6. V
Vpaced the length of her sleek, ultra-modern kitchen, her heels clicking against the marble floors like gunfire.
The open-concept space—cold steel appliances, pristine white countertops, and a view of the city skyline—usually gave her a sense of satisfaction, a reminder of just how far she’d come.
But tonight, none of it mattered.
Scarlett Lane had won again.
The name alone made her stomach twist in fury. V clenched her fists, trying to swallow the rage clawing up her throat.
How had that nobody managed to land Christian Valen as a business partner?
It was absurd. Insulting, even. Scarlett wasn’t cutthroat, wasn’t ruthless.
She didn’t have the fire it took to survive in this industry, not like V did.
And yet, she thought bitterly, she gets everything handed to her.
Christian Valen wasn’t just any investor. He was the investor—one of the most powerful men in the industry.
With his backing, Amélie wouldn’t just thrive; it would dominate. It would overshadow everything else in the city, including her.
That thought sent a fresh wave of fury through her.
She had spent years building her name, clawing her way to the top in an industry that devoured the weak.
She had played the game ruthlessly, making the right connections, stepping over anyone who got in her way.
She wasn’t about to let Scarlett swoop in with her humble charm and oh-so-talented culinary skills and take what should have been hers.
No.
If Scarlett wanted to play in the big leagues, then she needed to learn the hard way that success came with a price.
V reached for her phone, her mind already spinning with ideas.
If Christian Valen wanted to back Amélie, fine. But she’d make sure he regretted it.
She scrolled through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for.
Jordan Meyer, editor-in-chief of Luxe Dining Magazine.
Jordan owed her a favor. Several, actually.
She hit call, tapping her manicured nails against the counter as she waited.
“V, darling,” Jordan answered smoothly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have a story for you,” she said, keeping her voice composed despite the fire burning in her veins. “One you’re going to want to print immediately.”
Jordan chuckled. “Oh? And what kind of story are we talking about?”
She let a slow, wicked smile curl her lips. “A scandal, of course.”
There was a pause on the other end before Jordan’s interest sharpened. “I’m listening.”
V turned, gazing out the window at the glittering city below. “You know Scarlett Lane, don’t you? Owner of Amélie?”
“Of course. Rising star, incredible chef. Word is she just landed a partnership with Valen Enterprises.”
The words tasted like acid.
“Exactly,” V said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “But did you know she has a history of… let’s say, questionable business practices?”
Another pause. “Go on.”
V slid into a barstool, enjoying this now. The power. The control.
If Scarlett wanted to play with the big names, she’d learn what real competition looked like.
“There was an incident a while back,” she said, fabricating the details as she spoke. “A former sous chef at Amélie. Talented guy, full of promise. He was forced out under… shady circumstances.”
“She fired him?” Jordan asked, intrigued.
“Oh, not quite.” V let the silence hang before delivering the blow. “She stole from him. Took credit for a dish he developed. Passed it off as her own. When he tried to call her out on it? She ruined him. Blacklisted him from every major restaurant in the city.”
That part wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been a sous chef who left Amélie, but not under scandalous circumstances.
But V knew the power of suggestion.
Jordan whistled. “That’s a bold claim.”
V leaned back in her chair, sipping her wine.
“And yet, you and I both know how dirty this industry is. No one plays fair. The question is, do you want to break this story first or let someone else do it?”
Jordan laughed. “You know I can’t resist a juicy exposé. But I’ll need more than just a story. Got any sources?”
V smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get a few ‘anonymous’ confirmations.”
Jordan hummed in approval. “Then consider it done. This’ll be on every foodie’s radar by the weekend.”
V ended the call, satisfaction curling through her like smoke.
Scarlett Lane wouldn’t even know what hit her.