Rain poured down heavily on the neon-lit streets of the city's poorest district.
Inside a cheap, mold-infested motel room, Julian Thorne stared at his phone screen. The red text mocked him in the dim light: Transaction Denied. Account Frozen.
"What do you mean declined?!" Chloe's shrill voice pierced the silence. She threw a cheap plastic hairbrush across the room. "Julian, I haven't eaten since yesterday! I can't stay in this disgusting place! There's a roach in the bathroom!"
"I'm trying, Chloe! Just give me a minute!" Julian yelled, his hands shaking as he dialed his former friends and business partners.
Every single call went straight to voicemail. The moment word got out that Elara Vance had personally bankrupted him, he became a plague. No one in the city dared to associate with him.
Chloe sneered, zipping up her designer suitcase—the one Julian had bought her last week.
"Where are you going?" Julian asked, panic gripping his chest as he saw her heading for the door.
"I'm leaving, Julian," Chloe said, rolling her eyes. "I'm young and beautiful. I'm not spending the best years of my life hiding in a roach motel with a bankrupt loser."
"But... but you said you loved me!" Julian scrambled up, grabbing her arm. "You said Elara was boring and cold, and that I was your hero!"
Chloe laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that shattered the last of Julian's pride.
"Grow up, Julian. I loved your credit card. I loved the penthouse and the shopping sprees," she spat, ripping her arm out of his grasp. "Elara was a boring housewife, sure, but at least when you were married to her, you had money. Now? You're just pathetic."
The door slammed shut.
Julian fell to his knees on the dirty carpet, clutching his head. He had lost his company, his wealth, and his mistress in less than twenty-four hours. All because he handed a divorce agreement to the woman who used to cook his dinner.
Driven by hunger and a desperate need for a drink, Julian stumbled out of the motel into the freezing rain.
He walked aimlessly, his expensive, bespoke suit now soaked and ruined. As he passed a massive electronic billboard in the city square, the bright lights caught his eye.
The news anchor's voice echoed through the rain: "In a shocking turn of events, the newly revealed Vance Heiress, Elara Vance, was spotted last night entering the private fortress of billionaire tycoon Darius Blackwood. Rumors are swirling that the two elite powerhouses are already engaged..."
The screen flashed a blurry paparazzi photo. It was Elara, looking breathtaking in her crimson dress, being shielded from the rain by Darius Blackwood's massive, protective frame.
"No..." Julian whispered, jealousy and rage burning a hole in his chest. "She's mine. She's supposed to be washing my shirts... She's supposed to be crying over me!"
"She's moved on to bigger prey, Mr. Thorne."
A cold, raspy voice spoke from the shadows of the alleyway behind him.
Julian jumped, turning around. A sleek, black SUV with tinted windows had pulled up silently behind him. A man stepped out, holding a black umbrella. He had a serpent tattoo coiling up his neck.
"Who are you?" Julian backed away, terrified.
"I represent a group of people who are very... displeased with Darius Blackwood," the tattooed man said, his eyes glinting like a snake's. "We are the Vipera Cartel. And we know that your ex-wife, the Vance Heiress, just saved his life."
Julian swallowed hard. "I don't have anything to do with her anymore. She destroyed me."
"Exactly," the man smiled, tossing a thick leather briefcase at Julian's feet. It popped open, revealing stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. "There's a million dollars in there. It's yours."
Julian stared at the money, his breathing turning ragged. "What do you want me to do?"
"Darius Blackwood's fortress is impenetrable from the outside. But Elara Vance still has a soft spot, doesn't she?" The cartel man stepped closer, his voice dripping with venom. "She spent three years playing house with you. You know her habits. You know her weaknesses. We want you to help us draw her out of the Manor."
Julian looked at the blurry photo of Elara and Darius on the billboard. The man he could never hope to defeat, holding the woman he had foolishly thrown away.
If he couldn't have her wealth, he would drag her down to hell with him.
Julian crouched down, his hands trembling as he gripped the handle of the briefcase.
"Tell me the plan," Julian said, his eyes darkening with malice.