32. Venetia
C ameron Real Estate Development is Reye’s family’s top competitor. Ava Cameron, the head of their marketing team, is an old friend of Chloe’s. They were best friends for years until their partnership fell apart and turned into rivalry—complicated further by Ava’s affair with Chloe’s boyfriend at the time.
Today, I’m hitting three targets at once—giving Chloe an easy task, offering her a chance for revenge, and, most importantly, gearing up for the explosive outcome of her performance. I’ve never been fond of getting my hands dirty in the process. Involving myself physically requires extensive planning and plotting, burning through nerve cells, and in the end, it still tends to get messy.
West loves to call me a cunning snake for a reason.
Excitement bubbles inside me as I stand among the crowd, eagerly awaiting Chloe’s moment on stage. Half of what she’s going to present today is a fabrication; the other half is only partially true, and the remaining ten percent is real—just with a sprinkle of lies. Cameron RED is ranked right below Lucas’s company, and that’s definitely not a good thing. I’m surprised we haven’t taken action against them sooner.
Among all our competitors, they stand out as the strongest, backed by a powerful legacy built over generations. Their family is renowned for its impeccable reputation and unwavering dedication to their work. I dealt with them a couple of years ago, but this time, it will be for a greater cause.
Chloe steps onto the stage—the same one on which West and I once performed—a wide smile plastered across her face as she begins her speech. It’s so easy to manipulate some people that I find myself getting bored. Humans are laughably predictable—I always use the same tactics to bend them to my will, and they inevitably comply.
I don’t pay attention to the words flowing from her lips; I’ve gathered every piece of information she’s now sharing, so I know the outcome. Instead, I concentrate on the crowd’s reactions. No one knows I’m here—I’ve camouflaged myself well enough to blend in and chosen a spot far enough from everyone else, high enough to see her face and predict what will happen, yet low enough to avoid raising any suspicions.
The plan is straightforward—she’ll begin by discussing the company’s general frauds, exposing a few dirty little secrets, and then seamlessly transition to more personal details about Ava. It’s the quickest and most effective way to shift public perception against them.
I scan the crowd for Ava herself. With a little help from the sidelines, I hinted that today would be crucial without revealing the specifics, so she should be here. She’s the linchpin of my plan. Without her, it won’t unfold as I intend.
Chloe becomes increasingly agitated with each word, her voice growing louder and her facial expressions shifting dramatically as she recounts the story. I struggle to suppress a laugh that threatens to burst free the longer I watch this circus unfold, disbelief still churning within me.
So laughably predictable.
Minutes pass, and my impatience grows, a flicker of worry trying to break through. But then I see someone storming past the guards—who are not doing their job today, thanks to me—and I realize my plan is about to come to fruition.
Ava leaps onto the stage, and Chloe’s reaction is too slow to prevent what unfolds next. Ava’s hand slaps against her cheek, and before she can even process what just happened, she delivers another slap—this one harder. Chloe staggers and falls onto her backside, utterly stunned and confused. She was never the sharpest tool in the shed, and with the shock taking over her, she’s completely defenseless now.
The crowd erupts into chaos—screams, curses, and whistles growing louder by the second. They call for guards, who lazily rush toward them, attempting to intervene.
In a few moments, Chloe’s face is a mess, blood streaming from her nose as she raises her hands in a futile effort to shield herself from Ava’s onslaught of punches. For some reason, this scene brings me a sense of satisfaction I never knew I needed. Reluctantly, I push myself away from the wall and turn to leave the scene behind.
My job is done.
Now, all I can do is wait for the news to spread across social media like a contagion.
“You know, if you weren’t my brother’s fiancée and a respected employee here, I’d drag you out behind these doors and beat you until you were unrecognizable.”
I laugh as I cast a glance at Chloe. Her face is a patchwork of red, purple, and blue. Her left eye is swollen, the black circle beneath it deepening, and traces of dried blood mar her iris.
Ava was stronger than I thought she would be.
“You look cute when you’re angry,” I remark nonchalantly. “You could’ve used that fire against Ava. What do I have to do with this?”
“You set me up!” she whispers-screams, her eyes darting around the dining room in a panic. Lucas set another meeting today, and as always, I arrived early for a moment of peace with my coffee. Chloe has chosen to disrupt my solitude with baseless accusations.
Of course, I lit the match, but she was the one who tossed it into the gasoline and burned herself in the process.
Technically, this is all her fault. She should’ve known better than to publicly expose her ex-friend’s dirty little secrets—it was only going to backfire on her. I never forced her to say any of those things. She had the choice to keep quiet, but she opted for her moment of glory without considering the consequences.
“Yes, I did,” I answer, holding her gaze. A muscle beneath her eye spasms, and she lets out a sharp hiss, pressing her fingers against the bruised area. “And you fell for it.”
A wild gleam flashes in her blue eyes as she shakes her head, attempting to twist a smirk. “I could expose you. Tell everyone what a cunning bitch you really are. I could tell my brother about you.”
I can’t hold back the chuckle. “Don’t you think he already knows that?” I ask skeptically. “You have no proof, Chloe. And technically, I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not my fault you’re so easy to manipulate.”
“My father won’t forgive you for this,” she spits, her anger rising. I’m surprised. I thought she was too spineless to feel such an emotion. “He’ll understand that it’s your fault. He’s smart.”
“I’m not saying he isn’t,” I reply calmly, noticing her brows knit together in confusion. My calm demeanor seems to unsettle her. She should’ve realized that empty threats won’t work on me. “Come on, Chloe. Why is it so hard for you to keep up? He doesn’t care about what happened. He only cares about the results. The campaign ,” I explain, drawing attention to the last word.
“That’s not true.”
Her naivety almost makes me feel sorry for her. But then I remember how their father treats West, always placing her above him. That sympathy vanishes as quickly as it came.
“Don’t look so sad,” I mock, jabbing her with my elbow. “Look on the bright side. Now you don’t have to play the victim anymore. You can actually be one.”
With no intention of engaging in this fruitless conversation, I rise to my feet, my hand grasping the cup of still-warm coffee. Her stare feels like a weight as I toss the cup into the nearest trash can and pivot, making my way out of the dining room.
There’s no way to fully express how much I cherish my coffee breaks before meetings—it’s a simple ritual that clears my mind and prepares me for what lies ahead. But Chloe interrupted that peace, and now I can’t even manage to finish my coffee.
A lump rises in my throat, bringing a bitter aftertaste, and I have no idea where I’m headed. A drop of sweat slides down my temple, and the pressure in my chest grows, a heavy weight on my heart.
All I want is to get out of here, to escape the strange, unfamiliar warmth that’s been building inside me ever since I came up with this fucking plan. I can’t stop questioning why I would do something like this for West. It makes me feel confused and furious with myself, especially since I promised I wouldn’t do anything for anyone else but myself after Zayden. But here I am, repeating the same mistakes and helping the man I spent years hating.
I don’t realize how I leave the office building, my legs carrying me without thought, nor do I register getting into my car and driving away in a panic, running from that place as if from the plague. My phone keeps buzzing with calls and messages from Dad, and I know I’m letting him down, but facing West feels impossible right now.
I just can’t do that.
I drive away, fully aware that I’ll need to face him soon and come up with some excuse for everything, but that concern is just background noise for now.
The only thing that matters at this moment is the warm feeling I need to carve out before it consumes and destroys me from within.