He Faked His Death, So I Ruined His Empire

Chapter 3

"I took my medication, Beatrice," Clara lied, her voice tight, trying to back away as the older woman advanced. "I took it, but it’s not working anymore. The fog broke. I know Julian is alive."

Beatrice laughed, a harsh, grating bark of amusement. "Alive? Oh, you poor, delusional child. The hysteria really has completely rotted your brain. Julian is dead. You killed him with your incessant demands for a luxury lifestyle."

"Don't play games with me!" Clara shouted, slamming the folder down on the desk. "I saw him! I saw Ivy’s video. I know about the Caymans. I know you’re trying to liquidate my grandfather’s company tomorrow!"

Beatrice’s smile vanished. Her eyes went dead, cold, and entirely merciless.

"You saw a video," Beatrice repeated flatly. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out her phone, dialing a number without breaking eye contact with Clara. "Martin? Cancel the luncheon. Call Dr. Evans. Tell him we have an emergency. Clara has suffered a complete psychotic break. I need an involuntary psychiatric hold prepared at the private clinic immediately. Yes. The secure wing."

Panic seized Clara’s chest. "You can't do that. I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You've broken into my private study, vandalized my property, and are currently hallucinating that my dead son is alive," Beatrice stated calmly, dropping her phone back into her bag. "I am your medical proxy, Clara. I can have you locked in a padded room for the rest of your natural life, and absolutely no one will question it. You are a bankrupt, grieving, unstable woman."

Beatrice lunged forward, her manicured hand shooting out to grab Clara’s wrist with terrifying strength. "You should have just kept drinking the tea, you stupid little bitch. It would have been painless."

"Let go of me!" Clara shrieked. She twisted her arm, using the heavy brass letter opener still resting on the edge of the desk to strike the back of Beatrice’s hand.

Beatrice cried out, releasing her grip and stumbling back, clutching her bruised knuckles. "You little whore! Security!"

Clara didn't hesitate. She bolted for the door, yanking it open and sprinting down the hallway.

"Stop her!" Beatrice screamed from the study. "Don't let her out of the house!"

Clara heard the heavy thud of boots coming from the kitchen. The estate guards. She didn't look back. She tore through the grand foyer, her bare feet slipping on the polished marble. She threw her entire body weight against the massive oak front doors, pushing them open just as a security guard rounded the corner.

"Ms. Vance, stop!" the guard yelled.

Clara plunged out into the freezing, torrential downpour that had suddenly swept over the city. The rain hit her like icy needles, instantly soaking through her thin cotton pajamas. She scrambled down the gravel driveway, ignoring the sharp stones slicing into the soles of her feet.

She reached the iron front gates just as they began to automatically slide shut, squeezing her emaciated frame through the closing gap.

She hit the public sidewalk and ran. She ran until her lungs burned, until the Thorne mansion was swallowed by the gray curtain of rain. She didn't have her phone. She didn't have her wallet. She didn't even have shoes.

She only had one name burned into her memory. A name she hadn't spoken in three years.

*Victor Sterling.*

Victor had been her grandfather’s most brilliant protégé. He was a ruthless, brilliant venture capitalist who had built an empire of his own by the time he was thirty. He was also the only man who had ever seen right through Julian Thorne.

*“He’s a parasite, Clara,”* Victor had warned her three years ago, his dark, intense eyes burning with a terrifying authority. *“If you marry him, he will bleed you dry and leave you with nothing. Walk away. Let me handle him.”*

Clara had called Victor cruel. She had called him jealous. She had chosen Julian, and Victor had walked out of her life without another word, cutting all ties with the Vance family.

Now, Victor was the only man in the city with enough power, enough money, and enough sheer ruthlessness to stop Beatrice Thorne.

Clara flagged down a passing cab, throwing herself into the backseat before the driver could protest.

"Hey, lady, what the hell?" the driver barked, looking at her soaked, shivering, barefoot state through the rearview mirror. "I'm not running a charity. Get out."

"Sterling Tower," Clara gasped, her teeth chattering so violently she could barely speak. "Take me to Sterling Tower in Midtown. When we get there, the concierge will pay you triple the fare. Please. My life is in danger."

The driver hesitated, taking in her terrified, hollow eyes. He muttered a curse under his breath and slammed his foot on the gas.

Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up to the gleaming, monolithic glass structure of Sterling Tower. Clara stumbled out, leaving the angry driver shouting behind her as she pushed through the heavy revolving doors into the pristine, marble-clad lobby.

"Ma'am, you cannot be in here," a large security guard in a tailored black suit intercepted her immediately, holding up a hand. "You are dripping on the floor. I need you to leave."

"I need to see Victor," Clara choked out, wrapping her arms around herself to stop the violent shivering. "Victor Sterling. Tell him it's Clara. Clara Vance."

The guard’s expression didn't change. "Mr. Sterling does not take unannounced visitors. I'm going to have to ask you to exit the building, or I will call the police."

"Call them!" Clara screamed, her voice cracking with desperation. "Call the police! But call Victor first! Tell him if he doesn't come down here right now, Beatrice Thorne is going to have me committed to a psych ward and steal my grandfather's company!"

The guard reached for his radio, his face hardening. "That's enough. I'm escorting you out."

He grabbed her arm. Clara thrashed, fighting him with the last dregs of her adrenaline. "No! Victor! Please!"

"Let her go."

The voice sliced through the chaotic lobby like a blade of ice. It was deep, quiet, and carried an authority that commanded absolute obedience.

The security guard instantly dropped Clara’s arm and took a rigid step back. "Mr. Sterling. I apologize. She forced her way in."

Clara collapsed to her knees, her vision swimming as the exhaustion finally caught up to her. Through the wet strands of hair plastered to her face, she looked up.

Victor Sterling stood ten feet away.

He was even more intimidating than she remembered. At thirty-three, he radiated a terrifying, coiled power. He was dressed in a dark, bespoke suit that cost more than most cars, his broad shoulders and towering height dominating the massive lobby. His sharp, aristocratic features were locked in a mask of absolute coldness, but his dark, piercing eyes were fixed entirely on her.

He didn't look angry. He looked lethal.

"Clara," Victor said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur as he took in her emaciated frame, her bleeding feet, and the dark, bruised circles under her eyes.

"Victor," Clara sobbed, pride completely abandoning her as she looked up at the man she had once pushed away. "You were right. You were right about him. About all of it. Julian is alive."

Victor’s jaw tightened. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees.

He didn't ask questions. He didn't demand explanations. He simply closed the distance between them in three long strides, shrugging off his expensive suit jacket. He wrapped it tightly around her shivering, soaked shoulders, lifting her off the cold marble floor with effortless ease.

"Mr. Sterling?" the security guard asked nervously. "Should I call the police?"

"Lock down the building," Victor ordered, his eyes never leaving Clara’s pale, terrified face as he pulled her against his chest. "If anyone from the Thorne family steps within a hundred feet of this tower, break their legs."

Clara buried her face in the warm, crisp fabric of his shirt, the scent of cedar and expensive cologne overwhelming her senses. For the first time in eighteen months, she felt safe.

"I've got you," Victor whispered fiercely against her hair as he carried her toward his private elevator. "Whoever did this to you, Clara... I am going to burn their entire world to the ground."