Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

The weight of my mahogany desk did little to ground me as my fingers drummed impatiently against its polished surface. The financial report before me might as well have been a declaration of war. Some hotshot new CEO at Anderson Corp's crown jewel subsidiary was making power moves that cut straight into my bottom line - and they'd only been in the chair for three weeks.
My molars ground together. Whoever this phantom executive was, they operated with surgical precision - aggressive, cutthroat, and worst of all, completely untraceable. No press junkets, no LinkedIn profile, not even a goddamn corporate headshot. Like some Wall Street boogeyman materialized out of thin air.
"Cressida Lancaster," I muttered, the name tasting like battery acid on my tongue.
Across the office, Alessia's dramatic sigh cut through my thoughts. She lounged on the Italian leather couch like it was her birthright, swirling a glass of Dom Pérignon with practiced elegance. "Honestly, Lothario, why are you obsessing over some corporate nobody?" Her voice dripped with disinterest. "Probably just another trust fund baby playing CEO."
I ignored her, laser-focused on the hemorrhage of red ink in our quarterly projections. This Lancaster woman wasn't just competing - she was systematically dismantling my market share.
Alessia's stilettos clicked across the marble as she slithered behind me, her manicured fingers trailing through my hair. "You're wasting energy on the wrong battle, amore," she purred, her Chanel No. 5 enveloping me. "After all, you're the one who came crawling back to me."
I stiffened but didn't shake her off. The memory still burned - her walking out when I was just some scrappy startup founder, the humiliation of begging for investors while she jetted off to Milan. Now that I'd clawed my way back into her life, I'd be damned if I let her slip away again.
"Nobody crawled," I snapped, flipping the report page with unnecessary force.
Her throaty laugh vibrated against my shoulder as she pressed wine-stained lips to my cheek. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling."
Her attention snagged on the embossed gala invitation gathering dust on my desk. "Perfect timing," she cooed, plucking it up between two fingers. "We'll make our grand entrance. You remind the wolves who runs this jungle, and I'll make sure everyone remembers I'm the future Mrs. De Luca."
I shot her a sidelong glance. "You just want to flaunt your Anderson pedigree."
"And why shouldn't I?" She tilted her head, all saccharine venom. "We both know which family name really opened doors for you."
The truth hit like a sucker punch. When Alessia left, I'd been nothing - just another hungry entrepreneur grinding 90-hour weeks while she posed for Vogue. And then there was Pearl.
Pearl who believed in me when I had nothing. Pearl who skipped meals so I could afford prototype materials. Pearl who stayed.
But sentimentality was for losers. Alessia represented legacy. With her on my arm, I'd secured everything - power, prestige, the keys to every boardroom in Manhattan. If that meant letting her sink her talons into my empire, so be it.
"You trust me, don't you?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear.
I exhaled through my nose, the battle between pride and pragmatism raging behind my ribs. Finally, I snatched the invitation from her grasp and slapped it back on the desk.
"We'll go," I conceded. "But don't test me, Alessia."
Her victorious smile told me she already knew she'd won.
As I leaned back in my chair, massaging my temples, an unwelcome memory surfaced - Pearl's shattered expression at the engagement party. The way her tear-filled eyes had locked onto mine across that ballroom before security dragged her out.
I shook my head sharply. She'd brought that on herself. The little stunt could've torpedoed my reputation if I hadn't paid off every reporter in triplicate. I'd been ready to remind her exactly where she belonged that night, but Alessia had... distracted me.
Five times, if memory served. By dawn, my rage had cooled into steely resolve. I'd deal with Pearl properly later.
But when I showed up at her apartment, ready to put her in her place once and for all, I found something that knocked the wind out of me.
Gone.
Not just out - erased. Her belongings (my belongings) smoldered in the dumpster outside. The barren apartment smelled of scorched fabric and finality. No note. No forwarding address. Like our entire history had been vaporized.
My hands clenched at my sides, breath measured, but something jagged twisted behind my sternum.
She'd actually done it.
Not some temper tantrum. Not a ploy for attention.
Gone.
And for the first time since I'd discarded her, an unfamiliar hollowness yawned open in my gut.
Then, as if the universe was laughing at me, my phone buzzed with an email notification.
Anderson Corporation.
The gala invitation.
Hosted by none other than Cressida Lancaster.
My blood ran cold. The woman gutting my company in the shadows... and now this? The timing couldn't be coincidence.
Game on, Ms. Lancaster.