The Heiress's Wager Chapter 9

Two weeks later.

The Banks family went bankrupt.

It made the front page of the Wall Street Journal.

"Banks Real Estate Files Chapter 11."

My name wasn't in the article.

But everyone knew.

I cut off every resource the Banks family had.

I told my contacts that any company doing business with the Banks would be blacklisted by Vane Capital.

In our world, that was a death sentence.

One by one, their clients fled. Banks pulled loans. Investors vanished.

In three weeks, a $200 million family business became a debt-ridden shell.

And Sienna...

Sienna came to my office.

I now had a corner office on the 52nd floor, overlooking Manhattan.

My assistant buzzed in. "Miss Vane, a... Sienna Banks is here. No appointment."

"She says it's urgent."

I smiled.

"Let her in."

The door opened.

Sienna walked in.

But this wasn't the Sienna from the yacht.

That Sienna was polished, arrogant, glowing.

This Sienna...

Her hair was greasy, pulled into a messy pony. Her clothes were Zara, ill-fitting. Her face was gaunt, dark circles like bruises under her eyes.

She looked ten years older.

"Seraphina..." Her voice cracked.

I leaned back in my chair.

Didn't stand up.

Didn't offer a seat.

Just watched.

"Sienna." My voice was frost.

"What can I do for you?"

She stepped forward, then fell to her knees.

Actually knelt.

"Please." She sobbed.

"Please, Seraphina. I'm begging you. Stop. Please stop."

"My family is ruined. My dad had a heart attack last week. My mom is on antidepressants. We're losing the house."

"I know I was wrong. I know I hurt you. But please... have some mercy."

I stood up.

Walked around my desk.

Stood in front of her.

She looked up, tears streaming down her face.

"You want mercy?"

She nodded frantically.

I crouched down, meeting her eyes.

"You sat on my fiancé’s lap at my engagement party."

"You made me strip in front of fifty people."

"You made me kiss another man while Julian watched."

"You humiliated me in front of everyone I know."

"And you want mercy?"

My voice was soft.

Almost gentle.

But my eyes were dead.

"No, Sienna. You get no mercy."

"You get exactly what you gave me. Nothing."

I stood up.

Walked back to my desk.

Hit the intercom.

"Security, escort Miss Banks from the building."

"Add her name to the permanent blacklist. She is never allowed on any Vane property again."

"No! Seraphina please!" Sienna screamed.

Two guards entered, grabbing her arms.

"You can't do this! We were friends!"

"I trusted you!"

I didn't even look up from my computer.

Just kept typing.

Her screams faded down the hall.

Silence.

"Miss Vane," my assistant buzzed. "Your 3 PM is here."

"Send them in."

One month later.

The New York Public Library Charity Gala.

The event of the season. Old money, new money—everyone was there.

I wore a vintage red Valentino gown.

Around my neck sat three million dollars of Harry Winston diamonds.

I wasn't the girl hiding behind Julian anymore.

Now, when I entered a room, heads turned.

Not because of who I was with.

But because of who I was.

Seraphina Vane.

VP of Acquisitions at Vane Capital.

The woman who destroyed the Thornes.

The woman with the Straight Flush.

Marcus was beside me.

"Julian is here," he murmured.

"I know."

I saw him the moment I walked in.

Standing alone by the bar.

No Sienna.

No date.

He looked... different.

Thinner. Older.

His tux fit perfectly, but he carried an air of brokenness.

Our eyes met across the room.

He started walking toward me.

"I'll give you two a minute," Marcus said, squeezing my hand.

Then Julian stood before me.

"Seraphina."

"Julian."

Silence.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you."

More silence.

"Can we talk? Privately?"

I studied him for a long moment.

Then nodded.

"Terrace."

We stood on the stone balcony, looking out at the city lights.

Manhattan glittered below us, cold and breathtaking.

"I'm sorry."

Julian broke the silence.

I didn't respond.

"I apologize for everything. For the yacht. For Sienna. For all the years I took you for granted."

"I was a bastard. A complete bastard."

"Yes," I said simply.

"You were."

He flinched.

"I know I don't deserve forgiveness. But I need you to know—I didn't realize what I had until I lost it."

"Ten years, you were just there. Loyal. Loving. I threw it away."

"I miss you." His voice cracked.

"I miss you so damn much."

I turned to face him.

Really looked at him.

"Do you love me, Julian?"

"Yes," he said instantly.

"Yes, I do. I always did, I just—I didn't know how to show it. I didn't cherish it. But I know now. I love you, Seraphina."

I smiled.

A sad smile.

"No, you don't."

"What?"

"You don't love me, Julian. You never did."

"You loved owning me. You loved possessing me. You loved that I adored you."

"But you never loved me. The real me."

"That's not true—"

"You don't even know the real me," I cut him off.

"You didn't know I studied analytics. You didn't know I speak four languages. You didn't know I play poker better than you."

"Because you never asked. You never cared."

"You wanted a doll. A trophy wife. Someone to look good on your arm."

"I played that role. For ten years. Because I thought if I was perfect enough, you'd love me."

"But you don't love perfection. You love control."

Tears were streaming down his face now.

"Please. Please, Seraphina. I'll change. I'll be better. Just give me one more chance."

"I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

I reached out, gently wiping a tear from his cheek.

"It's too late."

My voice was soft.

Almost kind.

"Ten years too late."

"I don't love you anymore, Julian. I don't even hate you."

"You're just... nothing to me now."

That broke him.

He physically recoiled, like I had struck him.

"Seraphina—"

"Goodbye, Julian."

I turned and walked back into the gala.

I didn't look back.

Not once.

Three months later.

I stood on the construction site of the Tribeca Waterfront.

The subway news was out.

Our property value had hit $650 million.

Marcus stood beside me, reviewing blueprints.

"You know," he said, "Dad wants to make you VP of Strategy next quarter."

"Really?"

"Really. You earned it."

My phone vibrated.

A text from an unknown number.

I opened it.

A photo.

Julian, walking out of a building I recognized as a rehab facility.

And a message: "Thought you should know. He was there for three months. Depression and alcohol. Outpatient now. -Leo"

I stared at the photo for a long time.

Waiting for something.

Guilt.

Regret.

Pity.

But there was nothing.

Just... emptiness.

I deleted the message.

Pocketed my phone.

"Everything okay?" Marcus asked.

I smiled.

"Everything is perfect."

And I meant it.