The black car glided through the city streets like a bullet dipped in luxury. Arielle sat in the backseat, one leg draped over the other, fingers idly scrolling through her phone—not because she needed to check anything, but because she wanted to look completely unbothered.
Inside, however, her blood still simmered.
Charlotte's smug little face, that superior tilt of her chin—it was familiar. Too familiar. Arielle had seen that expression on too many people. They all thought she was surface-level sparkle and no bite.
Today, she was going to teach the entire 42nd floor a lesson.
The car stopped in front of Raine Corp's tower, a sleek stretch of steel and glass that stabbed into the sky like it had something to prove.
She stepped out like a storm in heels.
Inside, the security guards flinched slightly as she strutted through the glass doors in her deep crimson pencil dress and black trench coat. Her lips were lacquered in blood-red gloss, and the look in her eyes could set off fire alarms.
The elevator doors opened with a ding on the top floor.
Dominic's assistant, clearly not expecting her, looked up from her desk with wide eyes.
"Miss Sinclair—Mr. Raine isn't expecting—"
"He doesn't need to expect me," Arielle said smoothly, gliding past without missing a beat. "He'll feel me coming."
She didn't knock.
She opened the glass door to Dominic's office and walked in like she owned the building.
Dominic looked up from a conference call, his Bluetooth headset still in his ear. His brow arched just slightly—one part surprise, two parts curiosity.
He muted his call.
"Arielle."
She sauntered toward his desk and tossed her clutch down with a soft thud.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything important," she said, voice sweet but dripping in sarcasm.
"You are," he replied calmly, eyes sweeping over her, "but I'm more intrigued than annoyed."
"Charlotte was outside your building this morning," she said casually, circling his desk like a lioness. "Thought you should know. She seems to think she still matters."
Dominic exhaled through his nose, a sharp sound. "She doesn't."
"She also seems to think I'm not your type," Arielle added, leaning one hand on his desk and gazing directly at him. "I told her that being unforgettable doesn't require permission."
A long pause passed between them. The tension in the room tightened like a string.
Then Dominic stood.
Walked around the desk.
Stopped in front of her—close enough for her perfume to rise up between them like a challenge.
"And what are you doing here, Arielle?"
She tilted her chin. "Making a point."
"And what point is that?"
Her smile curled like smoke.
"That I don't get intimidated by shadows from your past… and I don't wait quietly in corners."
He studied her for a moment. Slowly. Thoroughly.
Then, with that cool, composed edge that made her knees weak, he said, "Good. I don't like quiet girls."
She stepped forward, toe to toe with him. "Then you're going to love me."
He leaned in, just enough for his breath to graze her skin.
"I already do."
Charlotte Leclerc watched from across the street, hidden behind the tinted glass of her luxury car, her fingers digging into the leather seat as Arielle Sinclair strut into Raine Corp like she belonged there.
She didn't belong.
Not in that building.
Not with Dominic.
Not in Charlotte's world.
Her jaw clenched as she stared at the woman who had become a thorn in her side—a storm in lipstick and heels who refused to be ignored.
Charlotte had spent years climbing her way into Dominic Raine's inner circle. She'd been there when his empire was still building. She'd known the man behind the billion-dollar smile, the ruthless mind behind the empire. She'd tasted his dominance… and it had ruined her for anyone else.
And now this brat—this spoiled, reckless party girl with a smart mouth and nothing but daddy's money—was worming her way into his attention.
No. Not attention.
His affection.
Charlotte saw it. In his eyes. In his restraint. In how he didn't dismiss Arielle the way he did everyone else.
That was dangerous.
And unacceptable.
She picked up her phone, dialing without hesitation. A man's voice answered on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"It's Charlotte," she said curtly. "I have a job for you."
"What kind?"
"The quiet kind. Discreet. But humiliating."
There was a pause. "Name?"
"Arielle Sinclair," she spat, the name bitter on her tongue. "I want every skeleton in her closet. Every scandal. Every enemy. Anything I can use to destroy her reputation and drag her off her pedestal. Understand?"
A low whistle. "That'll cost you."
"I'm not asking for a quote," Charlotte snapped. "Just handle it. And do it fast. She's already inside."
She hung up before he could respond, breathing heavily, eyes fixed on the entrance.
No one stole from Charlotte and walked away untouched.
And Arielle Sinclair?
She was about to learn that real queens don't scream.
They scheme.
The next morning, Arielle stepped into Raine Corp's executive floor like a queen returning to her throne—only this time, the air felt… off.
Not visibly.
No one said anything. No one dared. But whispers had weight, and silence had shape.
She felt it in the way the receptionist's smile was just a touch too forced.
In the way one junior associate looked her up and down, then turned away too fast.
In how an intern nearly dropped her files when Arielle met her eyes.
Something was in the air.
By the time she walked into Dominic's office, she had pieced together a few details.
A tab open on someone's computer downstairs—something about a trust fund scandal.
A murmured comment in the hallway: "Must be nice not having to earn anything."
And someone's not-so-subtle eye-roll when she said good morning.
Arielle Sinclair wasn't born yesterday.
Dominic looked up as she walked in, but she didn't smile. She dropped the tablet he'd asked her to review on his desk and stood tall.
"Are you testing me, Raine?" she asked, arms folding.
He leaned back in his chair, dark brows lifting. "Excuse me?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Because it feels like someone's trying to dig into my past. Smear me. Make me look like a spoiled little girl who doesn't belong here."
Dominic didn't answer immediately. But his stare sharpened.
"You've felt it too?" he asked, voice low.
"I can smell venom in a room full of perfume," Arielle said coolly. "And today? It's Chanel and poison."
Dominic stood slowly, walking around the desk. "What exactly did you hear?"
She met his eyes, defiant but controlled. "Nothing I haven't heard before. Rich girl. Daddy's money. Probably slept her way up. You know, the usual."
His jaw ticked.
"And you're certain this started today?"
She nodded. "Like someone flipped a switch overnight."
Dominic turned, reaching for his phone.
"No," Arielle said suddenly. "Don't."
He paused. "Why not?"
"Because if someone thinks they can break me from the inside out," she said, voice dropping into velvet steel, "they need to think I'm oblivious for just a little longer. Give them a false sense of victory."
Dominic tilted his head, intrigued. "You want to draw them out?"
"Oh, I'm not just going to draw them out," she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. "I'm going to bury them. In Louboutins."
Dominic stared at her for a long moment—then let out a quiet chuckle. "God help whoever's coming for you."
"No," Arielle said, adjusting her lipstick in the office mirror. "God help them after I'm done."