Chapter 4
Julian left the office feeling like a ghost,
his spirit completely crushed beneath her heel.
The days that followed were a blur of financial ruin,
scandals,
and public humiliation.
Vance Corporation stock plummeted another thirty percent,
triggering automatic halts on the trading floor.
Eleanor Vance refused to leave her mansion,
hiding from the paparazzi who had suddenly camped outside their gates.
They wanted the story of the broken engagement,
the story of the Sinclair heiress taking her revenge.
Jacqueline sat in her penthouse,
watching the news cycle with a glass of red wine in her hand.
The media had dubbed her the "Iron Maiden of D.C.",
a title she wore with absolute pride.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table,
and she glanced at the screen to see her brother's name.
"Hello, Thomas,"
she answered,
leaning back into the sofa.
"I see you are making headlines again,"
Thomas said,
his deep voice rumbling with amusement.
"Grandpa is highly entertained,
he actually smiled this morning when he read the Wall Street Journal."
Jacqueline smiled softly,
the first genuine smile she had worn in weeks.
"Tell him the job is only half done,"
she replied,
taking a sip of her wine.
"The Vances still own the core patents,
I need them to surrender those before the week is out."
"They will,"
Thomas assured her,
"they are bleeding cash,
and no one is going to throw them a lifeline while we are holding the gun."
Thomas paused for a moment,
the amusement fading from his voice.
"There is a gala tomorrow night at the French Embassy,
you should attend."
Jacqueline sighed,
knowing exactly what her brother was doing.
"I am not looking to date, Thomas,
I just got out of a five-year prison sentence."
"It is not about dating, Jackie,"
Thomas said gently,
using her nickname.
"It is about showing them you are not hiding,
and there is someone I want you to meet."
Jacqueline rolled her eyes,
but she knew better than to argue with her older brother.
"Fine,
I will go,
but if this is a setup,
I will personally audit your offshore accounts."
Thomas laughed out loud,
a booming,
joyful sound.
"Wear something lethal, little sister."
The next evening,
Jacqueline stepped out of a black town car,
wearing a midnight blue gown that clung to her curves like liquid velvet.
The cameras flashed instantly,
the paparazzi going wild as she walked up the steps of the embassy.
Inside,
the ballroom was filled with diplomats,
politicians,
and old money.
She moved through the crowd effortlessly,
nodding to acquaintances,
ignoring the stares of the Vance loyalists.
She was walking toward the bar when she bumped into a solid wall of muscle.
A hand caught her waist,
steadying her instantly.
"Careful, Miss Sinclair,"
a deep,
smooth voice said,
"the floor is slippery."
Jacqueline looked up,
her breath catching slightly in her throat.
The man standing before her was tall,
dangerously handsome,
with piercing gray eyes and a jawline carved from granite.
"And you are,"
she asked,
stepping out of his grip but holding his gaze.
He smiled,
a slow,
predatory smirk that made her pulse jump.
"Alexander Thorne,"
he introduced himself,
holding out a hand.
May you like
"I believe we share a mutual hobby,
destroying incompetent men."
