"Eight hundred million?!" He was starting to see red, but he transferred the money anyway. He refused to let anyone question his worth or the worth of Stark Group.
On the other side, Summer laughed out loud as she received the transfer notification. Wayne, seeing the numbers flash on his screen, felt a cold sweat run down his back. 1.35 billion dollars… he thought, in mere hours… This woman is a financial demon. He's beyond impressed but also a little terrified by how easily Summer manipulated her rival. "She's extorted over 1.35 billion from him in one afternoon…and that too..just for fun" he muttered. "How much worse can she get?" He couldn't decide whether to admire his boss or feel terrified of her. Maybe both.
Wayne muttered to himself, "I feel bad for Stark... he has no idea what he's in for."
Meanwhile, Summer leans back in her chair, sipping her coffee contentedly. "Mini-revenge complete," she whispers to herself, knowing that Tristan Stark won't know what hit him when they meet. Still laughing over the day's events, she took a moment to mull over where to meet Tristan. Her mischievous smirk returned as the idea of Schmooze Club came to mind. The club wasn't just another venue—it was her property. The irony of it made her chuckle. Schmooze was known for its unparalleled discretion, ensuring clients' privacy to the point where even the VIP and VVIP lounges were designed to be near-impossible to navigate without a precise invitation. The place was always densely packed, an almost impossible maze for anyone unfamiliar with it. Meeting there meant Tristan would have to do more than just show up—he'd need to prove he had the tenacity and ingenuity to track her down. After all, if he couldn't find her in her own club, how worthy was he of meeting Dr. Lifeath?
Summer's laughter echoed in her room. She could already imagine Tristan's frustration. This was her way of testing not only his patience but also his mettle. Let's see if he can handle a real challenge, she mused as she began typing a reply.
Meanwhile, in his suite, Tristan was ready to smash his phone. The email he'd just received from Dr. Lifeath was pushing him over the edge:
"Meet me tomorrow night at 8 PM, Schmooze Club if you can recognize me. Remember, if you're even a second early or late, the meeting is off. And, of course, there will be no refund."
Tristan's jaw clenched so hard his teeth might crack. Who the hell does this person think they are? he thought, seething. It was already bad enough that this elusive doctor—whose reputation was larger than life—had swindled 1.35 billion dollars from him, but now, this blatant mockery was too much. He could tell from the way the email was worded that it was meant to ruffle his feathers.
"Schmooze Club?" He scowled. Of course, it had to be a venue known for its labyrinthine design and ridiculous VIP privacy measures. Tristan hated places like that. It screamed exclusivity, and worse, it screamed games. He didn't have time for that.
Still, his pride wouldn't let him back down. No matter how much Dr. Lifeath's words irked him, he had to meet this person. It wasn't just about the proposal anymore; it was about proving that no one could play him—not Summer Carter, not even Dr. Lifeath.
He quickly shot off a polite yet firm response:
"I appreciate your consideration. I will be at Schmooze Club tomorrow at 8 PM as requested. You can expect punctuality."
Despite his professionalism, the coldness behind his words simmered. He paced the room, muttering under his breath.
"1.35 billion... for what? To be sent on a wild goose chase in some overcrowded club? Filthy rich… stingy… This doctor is worse than Summer! "
Alex, who was watching Tristan's pacing on video conferencing, couldn't help but feel both amused and alarmed. His boss was usually so composed, but Dr. Lifeath had him unraveling. Alex could almost see steam coming from Tristan's ears. He knew better than to say anything, though.
Summer, on the other hand, was positively glowing. She'd gotten her revenge, fattened her wallet, and now set the stage for her final game. Tomorrow night would be the ultimate test—whether or not Tristan could find her in her own club.
"Let's see if you're worth the trouble, Tristan Stark," she whispered to herself, the wicked grin never leaving her face.
Tristan paced inside the sleek, dimly lit VIP lounge of Schmooze Bar, the shadows flickering across his sharp features. The minutes ticked away, each second heightening his determination to uncover the enigma that was Dr. Lifeath. He had less than six hours before the supposed meeting, but he wasn't about to wait around like some rookie CEO, hoping for an appearance. No, he was Tristan Stark, and waiting wasn't his style. His fingers danced over his phone screen as he tried tracing Dr. Lifeath's location through the email he'd been given.
No trace.
"Smart," he muttered, slightly impressed. Whoever this doctor was, they were good at covering their tracks. Normally, retracing an erased digital footprint wasn't beyond his capabilities, but it would take too much time. Time he didn't have. The retracing process had a narrow window before it expired within the next 12 hours. He admired the meticulousness in Dr. Lifeath's planning, though it irritated him that he'd been outsmarted in this digital chess match.
He was utterly frustrated!