POV: CHASE
The Sterling Industries boardroom was designed to intimidate. I'd been in here a dozen times growing up, sitting in the corner while Dominic conducted meetings, learning by observation. Now I sat at the head of the table, and every face turned to me looked skeptical.
I was twenty-four. The youngest person in the room by twenty years. They thought I was a child playing dress-up in my father's empire.
They were about to learn otherwise.
"Gentlemen." I didn't stand. Didn't need to. Power wasn't about standing. "Thank you for attending my first official board meeting as CEO. I know there are concerns about my age, my experience, my ability to lead Sterling Industries into the future. So let's address those concerns directly."
Richard Morrison, sixty-three, old money, Dominic's best friend from Yale, leaned back in his chair. "With all due respect, Chase, you graduated college less than a week ago. You have no management experience, no track record, no proven ability to run a company of this size."
"You're right. I don't." I met his eyes. "But what I do have is a complete understanding of every division of this company. I've spent the last four years studying Sterling Industries from the inside. I know our weaknesses. I know where we're hemorrhaging money. And I know exactly which board members have been embezzling funds."
The room went silent.
"Richard." I slid a folder across the table to him. "Your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands. Very creative accounting. Dominic chose to overlook it because of your friendship. I'm not Dominic."
Richard opened the folder. His face went white.
"You have until end of business today to resign and repay what you've stolen. Or I go to the SEC. Your choice."
I turned to the rest of the board. "Anyone else want to test me?"
No one spoke.
"Good. Now let's talk about Q3 projections."
The meeting lasted two hours. By the end, I'd restructured three divisions, fired two executives, and made it clear that Sterling Industries under my leadership would be different from my father's reign.
Harder. Colder. More ruthless.
The cold that had settled in my chest during the inheritance signing was still there. Growing stronger. Making every decision easier. Every cruelty simpler.
I liked it.
After the meeting, I returned to my new office. Dominic's old office. My office now. Everything was still his: his furniture, his art, his view of Manhattan. I'd change it eventually. Make it mine. But for now, I had other priorities.
My phone sat on the desk, face down. I'd been ignoring it all day. Forty-seven notifications. I flipped it over, scrolled through.
Most were congratulations from business contacts, people I barely knew sucking up to the new CEO. A few texts from Ethan, checking in, probably worried I was having a breakdown.
And one Instagram notification. Vivian had posted.
I opened the app. Stared at her photo outside some producer's office in LA. She looked happy. Glowing. Like she'd already moved on. Like the past two years meant nothing.
Like I meant nothing.
The cold in my chest pulsed. My hands clenched around the phone.
She thought she could move on? Build a career? Forget me?
I'd show her exactly how impossible that would be.
I opened our text thread. The last message was from three months ago. Her asking what I wanted for dinner. I'd said Thai food. We'd eaten it in her dorm room, laughing about something stupid one of our professors had said.
That life felt like it had happened to someone else.
I typed: "Congratulations on the LA meeting. Impressive how quickly you're building connections."
Read it. Too obvious. Deleted it.
Tried again: "Saw your post. LA looks good on you. Hope you're finding what you're looking for."
Better. Polite surface with a threat underneath. She'd understand.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
Three dots appeared immediately. She was typing. Then they disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally, her response: "Thanks. Hope NYC isn't too lonely at the top."
I smiled. There was my Vivian. Always had to get the last word.
I typed back: "Never lonely when you're building an empire. Good luck with your auditions. You'll need it."
This time she didn't respond. Good. Let her sit with that. Let her wonder what I meant. Let her lose sleep the way I'd been losing sleep.
My assistant knocked on the door. "Mr. Sterling? Your 4 PM is here."
"Send them in."
The rest of the day was meetings, phone calls, decisions that affected thousands of employees and billions of dollars. I moved through it all with mechanical precision. The cold made it easy. Made everything easy.
By the time I got home to my new penthouse at Sterling Tower, it was past midnight. The place was absurd. Ten thousand square feet of marble and glass and views that made you feel like you owned the city.
I'd moved in yesterday. Still had boxes everywhere. Hadn't even unpacked most of them.
I poured myself a scotch from Dominic's, no, my collection. Stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at Manhattan. Every light was someone's life, someone's story, someone's struggle.
And I was above all of it now.
My phone buzzed. News alert. TMZ article about Vivian. I clicked it against my better judgment.
"Vivian Ashford, the Columbia grad who went viral for rejecting billionaire Chase Sterling, has signed with mega-producer Marcus Webb. Sources say Webb sees major potential in the up-and-coming actress. Could this be her big break, or just another attempt to stay relevant?"
The comments were mixed. Some supporting her, some saying she was using the scandal for attention, some predicting she'd fail without Chase's money.
I took a screenshot, sent it to her with no caption.
She'd know what I meant. I see you. I'm watching. You can't escape me even three thousand miles away.
POV: VIVIAN
I was back in my tiny LA apartment, the one I was subletting from a friend of a friend who'd moved to New York. It was small, barely furnished, but it was mine. My space. My new beginning.
I'd read the Marcus Webb contract three times. It was aggressive. Exclusive representation for three years. Twenty percent of everything I made. Creative approval over which roles I took. But he was offering me a real shot. A lead role. A chance.
I'd sign it tomorrow.
My phone buzzed. Chase. Again.
This time it was a screenshot. The TMZ article about me signing with Marcus.
No caption. Just the screenshot.
My hands clenched around the phone. He was watching me. Tracking my every move. Making sure I knew he was still there, still part of my life whether I wanted him to be or not.
I should have blocked him. Should have cut off all contact.
But I didn't.
Because as much as I hated him right now, as much as I wanted to prove I didn't need him, part of me still craved his attention. Still wanted him to see me. Still wanted to matter to him.
God, I was pathetic.
I threw my phone on the couch, stood up, paced my tiny apartment. I needed to let this go. Needed to focus on my career, on building something real, on being someone who mattered outside of Chase Sterling's orbit.
The lights flickered.
I stopped pacing. Looked at the ceiling. Old wiring, probably. This building was ancient by LA standards. The lights flickered again. Then steadied.
But the temperature had dropped. Not by much. Just enough to notice. Just enough to make me pull my sweater tighter around myself.
I walked to the thermostat. Seventy-four degrees. But it felt like sixty.
The lights flickered a third time. Stayed dim for a few seconds. Then came back full brightness.
And in that moment of dimness, I could have sworn I felt someone watching me.
I spun around. No one there. Of course no one was there. I was alone in my locked apartment on the third floor of a building with security.
But the cold remained. Creeping through the room like something alive. Like something hunting.
I grabbed my phone, checked the doors, the windows. Everything locked. Everything secure.
The cold intensified. My breath came out in small clouds. That wasn't possible. It was seventy-four degrees. I wasn't breathing clouds.
My phone screen went black. Not off. Just black. Like something was blocking it.
Then it lit up again. One notification.
Text from Chase: "Sleep well."
The lights went out completely.