Scarlett clutched the expensive art supplies to her chest, her knuckles white. She looked at the man leaning against the silver Bentley, his tailored silhouette cutting through the grey London dusk.
"Jeremy, you deal in data. Algorithms. Cold numbers," she said, her voice like ice. "What do you know about erotica?"
Jeremy didn't answer immediately. He gave her that deep, soul-searching look that had once made her teenage heart skip. Now, it just felt like a physical weight. He swiped his phone and held the screen inches from her face.
"I don't just know it. I own it. As of ten minutes ago, I officially acquired your old publishing house. That sinking ship has a new captain. And the first contract I'm signing… is you."
Scarlett stared at the press release on the screen. A wave of nausea hit her. "You bought a dying company just to mess with my life? Jeremy, I'm a flop. My series was axed. I'm a bad investment."
"I don't invest in companies, Scarlett. I invest in talent." Jeremy stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. "Are you afraid of the market? Or are you afraid to face what I can make you become?"
Scarlett looked away, her heart hammering. "It's too risky."
"Life is venture capital, darling." Jeremy's lips curled into a provocative smirk. "Let's make a bet. Within two years, I'll make you the top-selling erotic artist in the industry. One million pounds as a bonus if you win."
Scarlett's breath hitched. "And if I lose?"
"If you lose… you just have to have a candlelight dinner with me." He tilted his head, his amber eyes gleaming. "One million against a dinner. Why the skepticism? For most, it's a losing trade. For me, it's a long-term investment. If one dinner isn't enough, we can make it two. Or… a lifetime."
The temptation of the money—the temptation of revenge through success—was a poison she couldn't help but swallow. "Fine. If you're so eager to burn your cash, capitalist… I accept."
🏙️ The Canary Wharf Cage
The "dormitory" was a 800-square-foot glass-and-steel bachelor pad overlooking the Thames. It was minimalist, cold, and exquisitely expensive.
But it was the balcony that stopped her breath. It was overflowing with bright, vibrant sunflowers—a jarring, living contrast to the grey Canary Wharf skyline.
"You remembered," she whispered, touching a petal. "You knew I had nowhere to go."
Jeremy poured two glasses of wine, his movements fluid and precise. "You're my Ace. I have to settle your body before I can exploit your mind. You need to focus entirely on making money for… us."
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A rude, violent pounding shattered the air. Jeremy's business partner, Martin, stormed in before the door was even fully open. He was a man with eyes like knives and a voice that brought the winter with him.
"Have you lost your mind, Jeremy?" Martin marched up to him, ignoring Scarlett as if she were a piece of furniture. "You used the private equity fund to buy a bankrupt manga house? Without the board? Without me?"
"I used my personal name, Martin. It's decoupled from the firm," Jeremy said, his voice dropping into a defensive growl.
"Personal name?" Martin sneered, pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses. He finally turned to Scarlett, scanning her like a defective product. "Don't ruin your career for a pretty face who draws cheap smut. She's a pure-love amateur. She can't handle the hardcore market."
Jeremy's pupils contracted. "She has potential. I believe in her."
"Potential?" Martin stepped into Scarlett's personal space, his gaze clinical and insulting. "Then let's bet. Three million pounds says she drags you to the bottom. Loser pays up and gets on his knees to bark like a dog in front of the entire board."
The room went deathly silent. Scarlett felt the heat of shame rising from her neck. She was being traded like a commodity in a locker-room bet.
Jeremy's hand clenched at his side. The gambler in him took over, his eyes burning with a feverish heat.
"Fine. It's a bet. I can't lose."
"I'll have Legal draft the agreement," Martin waved a voice recorder, his smile showing the fangs of a merchant. "Prepare your cash, Jeremy. And clear your throat. I want to hear a loud bark."