The Heiress's Wager Chapter 7

The yacht docked at dawn.

The pier was already swarming.

Reporters, paparazzi, onlookers—a black sea of people.

Cameras were trained on the gangway like sniper rifles.

Flashes went off like explosions.

Obviously, despite my warning, someone had leaked it.

"Miss Vane! Miss Vane!"

"Where is Julian Thorne?"

"Did you really end the engagement?"

"Did someone really jump off the yacht?"

The questions fired like bullets.

I stood at the top of the gangway, wearing the red slip dress and Leo’s oversized blazer.

My hair was a mess.

My makeup was ruined.

But my spine was steel.

I looked down at the sea of people and suddenly smiled.

For the first time in ten years, I didn't care what they thought.

I didn't care about their judgment.

I didn't care if Julian was angry.

Because Julian Thorne had nothing to do with me anymore.

I walked down the gangway, bodyguards struggling to clear a path.

Halfway down, I stopped.

"Ladies and gentlemen," my voice carried clearly. "Thank you for your concern."

"My engagement to Mr. Julian Thorne has been terminated, effective immediately. The decision is mutual and final."

"That is all I have to say. Thank you."

"Miss Vane! What about the rumors of Julian Thorne jumping into the ocean?"

I paused, looked back, and smiled.

"Mr. Thorne decided he needed some time to cool off. I believe a midnight swim was exactly what he required."

Then I walked straight to my car without looking back.

A black Maybach, engine already running.

The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise.

I leaned back into the leather seat and closed my eyes.

Then my phone started vibrating.

Endlessly.

Caller ID: "Thorne Residence"

I silenced it and tossed it aside.

"Home, James," I told the driver.

"Yes, Miss Vane."

The car pulled away.

I watched the scenery blur past the window.

The Manhattan skyline glittered in the morning light.

Beautiful.

Cold.

Ruthless.

Just like my heart.

Back at the penthouse on Park Avenue, I slept for ten hours straight.

When I woke up, it was evening.

147 missed calls.

86 from Julian.

23 from various Thornes.

12 from my father.

6 from my brother, Marcus.

20 from various "concerned" socialite friends.

Countless texts, emails, DMs.

I checked none of them.

I got up, showered, did my makeup, and put on a sharp black Armani suit.

Then I called my brother.

"Seraphina." Marcus’s voice was laced with worry. "Are you okay? Dad and I have been trying to reach you—"

"I'm fine," I interrupted. "Actually, better than fine."

"I need to talk to you and Dad. About the company."

Pause.

"About... joining the company?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"Come home. We'll have dinner."

The Vane family mansion was on the Upper East Side, a five-story limestone townhouse worth eighty million dollars.

I grew up here.

But for the last ten years, to be closer to Julian, I lived mostly in my own apartment.

Walking in now felt familiar yet strange.

Father and Marcus were waiting in the dining room.

Dinner was served, but no one was eating.

"Seraphina." Father stood up, assessing me.

Richard Vane, 67, Chairman of Vane Capital, a Wall Street legend.

Cold, shrewd, ruthless.

But right now, there was something in his eyes I had never seen before.

Approval.

"I heard what happened," he said. " The whole city heard."

"Julian Thorne called me six times today. His father called twice. They want me to 'control' you."

He paused, then smiled.

A cold, shark-like smile.

"I told them to go to hell."

I blinked.

Marcus laughed. "Dad's exact words were, 'My daughter makes her own decisions. If she doesn't want your son, she doesn't want him. Deal with it.'"

My eyes stung.

For ten years, Father had been disappointed in me for being too weak, too dependent on Julian, for losing myself in the "alliance" between our families.

Now, he was proud.

"Sit," Father said.

I sat.

"So, you want in," he got straight to the point. "Why now?"

"Because for ten years, I've been pretending to be someone else," I said calmly.

"Julian liked me sweet. Submissive. Non-threatening. So I hid everything—my education, my skills, my ambition."

"I studied Art History at Cambridge, but privately I was studying business analytics. I speak four languages. I can analyze a balance sheet faster than most of your analysts."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

"No one knew," I said. "Because I made sure no one knew."

"But Julian is gone. I don't need to hide anymore."

Father and Marcus exchanged a look.

"What do you want to do?" Father asked.

"M&A and Strategy," I said without hesitation.

"I want to start with the Manhattan real estate portfolio. There's an auction next week—the Tribeca Waterfront Development. Thorne Enterprises has been eyeing it for months."

"I want to snatch it from them."

Father smiled.

That shark smile again.

"Welcome to Vane Capital, Seraphina."

"Let's destroy the Thornes."