Bye Loser! Love, Daddy's Heiress - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I let my fingers trail down Taurus's arm, my smile never faltering. "Let him watch."
Taurus chuckled, raising his glass in silent toast.
The night wore on, and so did the game. I danced, I laughed, I made sure my name lingered on every influential tongue in the room. No longer the woman they pitied—now the one they craved. The one they admired. The one they feared.
And yet, through it all, Lothario never stopped staring.
His expression was unreadable, a tempest brewing behind those icy eyes. No smile, no movement—just that same spot, that same glass of wine, his gaze tracking my every step like a wolf circling its prey.
Good. Suffer, Lothario. Taste what it's like to lose.
I excused myself from Sullivan with a practiced smile before slipping away. The night had been delicious, but I needed air—somewhere quiet to savor the aftermath of my grand reveal.
The balcony stood empty, bathed in the city's cool glow. I leaned against the railing, drinking in the skyline, my mind replaying the sheer horror on Lothario's face when the pieces finally clicked.
Cressida Lancaster.
Not some desperate upstart. Not a woman chasing his shadow.
No. I was the one funding the very event he'd walked into.
I closed my eyes, savoring the victory.
Then—
"Pearl."
I didn't flinch. I'd been waiting for this.
Slowly, I turned, meeting his gaze.
Lothario stood in the doorway, tension rolling off him like thunder before a storm. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark—the same man who'd once looked at me like I was his entire world now staring at me like I was a riddle he couldn't solve.
"Can we talk?"
I laughed—sharp, brittle. "Talk?" I tilted my head. "Now you want to talk?"
His throat worked, but he didn't step closer. Smart man.
"Pearl, I—"
"It's Cressida to you," I cut in, my voice honeyed poison. "Pearl died the moment you threw her away." Something flickered in his eyes—something almost like pain—but I didn't care.
He'd forfeited the right.
He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. "What is this?" His voice was low, strained. "What are you trying to do?"
I hummed, tapping my fingers against the railing. "Hmm… what am I trying to do?" I pretended to consider it. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe just exist without being treated like garbage? Maybe thrive? Maybe watch you squirm as you realize I never needed you?"
His jaw tightened. "It's not like that."
I laughed again. "No? Then enlighten me, Lothario—what is it like?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Is it like watching the woman you discarded become untouchable? Is it like realizing the person you underestimated now holds the power to destroy you?"
His hands curled into fists. "You're playing a dangerous game."
I smirked. "Oh, darling. I own the game."
For a heartbeat—just one—I saw something raw flicker in his eyes. Something desperate.
Good. Let him feel it.
I turned, striding back inside without another word.
Let him be the one left standing in the cold.
Lothario is watching.
I can feel it.
Ever since the gala, his presence has been a shadow—silent, invisible, but there. I don't need to check my phone to know he's been digging, clawing for any scrap of information about Cressida Lancaster.
But he won't find anything.
I made sure of that.
Pearl? She's gone. Erased. Buried beneath layers of wealth, power, and influence. The naive girl who once begged for his love no longer exists.
And it's killing him.
That morning, the headlines were exactly what I'd hoped for:
"WHO IS CRESSIDA LANCASTER?"
"THE MYSTERIOUS CEO TAKING THE BUSINESS WORLD BY STORM"
"ALESSIA UNDER FIRE—IS SHE REALLY ALEXANDER ANDERSON'S DAUGHTER?"
I sipped my espresso, scrolling through the chaos I'd orchestrated. The whispers had started with a single, well-placed leak to a hungry journalist. That's all it took.
Alessia had spent years flaunting a stolen identity, parading as his daughter with zero proof. And now? The vultures were circling.
Perfect.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs across my desk. The world was tilting in my favor, and I had no intention of stopping.
Lothario?
Oh, I knew he was unraveling. I could feel his frustration like a live wire. He'd spent the entire night after the gala scrambling to uncover who Cressida Lancaster really was.
Too bad for him.
I'd wiped every trace of my past. Pearl? That weak, lovesick fool? She was gone.
A soft knock at my office door pulled me from my thoughts.
"Come in," I drawled.
One of my assistants entered, her expression a mix of excitement and nerves. "Miss Lancaster, you need to see this."
She handed me a tablet already playing a very interesting clip—Alessia, swarmed by cameras, shoving a reporter away as she snarled, "I am Alexander Anderson's daughter! How dare you question me?"
I chuckled, setting the tablet down. "That was fast," I mused. "I expected her to last a little longer."
My assistant hesitated. "Lothario hasn't made a statement. People are waiting to see if he'll defend her."
I arched a brow. And he won't.
Not because he doesn't want to—oh, no. Lothario is stubborn, and for now, he still needs Alessia.
But he's distracted.
I could picture it perfectly: him, hunched over his desk, tearing through every record, every file, searching for even a whisper of who I was before I became Cressida.
And finding nothing.
Good. Let him obsess. Let him suffer.
Because this?
This was only the beginning.