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She didn’t call to cry…
Then it hits me—it’s a choking titter. Tension grips my body. The giggle starts small, but grows in volume and hilarity until it becomes a full belly laugh.
Fury explodes like a volcano. A need for violence surges, and I grip my phone. “You fucking bitch—”
She’s laughing so hard, she starts hiccupping, her breath skipping harshly.
Before I can pour out the rest of my outrage, she hangs up.
My grip on the phone grows knuckle-white. My whole body shakes, air sawing in and out through my mouth. All the vicious words I want to say cause my throat to ache, and it’s all I can do not to throw the phone.
Instead, I reach for the empty crystal tumbler and hurl it against the wall, shattering it completely.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
I rake my hair, breathing hard. I pace, trying to rein in the frantic energy swirling inside.
Five more years.
That’s how long it should take to finish building my empire.
And then I’ll bring her to her knees.
Part II
Chapter Fourteen
–present day
Dominic
A fifth of a second.
That’s all it takes to fall in love with someone, according to some researchers.
That’s also all it takes for love to flip to disillusionment…and then hate. I know from my own personal experience with Elizabeth Pryce-Reed.
I’m finally at a charity dinner party she’s hosting. She’s a difficult person to get close to, especially when she’s been actively avoiding me. It’s taken a billion dollars and a year of sneaky maneuvering to get into the same room with her.
She hasn’t just been keeping her distance, but done everything in her power to screw with me. I’ve built my empire against the tide of her endless interference, but I credit her for my success anyway. A general need only be as good as his enemy.
As though she sensed my presence, she wasn’t there to greet me at the entrance. Apparently she had to step away for a moment. So her cohost welcomed me and my date instead.
The charity dinner is as grand as I expected.
Live string music. Lots of marble, stone and crystal. Enough wealth to feed a small army draped over guests—on their bodies, their ears, necks, fingers and wrists.
But this event is for a good cause, they say. A good opportunity to network with the right kind of people. Every penny donated is tax deductible, they say.
As I scan the crowd for Elizabeth, I pick up whispers and comments. A couple of men behind me are discussing a new business venture they’re thinking about. Three women to my left gush over the jewelry one of them is wearing. Nobody says a word about the inner-city kids the event is supposed to raise money for.
“Did you see that dress? I don’t know how she pulls it off. It could’ve looked ostentatious.”
“It’s the halo,” her companion says, tittering. “I’m sure she has one.”
“Her grandmother was right to have her lead the foundation. It’s done so much more since she took over.”