The Billonaire's Rival

Zane Carrington never believed in second chances. Not in business. Not in life. And definitely not when it came to the Davis family. The thunder rolled like a war drum outside Carrington Tower, matching the storm inside him. He stood alone in the penthouse office-fifty floors above the city he'd conquered-watching rain smear the glass like tears he would never allow himself to cry. His father had built this company brick by bloody brick, only to watch it crack under the weight of misplaced trust. The Davises had smiled in suits and silk while they bled Carrington & Co. dry.

His father died before ever seeing justice. Zane would make sure he lived long enough to deliver it. Now the Davis empire was dust, and only one piece of it remained. Her. Lila Davis. Twenty-five. Educated. Quiet. Broke. She'd disappeared from the headlines after her father's funeral, like a shadow slipping through fire. He'd thought she'd run, like the rest of them. But no-she'd stayed. Working odd jobs. Trying to keep what little pride her family name hadn't already lost. Zane had watched from afar, waiting. Not out of pity. Pity was for the weak. He'd been planning. Calculating. Because unlike the Davis family, Zane never left debts unpaid. Tomorrow, she would walk into his building-not because she wanted to, but because she had no choice. He wasn't hiring her. He was owning her. Zane moved away from the window, his sharp silhouette reflected in the glass like a ghost from another life. He loosened the cuffs of his Italian suit, the fabric resisting before falling open. Even in silence, the room bent to him. His presence was a force-disciplined, calculated, dangerous. He sat behind his obsidian desk and reached for the slim file already waiting. No assistants. No middlemen. This one, he wanted to handle personally. He opened the folder. Lila Seraphine Davis. A recent photo was clipped to the top-no makeup, no designer labels, just a woman in a worn cardigan holding a job application outside a bookstore. Her posture was proud, but her eyes told the truth: she was tired. Not just physically-spiritually. The kind of tired that came from fighting alone too long. Zane tapped the photo once, then twice. "You've got guts showing your face in this city again," he muttered. She had refused his financial offer six months ago. He remembered the rejection email like a slap-polite, direct, and bold in its final line: "I'd rather earn what I owe than let you buy me off." -Lila Davis. He almost respected that. Almost. Instead, he waited. Now, six months later, she'd folded. Not with a phone call or an apology-but with silence. Her uncle had reached out. Begged, really. And in that beggar's voice, Zane heard victory. But this wasn't about revenge anymore. This was about control. She would come to work tomorrow. Not in an office. Not in a nice little department where she could hide behind numbers or paperwork. No. She would work for him. Beside him. Under him. Every day. And she would see what power looked like when it stopped pretending to be polite. He closed the file. The city outside still roared with rain, but Zane no longer heard it. His mind was already on the next day-the look in her eyes when she walked in, thinking she could survive in his world without drowning. He smiled for the first time that night. Not warm. Not kind. Predatory. Let the game Begin He muttered.