Chapter 3 Are You Ready For My Revenge

A stunned hush swept through the corridor.

The hotel staff and the security team stared in disbelief.

The President-the untouchable, impossibly disciplined figure who never let a soul get close-strode past with a woman gathered tightly in his arms.

Even after the elevator doors slid shut behind Leland, the entire hallway remained locked in breathless silence.

The hotel staff and the security team held themselves rigid, backs straight, hands neatly lowered, their faces carved into professional calm. Yet beneath that polished restraint, shock churned like a violent undercurrent.

The incident was contained instantly.

But barely an hour later, inside a private chat used only by the city's ruling families, a grainy photo surfaced-Leland, unmistakable even blurred, exiting a hotel suite with a woman pressed against his chest. Within moments, the chat erupted, notifications pinging nonstop.

"No way! That's actually him-the famously self-restrained President?"

"You've got to be kidding me. The guy who's never let a woman get within ten feet of him?"

"So who's the lucky woman in his arms? How the hell did she manage to snag him?"

Across the city, several elite young women-the ones who'd spent years imagining themselves as Leland's future wife-crushed their wine glasses in the same sharp, furious snap.

...

Warm air hummed softly in the elevator as Valerie shifted in Leland's hold. Still caught between dreams and consciousness, she curled instinctively toward him, her cheek brushing the line of his jaw with a faint, breathy sound.

Leland didn't tense or lean back. His hand rose instead, easing over her shoulder in a slow, steady rhythm that lulled her deeper into sleep.

Terry Simpson, the head of his security, went rigid, his composure slipping for a split second.

In five years of service, he'd never seen Leland handle any woman with that kind of gentleness.

He leaned closer to Emma and muttered under his breath, "What the hell's happening right now? He's never looked at anyone like that before. Who in the world is she?"

A knowing curve tugged at Emma's mouth. "Maybe the President is finally going to have someone special in his life."

After Leland entered the elevator, Sarah, who had finally slipped past the security, walked out of the corner.

A bright smile bloomed across her face as she saw the woman in her son's arms.

At long last, he had finally let someone into his heart.

An hour later, inside Leland's private medical suite, Emma wrapped up the last of Valerie's treatment and stepped out to give her report.

Leland sat before a wall of screens, deep in a high-level video conference, but the second he caught sight of Emma hovering in the doorway, he lifted a hand and ended the call without hesitation.

"How is she?" he asked.

Emma took in the way he cut off global affairs the moment she arrived, and her view of the unconscious woman's significance sharpened even further.

"Based on the wound's depth and angle, it appears she did this to herself," she answered.

His expression shadowed over, a flicker of memory tightening his jaw.

She'd clawed open her own wound-not out of despair, but out of sheer will to fight through the drug clouding her mind.

That kind of brutal discipline, that ferocious self-control... it didn't belong to someone who'd give up on her life.

Interest tugged at him-more than he cared to acknowledge-but if she felt nothing toward him, he wouldn't chase what wasn't offered. They could remain strangers whose paths happened to cross.

"Get her to a hospital. Stay with her until she comes around. And make sure she never learns who I am."

With that, Leland pivoted and walked away.

...

Far beneath the surface of consciousness, Valerie spiraled into a dream.

Thunderous blasts cracked through the air-she was back in the warzone again. Tactical gear weighed on her shoulders, dust stinging her eyes as she faced a tightening ring of fifty rival mercenaries with only her own breath to count on.

From across the battlefield, the enemy commander bellowed, "Phantom! You've got one chance-give up, and I'll spare you the suffering!"

Valerie answered him with a single, unhesitating shot. His skull jerked back, and he crumpled before his body even understood it was dead.

A violent rhythm took over-she cut through the enemies surrounding her with the precision of a storm, every round landing clean, cold, and final until the last body hit the dirt.

But blood kept pouring from her side. Fighting against the fading edges of her vision, she forced out her coordinates over the radio-only for sudden headlights to blaze through the smoke. A truck burst from the shadows and plowed straight into her.

The collision ripped her out of the dream. She lurched awake with a sharp gasp, her muscles seizing, cold sweat dripping down her spine.

And now she remembered-someone inside her own mercenary unit had betrayed her. That was the reason her memories had shattered.

Her jaw locked, and her eyes burned with a fierce, murderous red. She'd track the traitor to the ends of the earth and make damn sure they regretted ever crossing her.

After a steadying breath, Valerie lifted her gaze to the IV bag hanging beside the bed. Instead of calling anyone, she yanked the needle free and pushed herself to her feet, heading toward the bathroom with grim determination.

In the mirror, a stark reflection stared back.

One side of her face remained smooth, almost ethereal; the other carried winding red scars that twisted her beauty into something eerily striking.

Her fingertips brushed the scarred half as she let out a slow, measured breath.

Relief flickered through her. The disguise still held. If it had faltered during those missing years, her true identity would've already been splashed across every underworld whisper.

Back then, her name had been spoken with equal measures of awe and dread-a woman whose beauty drew people in even as her lethality pushed them over the edge.

No one could resist her wicked charm-and just as many wanted to be the one to end her.

Fragments of the stolen years rushed in-three years of blankness filled only by humiliation. Paulina had taken everything that should've belonged to her. And she'd been left to crawl through the filth of the Todd family's cruelty.

There was a chilling steadiness in Valerie's gaze, as if death itself were watching through her eyes. "I'm back," she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath. "Are you ready for my revenge?"

...

The cab rolled to a stop in front of Todd Manor, and the moment Valerie stepped onto the gravel drive, Lucy George, a servant, caught sight of her.

Lucy rushed over, planting herself in Valerie's path. "Valerie, you didn't come home last night. Miss Todd said you're banned from entering."

Without breaking stride, Valerie moved past her.

With a rough pull, Lucy caught her by the arm. "Don't you walk away from me! Are you deaf or what?"

A glacial flicker crossed Valerie's eyes. She seized Lucy's wrist and twisted with a brutal, precise snap.

A crack echoed through the courtyard. Lucy crumpled with a shriek, clutching her mangled hand against her chest.

Valerie regarded her with a cool, almost amused curve of her lips. "What the fuck makes you think you can speak to me that way?"

Every servant nearby went still.

The meek girl they'd spent years tormenting had vanished, leaving behind a woman who finally knew how to bite back without mercy.

Lucy shook violently and hurled one last insult through gritted teeth. "You hillbilly piece of shit! What the hell makes you think you can..."

A sharp crack split the air as Valerie's palm met her face, silencing her on the spot.

Lucy toppled sideways, blood splattering across the concrete as a couple of loose teeth skittered away.

Valerie let her gaze drift over the gathered servants, each glance cutting like a drawn blade. "Hear me clearly-I'm the real heiress of this family. Paulina's a goddamn thief who stole what was mine. Try disrespecting me again, and I swear I'll shove the consequences down your throat."

The weight of her presence settled over them like a storm front; every servant stiffened, heads bobbing in frantic obedience.

From that moment forward, no one was stupid enough to cross Valerie again.

Inside, the dining room glittered beneath cascading crystal lights, the Todd family laughing over clinking glasses.

Across the table, her fiance, Kayden Harper, leaned in toward Paulina, slicing her steak with practiced care as he murmured something meant only for her.

From a distance, they played the part of a flawless couple.

Valerie stepped forward wearing a cool, unreadable smile. "Looks like everyone's enjoying the meal. Not a single one of you cared if I'd eaten, huh?"

The laughter died instantly.

Faces swung toward Valerie, shock rippling through the table as if they were staring at a ghost.

For as long as she'd lived here, the Todd family had treated her like furniture, something to look past rather than at.

Whether she lived to see tomorrow or died right there, nobody gave a fuck.

In this house, even Paulina's pampered little poodle enjoyed more affection than Valerie ever had.

Valerie let a slow, amused smile tug at her mouth. She brushed past their gawking expressions, dragged a chair out with a sharp scrape, and settled into it.

She pushed a platter of steak toward Paulina's position and leaned back. "Cut it for me. I'm starving."