Chris thought I was nothing more than an expensive, mindless trophy—a pretty porcelain vase to be displayed, completely incapable of understanding his grand, world-altering ambitions. So, swollen with his own sudden self-importance, he threw me away. He practically vibrated with excitement when he bragged to his tight-knit circle of friends: “Brothers, I finally cut her loose! I can do so much better. I know you guys are happy for me, right?” He never expected his circle of friends to block him in the very next second. “We’ve been putting up with your pretentious bullshit for three years, and you actually thought you were the prize?” “The queen is finally single. Look at me, Beth!” “Who the hell do you think you are? Beth belongs with me.” Chris was left utterly dumbfounded. 1 When Chris slid the five-hundred-thousand-dollar check across the table, I was looking down, carefully slicing into my Beef Wellington. “Take it, Beth. Consider it compensation for the three years you wasted on me.” Chris leaned back against the plush velvet booth, smoothing the lapels of his six-figure Savile Row bespoke suit. His voice carried an arrogant, condescending weight, as if he were granting me a royal pardon. He had spent extra time on his hair today, slicking it back into a sharp, calculated style, and the Richard Mille watch on his wrist caught the dim restaurant lighting with an aggressive flash. It was the birthday present I had bought him last year. Sitting right next to me, my best friend, Chelsea, nearly choked on her Romanée-Conti. Her eyes widened, staring at Chris as if he had just sprouted a second head. Actually, Chelsea had spent the entire drive over complaining about him. She said Chris’s ego had ballooned lately like a cheap, over-inflated balloon. His tech startup had just secured a ten-million-dollar Series A funding round, and he’d been bragging to anyone who would listen that he was the next Silicon Valley messiah. Of course, he had no idea that the venture capital firm behind that massive funding round was entirely owned by Davenport Holdings. Davenport, as in Beth Davenport. As in me. I set my fork down, picked up my linen napkin, and elegantly dabbed the corner of my mouth. I looked at him, completely unbothered. “Oh? Is that so, Mr. Spencer? You’ve made it to the big leagues now, and you’re looking to upgrade to a more suitable partner?” Chris let out a heavy, patronizing sigh. “Beth, don’t use bitter words to mask your vulnerability. We were together for three years, and I’ll always be grateful that you stuck by me during the hardest days of my startup. But you have to admit—you’re just a pampered heiress who lives off her family. Your life is too easy. All you do is shop, go to spas, and have afternoon tea. You simply cannot comprehend my grand vision.” He paused, his gaze sharpening with an aggressive, dismissive edge. “I’m destined for greatness now, and you can’t walk this path with me. Sure, the people in our circle call you ‘Miss Davenport’ to your face, but the ones who actually leave a mark on this world are creators of value, like me. Being able to stand by me during my low points is already the greatest privilege of your life. Take the half-million and buy yourself a few bags. Don’t look for me again. It’s better for both of us.” Chelsea’s temper flared, and she slammed her hand on the table, preparing to tear him apart. I reached out and gently pressed her wrist down, keeping her in place. Looking at Chris’s face, slightly twisted by his own blinding self-conceit, I didn’t even feel the urge to get angry. In fact, I wanted to laugh. When I first chose him, it was purely because I was exhausted by the relentless swarm of aggressive playboys in our high-society circle. Chris had come from a small town, worked part-time at the university library, and looked clean, quiet, and completely harmless. I had used him as a convenient shield, throwing some resources his way as a tacit fee for his services. I had never intentionally hidden my background; I was simply too lazy to display my true power in front of him. After all, who takes the time to explain the entire corporate blueprint of Davenport Holdings to a temporary placeholder? I just hadn’t expected the placeholder to develop a god complex and actually believe he was the main character. 2 “Half a million dollars.” I picked up the check with two fingers, holding it up under Chris’s smug, expectant gaze. Then, I let it slip from my fingers. The slip of paper fluttered through the air and landed perfectly inside my glass of lemon water, immediately soaking through and turning into a soggy, useless clump. “Beth! Don’t be ungrateful!” Chris snapped, sitting up straight, his face turning a furious shade of red. “Check, please,” I said, ignoring him entirely and snapping my fingers. The server approached immediately, bowing respectfully. “Miss Davenport, you still have a two-million-dollar credit on your house account. Today’s total is three thousand eight hundred dollars. It has been deducted. Here is your receipt.” I stood up, slinging my Himalayan Birkin over my arm, and looked down at Chris with a cool, detached gaze. “I might not understand your grand vision, Chris, but I certainly know how to dispose of trash. Keep that half-million for your own funeral expenses. Trust me, your days ahead are going to be very, very difficult.” With that, I took Chelsea’s arm and walked out without looking back. The moment we stepped through the glass doors, I pulled out my phone. Finding Chris’s name, I deleted and blocked him on every single platform with a few swift taps. Our three-year arrangement, designed solely to keep unwanted suitors at bay, was officially over. Three days later, a luxury superyacht named The Poseidon hosted an incredibly loud, extravagant party in international waters. It was Chris’s self-proclaimed “freedom and funding” celebration. On paper, it was his night. But in reality, the yacht belonged to Ryder Cross, the reckless, wealthy racing driver who had spent the last few years constantly hovering around me. Chelsea and I were sitting on the third-tier VIP deck, sipping vintage champagne and feeling the cool ocean breeze as we watched the circus unfold on the lower deck. “I honestly can’t believe him,” Chelsea scoffed, rolling her eyes. “How did he have the nerve to invite Adrian Locke and Ryder Cross?” I offered a soft laugh. “Because he truly believes they are his ‘brothers’ who hang out with him solely because of his personal charm.” Down on the main deck, Chris was holding a glass of scotch, his face flushed with alcohol as he bragged loudly to a crowd of young, wealthy heirs. Among the crowd, Adrian Locke—a brilliant, sharp-tongued senior partner at a top-tier law firm—was idly flicking his lighter, looking thoroughly bored. Beside him, Ryder Cross leaned against the railing, a mocking, dangerous smile playing on his lips. And at the very center of the gathering sat a man who commanded the room without saying a word. He wore a simple black button-down shirt with the collar slightly open, highlighting his sharp jawline and deep-set eyes. His dark, unfathomable gaze looked out over the black ocean water. That was Nicholas Kingsley, the ruthless, undisputed head of Kingsley Holdings—the most powerful financial empire in the city. For the last three years, Chris had bragged about how he had successfully integrated into Manhattan’s most elite social circle, even flattering himself with the belief that Nicholas Kingsley considered him a friend. He was too dim to realize that the only reason these men tolerated his loud, shallow presence was entirely because of me. “Honestly, brothers, it’s a relief we broke up,” Chris’s voice drifted up, carried by the ocean wind, thick with alcohol and unearned confidence. “You all know Beth. She’s beautiful, sure, but she’s a hollow ornament. Boring. Being with her is like carrying around a delicate piece of porcelain. My career is skyrocketing right now. I need a woman who can challenge me intellectually and actually help my business expand.” He opened his mouth to continue his grand speech, but was cut off by a sudden, sharp crack. 3 Nicholas Kingsley, who had been lazily swirling his red wine, let go of his Baccarat glass without warning. The glass shattered against the deck right at Chris’s feet, splashing deep red wine all over the cuffs of his trousers. The entire deck fell dead silent. The music was cut instantly, and everyone held their breath, turning to look at the formidable man who suddenly looked like a predator ready to strike. Nicholas stood up slowly, looking down at Chris with a gaze that could freeze water. “Who the hell do you think you are to speak about her that way?” Chris’s intoxication vanished instantly, his face draining of all color. He forced a trembling smile. “Nicholas… what do you mean? It’s me, Chris. Aren’t we…” “Aren’t we what?” Adrian Locke chimed in, shutting his lighter with a metallic click. He let out a dry, mocking laugh, looking at Chris as if he were a complete idiot. “Chris, do you actually believe you secured that ten-million-dollar funding on your own merit? Do you honestly think you’d even know which way our club doors opened if it weren’t for Beth Davenport?” Ryder Cross was even less polite. He stepped forward and kicked the entire champagne tower beside him, sending glass and golden liquid crashing to the deck in a deafening explosion. “Where do you think your venture capital came from? How do you think you closed those massive commercial deals over drinks? Beth did all of it behind the scenes to help you! You lived off her charity for three years, and now you have the nerve to drag her name through the mud? I should rip your tongue out myself.” Chris looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He staggered back a couple of steps, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. “What… what are you talking about? Beth is just a spoiled, lazy—” “Shut up, you fool,” Adrian said, adjusting his cuffs and tilting his chin up. “Since you’ve officially broken up with her, I don’t have to pretend to respect the ‘friend’s girl’ rule anymore. Starting today, I’m officially pursuing her. Chris, you better stay far away from her, or I won’t hesitate to use my firm’s resources to put you behind bars for a very long time.” “Get in line!” Ryder shoved Adrian aside. “I already have a helicopter with a banner ready to go!” Chris was completely paralyzed. The brotherhood he had bragged about had turned into a pack of wolves, ready to tear him to pieces. He had always believed he was the master strategist of his own life, only to realize he was merely a clown in everyone else’s eyes. Before he could even process the massive shock, Nicholas didn’t even deign to give him another glance. He turned, walking straight past the ruined deck, and climbed the stairs toward the VIP balcony where I was sitting. As he approached, the air around him seemed to grow heavy with his overwhelming presence. When he finally stopped in front of me, those cold, calculating eyes of his softened, swirling with an intense, quiet devotion that made my heart skip a beat. Under the watchful eyes of everyone below, he bent down with perfect grace and pulled a rare, breathtaking pink diamond necklace from his pocket. “Miss Davenport, now that the nuisance has been cleared, would you mind if I cut the line?” I stared at him in genuine surprise. Suddenly, a flood of memories from the last three years flashed through my mind. Every single time Chris’s incompetence had landed him in trouble, Nicholas had conveniently appeared to resolve the issue. Whenever I attended a social gathering, my favorite obscure, custom-tailored cocktails were always placed in front of me. Even a rare, first-edition French book I had casually mentioned once had arrived on my desk the very next day, delivered under the guise of “a gift from a family friend.” None of it had been a coincidence. Nicholas Kingsley—the ruthless, brilliant tycoon who ruled the city’s financial landscape—had been quietly waiting in my shadows this entire time. Now that the cards were on the table, Chris wasn’t just ruined; even I was left slightly off-balance by the sheer scale of his devotion. I looked at Nicholas, making no move to take the necklace just yet. I raised an eyebrow slightly. “Mr. Kingsley, cutting the line usually requires a toll.” Nicholas smiled, a devastatingly handsome, dangerous expression. “My entire life. Is that enough?”
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