The Wynsor girl, brilliant but...
Elizabeth caught the whisper in a gilt mirror, smiled, and watched the senior Blacksilver partner look away first. Of course he did. They always did.
Around her, the crystal chandeliers of Sterling Investment House fractured light across London's elite, a glittering backdrop for whispered alliances she cut through in charcoal silk, every step a statement of dominance. At twenty-three, she had already carved her name into the city's consciousness through sheer force of will and ruthless precision. The old guard sensed the shift in power because they were nothing, remnants of a dying system that had never had to compete.
She didn't belong here yet, but not because she was inadequate. She belonged here because she was better. The other investors in this room were operating on inherited advantage and cautious mediocrity. Elizabeth was operating on something far more dangerous, absolute certainty in her own superiority. The difference would become apparent soon enough.
The silk suit had cost more than she could justify on her salary. She'd bought it anyway, the way she did everything, because she deserved it, and waiting for permission was for lesser people. The Louboutin heels made her ankles ache, but the pain was irrelevant compared to the power they conferred. Every detail was weaponised, from the cut of her jacket to the arch of her eyebrow. She was a masterpiece of calculated presentation.
"Elizabeth Wynsor."
The voice belonged to Sage Sterling, twenty-one years old and carrying herself with the loose-limbed confidence of someone who'd never questioned their place in the world. Honey-blonde hair, honey-coloured wealth, honey-coloured mediocrity, Elizabeth recognised the type immediately. The kind of woman who coasted on family name and conventional attractiveness, believing it constituted actual merit.
And yet.
There was something in Sage's eyes that didn't match the rest of her packaging. Intelligence, certainly, but something else, a quality of genuine curiosity that Elizabeth recognised because she almost never encountered it in rooms full of people performing wealth and status. Sage was actually looking at Elizabeth, not assessing her or competing with her, but genuinely interested.
The observation sparked something in Elizabeth that felt dangerously like competitive hunger.
"I've heard fascinating things about your recent ventures," Sage continued, extending her hand. "All true, I'm sure."
Elizabeth's smile was razor-sharp. "Conservative. I suspect your sources lack imagination."
She watched Sage's eyes widen fractionally, pleased recognition, followed by something that looked like admiration. Good. Let Sage understand that she was in the presence of someone exceptional. Most people never figured that out. Sage apparently had the intelligence to recognise superior intellect when she encountered it.
"Though I'd be curious what spin your father's put on my acquisitions," Elizabeth continued, maintaining eye contact just long enough to establish dominance. "Old money has a particular blindness about how the new world operates."
Sage's fingers found her gold bracelet, a tell Elizabeth catalogued immediately. The gesture suggested nervousness, or possibly attraction, or both. Useful information. "Father always said the most dangerous investors are the ones who underestimate their own success."
"Your father sounds predictable." Elizabeth's tone was dismissive but not hostile; she was generous with lesser intellects when they amused her. "Though I find the most dangerous investors are the ones who understand that caution is just cowardice wearing a business suit."
She guided Sage away from the crowd with the casual authority of someone who assumed everyone would follow her lead. Sage did, naturally. Everyone always did. "Tell me, do you actually have opinions about economics, or is this just aesthetic participation in your father's world?"
The question was deliberately cutting, designed to separate genuine intelligence from performative wealth. Elizabeth had learned that the wealthy were usually cowards about direct confrontation; they'd been taught that directness was vulgar. She could use that against them.
But Sage didn't flinch. "I collect vintage economics texts. First editions, mostly. There's this fascinating pattern, you can track the evolution of human ambition through how different eras annotate the same philosophical texts."
Interesting. Elizabeth felt a spark of genuine engagement, rare enough that she catalogued it. "You're not just performing then."
"I wouldn't waste my time with performance." Sage's voice had developed an edge that hadn't been there moments before. "Life's too short and money's too abundant for that level of pretence."
Elizabeth recognised the tone. Pride. The kind of pride that came from understanding your own worth without needing external validation. It was the one thing Elizabeth envied in people like Sage Sterling, and therefore the thing she most wanted to destroy.
"How refreshing," Elizabeth said, her smile never wavering. "Most people in this room would sell their integrity for the kind of capital you've apparently inherited without effort."
There was a barb in that; Elizabeth made sure Sage heard it. You didn't earn this. You were simply born into it. I built myself from nothing.
But the competitive energy between them was electric, and Elizabeth recognised that too. Sage wasn't intimidated by her. Sage was... interested. Intrigued. The distinction mattered because it meant Sage was worth playing with, at least for a while.
"There's a rumour," Sage said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "that Meridian Holdings is about to announce a merger. Three billion pounds changing hands by Thursday."
Elizabeth's pulse quickened despite herself. She'd heard whispers, nothing concrete. The fact that Sage had specific intelligence suggested access that shouldn't belong to a twenty-one-year-old still learning the game. The observation was immediately followed by another: Sage had shared this information with her specifically and deliberately.
She's testing me. Or perhaps she wants something from me.
Both possibilities were intriguing.
"Interesting," Elizabeth said, allowing a fraction more genuine warmth into her tone. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm curious what you'd do with it." Sage accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter with the casual grace of someone who'd been attended to by service staff their entire life. "I suspect you'd be far more creative than most."
"And what would you do?"
"Probably nothing. I lack the predatory instincts for high-stakes gambling."
Elizabeth laughed, a genuine sound that surprised her into authenticity. "That's a lie. You approached me specifically, shared actionable intelligence, and positioned yourself as my peer. That's predatory. You're just more civilised about it than I am."
Sage's eyes flickered with something that might have been recognition, or admiration, or both. "Fair assessment."
They talked for the next hour, and Elizabeth found herself in the rare position of encountering someone who didn't bore her. Sage had actually read the texts she discussed, had considered the implications, and could engage in genuine intellectual debate without being defensive or performative. It was, annoyingly, impressive.
And Sage was beautiful in that infuriating way of old money: casual elegance, no effort required, born into aesthetics the way Elizabeth had been forced to purchase them. The unfairness of it irritated her, which made her want Sage more desperately. I will have what you have, and I'll do it better.
"You know," Sage said, her eyes reflecting the candlelight, "most people in this room would sell their grandmother for insider information, but you seem more interested in understanding the psychology behind why people make terrible decisions."
"Terrible decisions are the most profitable ones." Elizabeth paused, allowing a moment of calculated vulnerability. "For someone positioned to exploit them. Which requires understanding the motivations beneath the choices."
It was the kind of honesty that made lesser minds uncomfortable, the blunt acknowledgement of her own predatory nature. But Sage didn't flinch. If anything, her pupils dilated slightly, and Elizabeth recognised attraction in all its unguarded forms.
Interesting. She's attracted to my ruthlessness. That changed the calculus. Most people wanted Elizabeth to be kinder, softer, more palatable. Sage appeared to want the opposite; she wanted the raw truth of who Elizabeth actually was.
"What about you?" Elizabeth asked, moving closer under the pretence of hearing better over the ambient noise. "What drives Sage Sterling beyond the obvious trappings of inherited advantage?"
The question was calculated to land as an insult wrapped in seduction. Elizabeth wanted to see if Sage would defend herself or take the provocation as the compliment it partially was, that Elizabeth found her interesting enough to probe.
"Honestly?" Sage's voice dropped lower, and Elizabeth noted the change with satisfaction. "I collect vintage business books. First editions, mostly. I have this theory that you can track the evolution of human ambition through the margins of old strategy texts."
Elizabeth felt something crystallise inside her, recognition of a kindred spirit, someone else who understood that the real value in texts lay not in what they explicitly said, but in what previous owners had thought important enough to annotate.
"There's an auction next month," Elizabeth said, making a decision that felt both calculated and impulsive. "Sotheby's is selling a private collection of 18th-century economic texts. You should come with me."
"Together?" There was a slight breathlessness in Sage's tone that Elizabeth catalogued with satisfaction. She'd won something here, though she wasn't yet certain what.
"Partners." Elizabeth tasted the word like something she was deciding whether to acquire. "You bring the historical expertise. I'll handle the acquisitions."
She meant multiple things by that statement, and she saw Sage understand the layering. The flush that crept up Sage's throat was deeply satisfying.
"I pick my partners with absolute certainty," Sage replied softly.
"Good." Elizabeth's smile was predatory, genuinely predatory rather than socially performative. "I despise people who compromise on excellence. Mediocrity is contagious."
As the evening wound down, Elizabeth found herself reluctant to let Sage disappear back into London's night. Not from attachment, Elizabeth was constitutionally incapable of attachment, but from the simple fact that engaging with Sage was more stimulating than any conquest she'd made in recent memory.
"Thank you," Sage said as they reached the foyer, "for the most interesting conversation I've had in months."
"Naturally," Elizabeth replied, which wasn't false modesty but simple acknowledgement of fact. "Most people are intellectually pedestrian. You're an exception."
She walked Sage toward the exit, hyperaware of the envious glances from other guests. They want what she has: beauty, casual confidence. They don't understand that she wants what I have, the intensity, the brilliance, the refusal to apologise for being exceptional.
"I'll send you the details about the auction," Elizabeth said as they reached the doors, allowing her hand to brush against Sage's coat just long enough to establish physical ownership of the moment.
"I'll be counting on it." Sage's smile was luminous, and Elizabeth felt the satisfaction of a predator who'd identified her next significant acquisition.
As Sage slipped through the revolving doors into London's rain-soaked night, Elizabeth watched her disappear with the calm certainty of someone who'd already decided what would happen next. She didn't want Sage the way normal people wanted things, with attachment and vulnerability and the fear of loss. She wanted Sage because Sage represented a challenge to her supremacy, and Elizabeth had built her entire existence on dominating challenges.
Sage would be hers because Elizabeth had decided it, and her will had never yet been thwarted by obstacles as minor as someone else's preferences.
She caught her reflection in the glass doors and saw the predator staring back, beautiful, cold, absolutely certain of her own superiority. Perfect, she thought. Exactly as intended.
The thought that she might be creating someone's ruin didn't factor into the calculation. Elizabeth had never been the kind of person who saw other people as separate consciousnesses deserving of consideration. They were either tools, obstacles, or acquisitions. Sage Sterling had the potential to be all three, which made her fascinating.
It didn't occur to Elizabeth that someone else's happiness might matter more than her own empire. It wouldn't occur to her for years, not until the tumour began eating through her brain and she could no longer maintain the perfect architecture of her narcissism.
But that revelation was still years away. For now, Elizabeth Wynsor was a force of nature, untethered by empathy or conscience, absolutely certain that the world existed to be dominated and shaped according to her specifications.
And she was just getting started.