Julian Cohen stared, unblinking, at the woman before him.
Her fair, delicate face was a mask of cool indifference, the sharpness in her
eyes and the set of her brows radiating an intimidating authority he had never
seen before.
His mind flickered, superimposing another face with
identical features—one that had been utterly docile, her almond-shaped eyes
always sparkling with sweet amusement and bashful charm whenever they looked at
him.
But the memory shattered against the cold reality of her
gaze. His heart lurched, and his fingers clenched into a tight fist at his
side.
"Mr. Cohen?" The woman from his team frowned, her
voice laced with confusion and impatience.
The entire office had been skeptical when this
"parachuted-in" manager arrived. He was young, carried himself with
the air of a spoiled young master, and seemed to lack any real industry
experience. But in the short time since he'd taken the helm, he had proven
himself surprisingly capable, leading them to secure two major projects. His
sudden hesitation now was baffling.
"Since Miss Hayes is unwilling to collaborate with
us," Julian said, his voice strained as he fought to control the turmoil
churning within him, "we won't press the matter."
He couldn't very well explain to his team the bitter truth:
This woman not only has the standing to refuse you, but she also has the
personal capital to fund this entire AI venture herself. And if she truly
wanted to, her husband could buy our entire company before lunch and liquidate
it for scrap.
The woman from his team gaped, ready to protest, but Julian
silenced her with a sharp, raised hand.
A faint, cynical smile touched Elara's lips. She offered no
polite farewell, merely giving the stunned Ark Fund representatives a curt nod
before turning on her heel, Brooke falling into step beside her.
Watching her elegant, retreating figure, a dark, possessive
fire burned in Julian's eyes. He strode out after her.
"Elara—"
His voice echoed down the sterile corridor, drawing curious
glances from adjacent offices. Elara stopped but didn't turn. Brooke shifted
subtly, positioning her body as a shield.
"Is there something you need, Mr. Cohen?" Elara's
voice was flat, her gaze as distant as if he were a stranger she'd passed on
the street.
The formal address was a deliberate slap. Julian's jaw
tightened.
"HR contacted me," he said, forcing a tone of
casual concern that rang false. "They can't reach Vivian. Her parents went
to Aeternum,
then came looking for you. Are you... alright?"
He hadn't anticipated that Vivian would simply vanish,
cutting off even her own parasitic parents.
"Since the company reached out to you, that's
convenient," Elara replied, her voice dripping with icy sarcasm.
"Relay a message to your ex-wife: she needs to control her parents. And
she should stop telling people we're friends."
She deliberately ignored his feigned concern, her words a
heavy, final warning. While she doubted the Grays couple would dare approach
her again after Silas's intervention, stupidity and desperation often went
hand-in-hand.
She didn't know that, at that very moment, Vivian's parents
were still locked in a soundproofed room, their spirits thoroughly broken by
Ben's particular brand of persuasion.
"I divorced her," Julian stated, his voice low.
"Her number is disconnected. I can't reach her either. I have no idea
where she is."
Elara felt a flicker of surprise that Vivian had agreed to
the divorce, given how she'd clawed her way into the marriage. But the feeling
was fleeting.
"Whether you can reach her or not is your
problem," she said, her words sharp as shards of glass. "Sever all
ties between her and me. And don't you ever show your face in front of me
again."
Her lips curled into a sneer. "Collaborations like this
are utterly pointless."
How remarkably convenient that the investor just happened to
be his new company.
"..." Julian pressed his lips together, a
muscle ticking in his jaw. He wanted to say he hadn't known, that it wasn't a
setup, but the words died before they were born. Her contempt was a wall he
could no longer scale.
Elara saw no reason to hide her encounter with Julian from
Silas. That evening, when he returned from the office, she recounted the entire
affair over dinner, not leaving out a single detail.
Silas listened intently, his expression unreadable. When she
finished, he simply said, "I'll have my team liaise with you tomorrow.
We'll establish a dedicated investment fund. You can be the investor
yourself."
Elara's astonishment melted into laughter. "Our team's
role was to be the consultant for the client, not the capital source!"
Silas reached out, drawing her close by the waist. He
lowered his head, brushing a feather-light kiss against her lips. "Don't
worry. You're the boss. The entire company is yours. The funds are at your
disposal. Do whatever you think is right. I have complete faith in your
judgment and your capabilities."
He watched the realisation dawn in her eyes. While she had
been in the hospital, he had already transferred the ownership of the
consulting firm under the Winslow Group to her name. He was not just offering
support; he was handing her the keys to the kingdom.
As he mapped out this new, empowering path for her, the
dimples in Elara's cheeks deepened. It had to be said, this feeling of immense
financial clout was utterly intoxicating.
Why should she kowtow to the whims of other investors?
Wasn't it infinitely more satisfying to be the one holding the purse strings?
When it came to financial firepower, her husband was in a
league of his own.
The thought of leveraging her professional expertise, backed
by Silas's formidable capital, to strategically outmanoeuvre competitors... a
slow, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. The picture was rather splendid
indeed.
Noting the excited gleam in her luminous eyes, a genuine
smile spread across Silas's refined features. He continued to paint the vision.
"Once the babies are born and you have more time, you
can focus fully on investing. Hunt for the true unicorns and get in on the
ground floor. Consider this period your practice run."
It had to be said, this man knew her soul. Elara's eyes
crinkled with laughter as she reached up, looping her arms around his neck.
With perfect understanding, he bent to accommodate her. Her
delicate, radiant face was reflected in the dark, profound depths of his eyes.
"Silas..." Her voice was a sweet, soft whisper
against his lips. "It's so good to have you behind me..."
The rest of her sigh was swallowed by his mouth in a kiss
that was both deep and tender, possessive and reverent, a silent promise of his
unwavering support.
Elara hadn't expected Silas to move so quickly. By the
following afternoon, a poised and formidably efficient woman arrived at
Rosewood Mountain Manor, accompanied by an assistant.
She was in her thirties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and
shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in a crisp, minimalist beige suit that
accentuated her tall, slender frame.
"Hello, Mrs. Thorne. I'm Molly, Fund Manager of Team
One at Winslow Capital," she introduced herself, her handshake firm and
brief. "I'll be your direct liaison for establishing and operating the new
fund. Please share any ideas you have; we can assess their feasibility and move
to establish the team with all possible speed."
Molly was refreshingly direct. She treated Elara with
respect but maintained a strictly professional distance, offering no
sycophantic flattery simply because of who Elara was married to. Elara
appreciated it immensely.
After over two hours of productive discussion, they had
mapped out the fund's core framework: its structure, operational model, and
recruitment strategy. They also settled on the perfect name—Aeterna Ventures.
With the vision set, the division of labor was clear: Elara would steer the
strategy, while Molly would leverage her expertise to build and execute.
As for the AI startup, Elara knew it was a promising concept
powered by cutting-edge AIGC technology. Her only concern had been Julian's
company obstructing its funding. But since she had publicly refused their
collaboration, there had been no further move from Julian. The startup, sensing
an opportunity, had begun cautiously reaching out to Winslow Capital. Elara,
however, remained cool and strategic, in no rush to show her hand.
Late at night, in international waters.
A luxury cruise ship glowed like a floating jewel against
the inky blackness of the sea, its lights a beacon of decadent opulence.
Inside a secluded, lavishly appointed cabin, the air was
thick with the cloying scent of perfume and sweat. Dim, moody lighting shrouded
the space in shadows.
Behind sheer crimson curtains that draped a grandiose
European-style bed, the elongated shadows of two figures twisted and danced in
a violent pantomime.
The man's coarse, guttural breathing was punctuated by the
sharp crack of leather meeting flesh, followed by a woman's pained, stifled
moan.
After an interminable time, the commotion subsided. The man,
a tall, muscular foreigner with blond hair, pushed back the gauzy curtain and
stood. With a grunt of satisfaction, he flung a wad of US dollars onto the
rumpled sheets where a figure lay limp.
He dressed quickly, then leaned over the bed, biting down
hard on a soft, pale shoulder, leaving a brutal, claiming mark.
The cabin door slammed shut. A minute later, the lock
clicked open again, and another tall, broad-shouldered figure slipped inside,
locking the door behind him.