Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

PEARL'S POV
It was only a matter of time before Lothario De Luca—that arrogant, entitled bastard—showed up, acting like he had any right to demand answers from me. The second I walked into my office, there he was, hands shoved in his pockets, face like chiseled stone. I almost laughed. He'd even bought a penthouse near my company.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, his tie slightly loosened—like he'd been running his hands through his hair in frustration. Good. Let him stew.
I breezed past him without so much as a glance, dropping my bag on my desk like he wasn't even worth my time.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, voice low and controlled.
I nearly snorted. The audacity.
Leaning against my desk, I crossed my arms and finally met his gaze. "Avoiding you?" I tilted my head, feigning amusement. "Why would I waste the energy? You mean nothing to me."
His jaw twitched. "Pearl—"
"It's Cressida," I cut in, my voice sharp as a blade. "Pearl doesn't exist anymore."
His nostrils flared, and for a split second, I caught something—regret? Hesitation?—but it vanished just as fast.
"You've made quite a name for yourself," he said, stepping closer, ignoring the glacier between us. "The mysterious Cressida Lancaster, storming through the business world. But I have to ask—" His eyes narrowed. "How did you pull it off?"
I smirked. "Wouldn't you love to know?"
His gaze darkened. "Is this about revenge?"
At that, I laughed—a real, full-bodied laugh that made his shoulders tense. "Oh, Lothario," I said, shaking my head. "Still as self-absorbed as ever. Do you actually think you're the center of my world?" I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "I don't care about you. Your problems. Your company." I let the words sink in, savoring the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "I moved on."
His jaw clenched so tight I thought it might crack. "You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe. Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night."
His hands curled into fists. "You disappeared without a trace."
"Did I?" I tilted my head. "Or did you just never bother looking?"
His silence said everything.
For six years, I gave him everything—my time, my effort, my love. I stood by him at his lowest, worked myself to the bone just to keep him afloat, built him up when he had nothing. And the second he had it all? He threw me away.
And now, here he was.
Before he could speak, the door swung open.
"Am I interrupting?"
Taurus Sullivan's voice was smooth, laced with amusement.
I turned to him with a smile, letting him stride right to my side. Without hesitation, his hand settled on my waist—casual, possessive, and oh-so-deliberate.
I didn't pull away.
Lothario's eyes locked onto the touch, and I saw the exact moment his entire body went rigid—shoulders squared, lips pressed into a hard line, fists clenched tighter.
Good.
Taurus, ever the gentleman, extended a hand. "Taurus Sullivan. Pleasure."
Lothario didn't move. Didn't shake it. Just stared at him like he wanted to tear him apart.
Taurus smirked, dropping his hand. "No? Alright then."
I turned back to Lothario, my smirk widening. "Now you know how it feels," I murmured, voice dripping with mockery. "To be discarded."
His breath hitched, but I didn't stick around to savor it.
I turned to Taurus. "Shall we?"
"Of course."
The headlines were brutal.
DE LUCA INDUSTRIES FACES MASSIVE LOSS AFTER FAILED INVESTMENT DEAL
IS LOTHARIO DE LUCA'S EMPIRE CRUMBLING?
MYSTERIOUS CEO CRESSIDA LANCASTER CRUSHES DE LUCA IN POWER MOVE
I scrolled through the articles, sipping my coffee as the chaos unfolded.
It had been so easy. One strategic deal. One calculated strike against Lothario's empire. And just like that—millions vanished from his pockets.
Leaning back in my chair, I tapped my fingers against the desk, watching the stock charts nosedive.
So this is what power feels like.
I lingered in the shadows at the Global Business Summit, hidden behind a wall of high-profile executives, as Alessia took the stage.
Draped in a designer gown, hair flawless, smile perfectly balanced between sweet and smug—she thought she owned this moment. Thought she could bask in the spotlight as Alexander Anderson's "daughter."
Pathetic.
I sipped my champagne, waiting for the show to start.
The second she opened her mouth, the first question sliced through the air:
"Miss Alessia, rumors are circulating about your relationship with Mr. Anderson. Can you confirm you're truly his daughter?"
Her smile faltered.
"I don't entertain baseless gossip," she said smoothly. "I'm here to represent my father and—"
"Then why not take a DNA test to end the speculation?" another reporter cut in.
The room shifted. Eyes locked on her. The air turned thick.
I saw it—the flicker of panic in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the mic.
"I don't have to prove anything," she snapped, her composure slipping for half a second.
"Are you refusing a DNA test?"
Checkmate.
I set my glass down, fighting a smirk. I didn't even have to lift a finger—the media was doing my work for me.
Alessia swallowed, forcing a laugh. "This is ridiculous. Of course I'm Alexander Anderson's daughter. He's—"
"—not my daughter."
The voice rang through the hall, cold and absolute.
Silence. Every camera swung. Every person froze.
Then, like a parting sea, the crowd shifted—revealing the man himself.
Alexander Anderson.
My father.