Twenty excruciating minutes passed, filled only by nervous chatter and the forced smiles of the Vance family's associates. The Vances finally emerged from the anteroom, but the patriarch, Mr. Vance, remained conspicuously absent, leaving Damien to take the stage alone. Damien's face was slick with perspiration, his perfect tuxedo now looking like a uniform under duress.
He grabbed the microphone, his voice straining to project confidence. "My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. A minor, last-minute bureaucratic oversight has required us to slightly adjust our proposal documentation. But rest assured, Vance Holdings is here tonight to secure the future of Veros energy!"
He launched into the contract presentation, his slides detailing the financial stability of the project. But as he clicked to the crucial slide detailing the company's financial guarantees, the projector screen glitched. Instead of a pristine chart showing liquidity, the screen flashed an anonymous, real-time ticker tape.
The ticker wasn't from the presentation; it was a live feed of Vance Holdings' stock price, which had just taken a sudden, devastating drop—an additional five percent loss, triggered by Senator Hayes' announced safety audit and coordinated short-selling by Nightwatch Holdings.
VANCE HOLDINGS: -5.1%
BREAKING: Safety Audit Called, Analyst Confidence Plummets
The room erupted. The corporate elite weren't concerned with safety or policy; they cared only about the immediate, visible bleeding of capital. The noise was a blend of hushed financial panic and outright mockery.
Damien stared at the screen, his mouth agape. This wasn't bad luck; this was a targeted assassination. He looked wildly across the stage, searching for the culprit, the chaos making his vision swim.
The Confrontation
Damien's eyes locked onto Vicky Thorne. Vicky was still standing near the edge of the stage, hands folded, his posture immaculate. He offered no visible reaction, yet his presence was a loud, silent confirmation of guilt.
Damien saw red. He abandoned the stage and barrelled through the crowd, shoving guests aside until he was face-to-face with the man who had once been his punching bag.
"You! You did this!" Damien spat, ignoring the cameras and the stunned silence descending around them. "This is your doing, you basement-dwelling freak! You can't even afford my driver's tip! How did you—"
Vicky's gaze was utterly cold. He didn't raise his voice or move a muscle. He simply projected the boundless, Level 5 power he wielded without using a single ability.
"Damien," Vicky said, his voice carrying the calm finality of a judge delivering a sentence. "The market corrects weakness. Your family's foundation was built on shortcuts and arrogance. I merely provided the consequences that were already overdue."
He leaned in slightly. "You mistook my struggle for weakness. You mistook my desperation for a lack of ambition. You thought a luxury car was the measure of a man. But I own the mechanisms that build the cars, Damien. I own the rules you thought protected you. You are nothing but an echo of your father's failing power. And tonight, you are utterly, publicly, irrelevant."
Damien recoiled as if struck by a physical force, not by words, but by the overwhelming, undeniable conviction in Vicky's eyes. He looked around the silent, judgmental room and then back at Vicky, who had already turned away, dismissing him completely. Humiliation and defeat settled over Damien like a pall, shattering his fragile self-worth.
The Crushing Rejection
Seraphina had watched every second. She had watched Damien scream and fail, exposed as a shallow, hysterical man. She had watched Vicky stand still, yet command the fear of the entire room. The choice she made months ago—a choice based on calculation and comfort—had just been proven catastrophically wrong.
Damien sank into a chair, broken. Seraphina didn't offer comfort. She straightened her gown and walked with resolute purpose toward Vicky.
"Vicky," she said, her voice low, a masterful blend of regret and calculated appeal. "I never should have listened to Damien. He was a distraction. I see now... you are different. You are going to run this city."
She reached out, attempting to place a hand on his arm, but Vicky took a step back, the movement subtle, yet absolute.
"I'm glad you see it, Seraphina. Clarity looks good on you," Vicky said, his eyes devoid of any lingering desire, only clinical assessment.
"I need to be with someone who has real power," she insisted, lowering her voice, offering herself to him completely. "I know I made a mistake, but I'm yours now. I can help you. I'm an asset."
Vicky finally fixed her with a look of withering contempt. "You were never loyal to me, Seraphina. You were loyal only to the highest bidder. When I was poor, you chose wealth. Now that I am power, you choose power. You are not an ally; you are merely a market speculator who chose the wrong stock and is now trying to panic-sell her loyalty at the bottom."
He paused, ensuring his words were a final, mortal wound to her ambition. "I don't acquire broken assets, Seraphina. I acquire loyalty that is absolute. What you offer me is conditional, and therefore, it is worthless. I loved you unconditionally, trusted you more than myself. Well it's not like it's a total loss. I learned not to trust."
He turned and walked toward the exit, his business complete. Seraphina was left standing alone in the middle of the ruined gala, rejected and utterly humiliated by the very person she had once casually discarded. Her conflict was resolved, replaced by a burning, consuming desire to reclaim what she had lost, regardless of the cost.
The public revenge is complete, and Seraphina has been rejected, solidifying her hatred and obsession. The next phase will focus on Detective Mila's attempts to connect with Vicky personally.