~ Evelyn’s POV ~
Shock flickered across Arthur Sterling’s face, before it was swallowed whole by the familiar, unmistakable gleam of greed in his eyes and then he quickly composed himself.
“But that is my daughter-in-law,” he began, his voice laced with feigned concern, “the lovely wife of my son, Julian. I… I do not think he would be able to part with his wife for a whole year.”
I almost scoffed aloud.
The audacity of his performance, trying to play the doting father-in-law, grated on my nerves.It was a cheap act, poorly executed, and frankly, offensive to my intelligence.
In any other circumstance, I would have already rescinded my proposal, turned on my heels, and left him to drown in his own financial cesspool.
But Clara.
Clara was the only thing I wanted in exchange for helping this pathetic man.
“Now, if you cannot provide what I require,” I stated, my voice cutting through his pretense,
“then I will, of course, keep my money to myself. There are, after all, far more worthy investments I wish to pursue.” I made a show of turning, as if already dismissing the entire Sterling debacle.
The gala, with its suffocating scents of desperation, had already held me captive for too long.
“Wait! Please, wait!” His voice was suddenly breathless, laced with genuine panic.
His pretentious mask finally cracking.
“I am more than happy to hand her to you, Ms. Vance. More than happy, so long as you keep to your promise of helping us.”
“It’s not a promise, Arthur,” I corrected, my tone clipped and unwavering.
“It’s a deal. A transaction. One that is, unequivocally, beneficial for both parties involved.”
Beneficial for you, because you avoid ruin.
Beneficial for me, because I acquire what I want.
And perhaps, if there’s any justice in this world, beneficial for her too.
“Then we have a deal!” he declared, a wide, grotesque grin splitting his face while his tobacco-stained teeth shined in the subdued light.
“Good,” I simply replied, my gaze cold and steady.
“I’ll be coming over tomorrow to collect my acquisition.” With that, I turned and strode away, not bothering to acknowledge his outstretched hand, which hung awkwardly mid-air like a forgotten appendage.
The cool night air was a welcome change against the stifling heat of the ballroom as I slipped out the side entrance.
Francis, my perpetually efficient secretary, was already holding the door of my custom-built Rolls Royce.
“Get me my chief security on the phone,” I instructed Francis as I settled into the plush leather seats.
He nodded, already dialing with a swiftness born of long practice, and handed me the phone.
“Evelyn Vance,” I stated without preamble the momefnt the line connected.
“Yes, Boss?” The voice on the other end was gruff, alert.
“Send to my email before dawn, every little detail on Miss Clara Sterling. Both the ones in the public domain and those that didn’t make it to the mainstream. Dig deep. I want a comprehensive dossier. University records, family history, any prior incidents, medical reports—everything.”
“Yes, Boss,” he affirmed.
With that, I hung up.
“Prepare a thirty-billion-dollar check for the Sterlings,” I then told Francis, who had resumed his place beside the driver.
A faint, almost imperceptible furrow appeared on his usually impassive brow as he turned to face me.
“Isn’t that a little too much for just acquiring an empire that not only is its trajectory on a downward trend, but is also on the verge of bankruptcy, ma’am?” he opined, his voice carefully respectful, but laced with genuine concern.
“Their entire shipping conglomerate is barely worth one-tenth of the money you’re offering. I hope you reconsider, ma’am. They truly aren’t worth it.” He concluded.
I couldn’t help but chuckle, as he rambled on about figures, equity assessments, and market analyses, the kind of data that usually delighted me.
His devotion to logic and financial prudence was precisely why he was my right-hand man, the capable mind that had helped me build my own formidable empire.
But, he was wrong this time.
Utterly and completely.
I wasn’t acquiring a decayed conglomerate.
That wasn’t me.
I wasn’t Mother Theresa.
“Just get it to my house before 8 AM tomorrow, Francis,” I said, closing my eyes, and cutting off his further protests.
I had no plans to divulge the true purpose of this exorbitant transaction just yet.
Enjoying the blissful silence in the car i let the day’s calculated maneuvers unwind.
It was only when my mind, annoyingly, drifted to Clara Sterling that the stillness shattered.
I remembered, with vivid, unwelcome clarity, how defeated she had looked as he dragged her from one guest to another, parading her like a piece of property.
My own hands, resting on my lap, instinctively clenched.
The images played on a loop, like a glitch in my perfectly ordered mental library.
Each flicker of her fear ignited a cold, steady flame of annoyance within me.
I opened my eyes abruptly.
‘What a piece of human garbage,’ I mumbled inwardly, my irritation building with every thought of him treating her like she’s not human enough.
The sound of my heels clicking on the tiles of my home as James, my butler, led me through the corridors of the north wing.
It was a section I rarely used, a space intentionally kept serene, a distant from my main quarters.
“This is the room prepared for the arrival of Miss Clara Sterling, just as you instructed, Madame,” he said as he turned the silver doorknob and ushered me inside.
The room had a quite elegance about it.
The walls were painted a gentle, calming shade of light blue, transitioning seamlessly to an off-white ceiling.
It was furnished with a queen-sized bed, a large, walk-in closet meticulously organized and filled with the latest designer brands, an intentional contrast to whatever meager possessions she might arrive with and a fully equipped bathroom.
“We have installed some discreet surveillance around the room, Madame,” James informed me, his tone businesslike.
“A CCTV camera, discreetly placed on the far end of the ceiling. It’s positioned so no one would notice, even if they actively searched for it. I also have prepared a spare key for you to access the room anytime you wish.”
His words, meant to reassure me of absolute control, hung in the air.
At the mention of CCTV, a sharp, unwelcomed image flashed through my mind.
Twelve years ago.
My life was a life filled with pain, misery, and despair.
A life where privacy was a luxury I could not afford.
It was a life I would never wish upon anyone, least of all the fragile woman I had just acquired.
“Remove every bug planted in this room, James,” I stated, my voice hardening, cutting through his professional report.
“Uninstall the CCTV. Install a proper lock system on the inside of the door. No one enters without the express permission of the room’s owner.” I turned, already dismissing the details of surveillance that felt too much like my own past.
“And oh,” I added, pausing at the threshold.
“Destroy every spare key you might have made. I do not need it.” The implication was clear: Clara Sterling would have absolute privacy within these walls, a control over her immediate environment that perhaps she had never known.
James, ever efficient, simply nodded.
“Understood, Madame. Anything else?”
“No,” I said, a finality in my tone.
Just then, one of the maids, Lyla approached me.
“Madame Evelyn, Mr. Francis is here to see you,” she informed.
“Good morning, Miss Evelyn” Francis greeted me smoothly as he saw me walk into the living room, his briefcase already in hand.
“Did you bring it?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.
“Of course, Ma’am,” he confirmed, opening his briefcase and presenting me with a thick, official-looking document.
It was the Sterling’s settlement check.
I glanced over it for a brief second, then signed it, and handed it back to him, along with the contract my legal team had drafted for me last night…..the legal document solidifying Clara’s acquisition.
“Let’s go,” I said, and with a shared understanding, we exited the mansion.
Sitted inside the comfort of my car, I began to meticulously go through every piece of information on Clara Sterling.
My chief security, had sent me the complete dossier before dawn.
• Full Name: Clara Sinclair.
• Background: Orphan.
• Age: 25.
• Education: Bristol University.
Graduated on a full scholarship.
Achieved First Class Honors.
Valedictorian of the Fine and Applied Arts Department.
• Extracurriculars: President of the fine and applied art Society.
Won multiple awards for the university during inter-university competitions.
I paused, my gaze lingering on her academic achievements.
First Class Honors?
Valedictorian?
A almost bewildered question formed in my mind: How did a woman like this, so clearly gifted and intelligent, end up with that joke of a man?
I scrolled down, the details chillingly efficient.
• Met Julian in her third year of university, when he came to give a speech in their school auditorium.
• Won another scholarship to study her Masters abroad but left it as soon as she married Julian.
• Became isolated from her friends after her marriage.
• Lost her first pregnancy after a “domestic dispute” that led her to spending a month in the hospital.
• Since then, hasn’t given birth, and other previous incidents of “domestic disputes” that never made it to the police.
A strange knot began to form in the pit my stomach as I absorbed the chilling details of Clara Sterling’s life.
The feeling of helplessness and hostility felt all too familiar, but I had sworn to eradicate it from my life, and from the lives of anyone I deemed worthy of… protection.
Idly i swiped to another page on my iPad, my eyes scanning the details of Julian Sterling’s sordid history.
Gambling debts, money laundering, a long list of illicit activities that painted a rather vivid picture of his extracurricular pursuits: late nights, countless affairs, and a complete disregard for any semblance of integrity.
‘What an absolute mess,’ I mused inwardly, the thought as dry and detached as the figures on the screen.
This man was a walking disaster, a liability in human form.
As the car drove in smoothly onto the sprawling Sterling estate, I placed the tablet beside me on the seat.
The once-imposing gates now sagged slightly, revealing grounds that were once immaculately kept but now bore the faint, tell-tale signs of neglect—a few overgrown weeds here, a patch of dull grass there.
The mansion itself, a monument to old money, gave off an atmosphere of a fading legacy.
From a distance, I saw them.
Arthur and Julian, standing by the porch, an act of desperation, if you may.
They had clearly been waiting, ostensibly to welcome me.
“Welcome, Miss Evelyn,” Julian said as he practically held the door open for me, a forced smile plastered on his face, his eyes flicking nervously towards my imposing car.
“To our humble abode.”
‘Humble indeed,’ I thought, stepping out of the car and onto their building.
As I made my way into their grand, yet somehow suffocating, home, Julian’s honeyed tone continued.
“What can I get for you? We have the very best aged wine in the country, of course, that is befitting for a person of your calibre.” He gestured vaguely towards a darkened hallway that likely led to a wine cellar.
I stopped, turning to face him fully.
His handsome features, so carefully arranged to convey charm, were now etched with a desperate eagerness.
“Julian,” my voice low and precise, each syllable deliberately honed to cut deep.
“Your pitiful attempts at posturing are precisely why your family is bankrupt. Amongst other things, of course.”
The words landed like a physical blow.
His posture faltered immediately.
His eyes widened, his handsome face contorting slightly as he visibly shrank behind his father.
“Let’s get right to business then,” I stated, my voice regaining its usual detachment.
I subtly signalled to Francis, who had remained standing beside me to approach.
He stepped forward, a briefcase in his hand.
Both father and son rushed towards him, a bizarre spectacle of desperation.
They snatched the small, thick envelope that contained the check, their movements almost frantic.
I watched in silence as their eyes widened with undisguised greed the moment they saw the figure on it.
They couldn’t even hide their excitement.
How pathetic.
It was almost laughable.
“That should be more than enough to cover every single debt your company owes, no?”.
“Of course,” Arthur managed, his voice husky, while his gaze fixed on the paper.
“Certainly,” Julian echoed, his voice a little too high.
“Now, sign the contract,” I instructed, nodding towards the documents Francis held.
They didn’t hesitate and didn’t read a single clause, or a single line of the drafted agreement.
They simply snatched the pens and scrawled their signatures, falling right into my trap, just as I had expected.
But my business persona felt insulted at the lack of due diligence from both father and son.
“Here,” Arthur said, his hand shaking slightly as he returned a signed copy of the contract to Francis.
He looked relieved.
Just then, a slight movement on the grand staircase caught my eye.
I turned, my gaze immediately drawn upwards.
And there she stood.
Clara.
She was dressed so simply, a long floral gown with a slight flair around the waist, paired with simple sandals.
In her hand, she clutched a small, almost pathetic-looking suitcase.
Yet, despite the simplicity of her attire and the evident fear in her posture, her inherent beauty shone through.
I observed the subtle trembling in her hands, the wide, scared eyes that darted around the room as if seeking an escape route.
But beneath the fear, I also noticed something else, a flicker.
A quiet dignity in her silence.
Ignoring Julian’s sputtering protests and snide remarks about her tardiness and her appearance, which I summarily dismissed with a cold glare, I walked towards her.
My steps were measured, deliberate, until I stood directly in front of her.
I met her gaze, staring directly into her eyes, ensuring she saw me clearly.
I wanted her to understand that I was about to become the only face she would be seeing for a very, very long time.
“I hope you packed everything that belonged to you,” I said, my voice low and steady, carrying an unshakeable finality.
“Because you’re never coming back here.”
Evelyn I’m sure she would love not coming back to that hell hole