask off.

He let out a dark chuckle. He picked up his glass and took a slow sip.

"What makes you think you have any leverage to negotiate with me?" Emerson asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Aliyah leaned closer to Emerson's ear. She spoke in a loud, breathy whisper designed to carry across the room. "She really doesn't know her place, does she?"

Jerri shifted her eyes. She looked at Aliyah's fake, exaggerated expression for exactly one second. Then she looked away, dismissing her completely, as if Aliyah were a piece of trash on the floor.

The absolute dismissal made Aliyah's face turn red with fury. She sat up straight, opening her mouth to scream an insult.

But before she could speak, Emerson casually raised his hand and patted Aliyah's arm. It was a silent command to quiet down.

That small, protective gesture hit Jerri harder than a bullet. It completely shredded the last tiny, pathetic piece of hope she didn't even know she was holding onto.

Jerri unzipped her bag. She pulled out a thick legal document and placed it deliberately on the crystal coffee table. The soft, definitive sound echoed the finality of her decision.

"This is our poison pill strategy," Jerri said, her voice sharp and clear. "If you force this hostile takeover, we will flood the market with new shares. You won't get the Anh Group. You will get an empty, bleeding shell."

Emerson didn't even glance at the document. His dark eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity.

He leaned forward, his massive frame eating up the space between them. The sheer physical pressure radiating from him was suffocating.

"I don't care if the Anh Group lives or dies," Emerson stated, his voice a cruel, low rumble. "I am just enjoying the process of destroying you."

The words struck her like lightning. The blood instantly drained from Jerri's face, leaving her pale as a ghost. But she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and refused to look away.

Aliyah let out a shrill, piercing laugh. "You were thrown out of here like a dog seven years ago, Jerri. And look at you now. Still a pathetic loser."

Jerri suddenly stood up. She looked down at the two of them sitting on the sofa. Her eyes were filled with absolute, freezing resolve.

"If you want a war," Jerri said coldly, "the Anh Group will fight you to the death."

She didn't wait for an answer. She turned around and walked toward the door. Her back was perfectly straight, but her shoulders were trembling slightly under the fabric of her suit.