Chapter 79 - 78 Evaluating The Enemy
"I just realized something," Chloe says.
The line goes extremely quiet.
Silence on a phone line breeds the absolute worst kind of monsters. And the silence on this phone call right now is breeding the monster of fear in my chest.
The ambient noise of the Bordeaux 101 lobby filters past my ears. The quiet clinking of expensive wine glasses and the soft jazz music mock my current standing. I grip the phone tight enough to crack the sleek plastic casing. Chloe remains perfectly quiet on the other end for exactly ten seconds.
"I know exactly why she is here," Chloe says. Her voice drips with absolute venom. "I know why she knows the person holding that VIP card."
"Explain it to me," I demand.
"Her new husband," Chloe laughs. The sound is sharp and entirely malicious over the cellular connection. "Emily married a bodyguard. A cheap hired muscle. He works for a very prominent figure in Asuir. That VIP card must belong to his boss. She doesn’t own it. She is just using the employer’s perks to play dress-up to pretend to be someone she’s not."
The icy knot of panic in my gut dissolves instantly. A massive wave of secret delight washes over me, warming my chest. Emily is not wealthy. She doesn’t possess elite connections. She is still the exact same pathetic medical school dropout I left behind.
"She has the audacity to brazenly crash a VIP event using borrowed plastic," Chloe sneers. "She pretends to be so aloof and superior. She is nothing but a cheap fraud and we can expose her if we want to. She’s nothing but trash."
I let out a harsh, cold snort. The polished marble tiles under my expensive shoes suddenly look less intimidating. I square my shoulders as my confidence returns. "She is completely vain. She is utterly obsessed with superficial glamour. For a second, I actually believed she secured a legitimate invitation tonight."
"Emily is not virtuous, Julian," Chloe agrees. "She plays the victim perfectly. Underneath it all, she just wants luxury she cannot afford."
My grip on the phone tightens again. This time, pure rage drives the motion. A dark, ugly suspicion takes root in my mind. She paraded around this restaurant tonight acting completely untouchable. She toyed with my emotions. She looked me in the eye and mocked me, all while standing on the borrowed power of another man. She is cuckolding me with her own lies. My blood boils hot and fast, pounding against my temples with a relentless, frantic rhythm.
"She will regret this," I say. My voice is a low growl. “I will make sure she regrets the day she met me.”
**CHLOE**
I end the call. The digital screen goes black in the dim interior of my luxury sedan.
I grip the leather steering wheel with both hands. My manicured nails dig sharply into the soft material. The traffic ahead remains completely gridlocked on the ring road. Neon signs from the commercial district reflect in bright, blurry streaks across my windshield.
That pathetic girl. What does she think she would achieve?
Emily thinks she can parade around VIP restaurants and act superior. She thinks she can send a violent street thug to trash my pristine family home.
I press my foot against the brake pedal. My jaw clenches. I will tear her fake, borrowed lifestyle to pieces. I will settle every single old score and every new grievance. All the embarrassment my family has suffered in the hands of Silas Hunt, I will make sure I inflict it on her over and over again.
The traffic light turns green, but I keep my foot firmly on the brake pedal for a few extra seconds, savoring the bitter taste of my upcoming vengeance. Emily Vance is going to lose absolutely everything.
**EMILY**
The private dining booth on the second floor of Bordeaux 101 offers total seclusion and more luxury than than the first floor.
Thick velvet curtains block out the rest of the exclusive restaurant. The heavy mahogany table between us holds two crystal glasses of sparkling water and a sleek silver tablet. I sit comfortably on the plush leather seating. I am completely unaware of the furious plots brewing in the lobby below. My focus is entirely on the corporate negotiation resting on the table.
Dr. Aris taps the tablet screen. He slides the device across the polished wood.
"These are the five finalists," Dr. Aris says. He folds his hands on top of the table. "I compiled the corporate profiles and the personal backgrounds of the individuals in charge. Take your time."
I pull the tablet closer. The bright screen illuminates the dark booth. Five high-resolution photographs stare back at me, accompanied by dense paragraphs of financial data and corporate infrastructure details. I scroll down the list slowly. My eyes catch on two very familiar names.
Julian Thorne. Victor Sterling.
They are both officially in the running for the SN1818 collaboration. I keep my facial expression perfectly blank. I do not let a single ounce of history bleed into my professional demeanor.
"I need your expert advice, Dr. Aris," I say. I look up from the screen. "All five of these pharmaceutical enterprises possess comparable scale and global reach. Their financial backing is nearly identical. How do we differentiate them?"
Dr. Aris nods approvingly. He takes a sip of his sparkling water. "When the corporate numbers match up, the final choice must ultimately come down to the character of the individuals leading the companies. A brilliant formula requires a trustworthy steward."
He reaches over and taps the first profile on the screen. A man with slicked-back hair and a flashy designer suit appears.
"Mark Flayer," Dr. Aris states. His tone turns noticeably dry. "His company boasts incredible distribution channels. However, the man himself lacks basic integrity. He is a notorious womanizer. He treats his corporate contracts the same way he treats his romantic partners. He discards them the moment a better option appears."
"Unreliable," I agree immediately. I swipe past Mark Flayer’s photo without a second thought. "A man who cannot honor personal commitments will definitely breach a business contract. He is entirely unsuitable."
Dr. Aris taps the screen again. The image changes to a striking, sharp-featured woman in a crisp gray pantsuit. Her posture radiates absolute authority.
"This CEO is formidable," Dr. Aris says. He smiles slightly. "She turned a failing startup into a billion-dollar enterprise in under five years. Her business acumen is terrifyingly sharp."
"She sounds perfect," I reply. I admire the intense, focused look in the woman’s eyes. "Why is she not the obvious choice?"
Dr. Aris clears his throat. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. "She operates with a very specific, aggressive negotiation style. She strongly prefers to deal with female partners, and she frequently attempts to blur the lines of professionalism to secure absolute loyalty. It can make boardroom meetings highly uncomfortable."
A sudden wave of heat rushes up my neck. The implication catches me completely off guard. I blink at the photograph. I am suddenly incredibly flustered by the idea of an aggressive, boundary-pushing corporate negotiation. I quickly swipe past her profile, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the screen.
Dr. Aris sighs loudly. The sound carries a heavy weight of exhaustion. "It is incredibly difficult to find a truly suitable business partner. The industry is full of sharks and eccentrics."
He leans forward and taps the third profile. A stern-looking man with a completely bald head and a severe frown appears on the glass screen.
"Barry Brown," Dr. Aris says. "He is highly capable and entirely upright. He refuses to engage in any form of corporate espionage or underhanded tactics."
"That sounds like exactly what we need," I point out.
"Perhaps," Dr. Aris counters. "But his strict morality makes him incredibly rigid. He is entirely uncompromising. If a clinical trial encounters a minor bureaucratic delay, he will halt the entire production line rather than look for a creative, legal workaround. Flexibility is vital in medicine."
I nod in complete understanding. I lean back against the velvet cushions. Selecting a partner is navigating a minefield of massive egos and fatal character flaws.
Dr. Aris takes another sip of his sparkling water. He sets the crystal glass down with a soft clink. He reaches across the mahogany wood and taps the tablet one final time.
The face of Julian Thorne fills the screen.
He wears his signature tailored suits and his perfectly practiced, charming smile. My stomach drops. I keep my hands perfectly still on the table.
"Now, this young man presents a very compelling option," Dr. Aris says. His voice holds genuine enthusiasm. "Julian Thorne. He possesses an immaculate professional appearance. His competence is universally recognized across the medical community. He handles corporate management with an incredibly mature, steady approach."
I stare at the smiling photograph. The words "mature" and "competent" echo in my ears. Dr. Aris only sees the polished exterior. He does not see the liar who locked my medical sample in a hot car. He does not see the coward who blamed his parents for his cheating.
"He is very young," Dr. Aris continues. "But he operates with the wisdom of a seasoned veteran. His infrastructure is pristine. I highly recommend him for the SN1818 collaboration."
I already have an answer locked permanently in my heart. I will never sign a contract with Thorne Medical. The challenge is rejecting the offer without insulting Dr. Aris’s judgment. I need to tread very carefully.
"Dr. Aris," I begin. I keep my tone mild and curious. "Do you truly recommend that I collaborate with Julian Thorne?"
Dr. Aris nods firmly. The silver hair at his temples catches the dim light of the overhead lamp. "I do. I offer that recommendation for two very specific reasons. First, he is an objectively suitable candidate with the right resources."
He pauses. A small, secretive smile touches the corners of his mouth.
"And second," Dr. Aris says. "I have a personal motive for pushing his application forward."
I frown. I fold my hands together on the table. A personal motive entirely changes the dynamic of this negotiation. Dr. Aris operates with absolute professional integrity. Hearing him admit to a personal bias is highly unusual.
"A personal motive?" I ask. I tilt my head to the side, maintaining a calm exterior while my mind races. "What exactly is this personal motive?"