Yvette Jennings' POV
The heels of my boots clicked with precision down the marbled hallway. Every staff member who passed by bowed lightly, instinctively averting their gaze. They knew better. I didn't tolerate incompetence. And I sure as hell didn't entertain betrayal.
I stopped in front of the towering window of my office—overlooking the skyline like a queen gazing upon her realm. But even now, this view didn't bring the same satisfaction. Not without him.
I clenched the paper in my hand—a final article confirming Abigail Bardot's brutal execution. Her company—Bardot Industries—was ashes.
Her reputation? Vaporized.
I let out a cold, short laugh.
"Serves her right. A woman who cheats on her husband deserves worse than headlines."
I crushed the article in my hand.
My assistant Oliver stood silently behind me, knowing well not to interrupt when my fury simmered like this.
"Tell me something, Oliver," I said, voice like ice. "When did loyalty become so… unfashionable?"
He cleared his throat carefully. "I couldn't say, ma'am. But you've never been known to follow trends."
I turned and smirked. He always knew how to speak without losing his head.
"Exactly. I'm not Abigail Bardot. That… pathetic, manipulative bitch thought love was a game of seduction and lies."
I stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Me? I don't need to cheat to feel powerful. I don't need a secret lover in the shadows to feel desired. My standards are higher than that. I gave Owen everything—a clean life, no lies. I didn't fall for another man while still calling him mine."
Oliver shifted slightly. He'd seen the toll this took on me, even if I didn't say it aloud.
"You miss him," he said bluntly.
I exhaled deeply. "I do. But I don't miss being ignored. I don't miss being doubted. I just wanted him to know… about who I was. Who we were. In that other life."
I walked to my desk, fingers tracing the edge.
"But he didn't give me the chance. He saw my cold side and assumed I was like her."
I sneered at the thought.
"Do I demand respect? Yes. Do I expect excellence? Absolutely. But never once did I betray his trust."
I glanced at Oliver. "Unlike that backstabbing 'wife' of Samuel Gebb, I know what honor means."
He nodded. "It's why your name still commands fear, ma'am."
I turned back to the window, voice low.
"I built an empire from nothing. I carved out my own place in this brutal world. And when I gave my heart… I gave it without deception. So if he thinks I'm some shallow, manipulative harpy like Abigail—"
My voice tightened, but my eyes shone with that glint again.
"—he's wrong. And I'm going to make him see it."
I clenched my fist.
"Let the world burn if it must… but Owen Yates will know exactly who I am before the end."
________________________________________
I stood still by the window, letting the silence wrap around me like a silk cloak—heavy, but dignified. The crushed paper in my hand dropped to the floor with a soft thud.
I finally turned to Oliver.
"Send a message to my intel team. I want full surveillance around Owen's last known location. Every camera, every heat signature. I don't care if he's cloaked by magic or hiding in another realm—find him."
Oliver gave a short nod. "Right away, Ms. Jennings."
As he moved to leave, I spoke again, quietly, yet with unshakable conviction.
"This isn't about regret, Oliver. It's about clarity. About giving him the truth I was denied the chance to speak."
I ran a hand through my hair, pushing the cold mask of control back into place.
"If I have to walk through fire, realms, or hell itself—I will. Because he deserves to know. I am not the woman who let go."
Oliver paused at the door. "And if he rejects that truth?"
I stared out the window again, unflinching.
"Then I'll walk away. But not before he looks me in the eye and understands that I never betrayed him. Not in this life, not in the last."
The wind outside picked up, rattling the glass faintly—ominous, like a storm preparing to descend.
"And if fate dares to test me again," I whispered, "it better be prepared to lose."
With that, I turned from the window, my long coat sweeping behind me as I strode out.
Yvette Jennings wasn't chasing.
She was claiming what was hers.