Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Confrontation
Victoria’s gaze was lethal, dripping with the casual cruelty of generational wealth. She looked down at Jocelyn’s wet umbrella and worn leather shoes as if an unpleasant insect had flown into the penthouse.
“I’m leaving,” Jocelyn said quietly, side-stepping the heiress. She did not lower her head; she walked out with the steady poise of someone who held no shame.
Zane’s expression darkened instantly. He turned on Victoria, his voice dangerously low. “Victoria, get out.”
“What?” Victoria gasped, her manicured hand flying to her chest. “Zane, our families have a joint venture announcement tomorrow morning! My father is waiting at the restaurant. You’re letting that peasant—”
“The announcement is cancelled if you ever speak to someone under my roof in that tone again,” Zane cut in, his eyes blazing. “And as for our dinner, I never confirmed it. Leave before security escorts you down.”
The next morning, the fallout was catastrophic. The business pages of the Manhattan financial journals exploded with gossip: Valentine Capital Fractures Alliance with Sterling Global Over Mystery Housekeeper.
At Valentine Capital’s headquarters, the boardroom was in an uproar. Zane sat at the head of the seventy-foot marble conference table, indifferent to the shouting of his senior directors.
“You’ve jeopardized an eight-hundred-million-dollar merger because of an argument with Victoria Sterling!” shouted Richard Vance, Zane’s ambitious chief operating officer. “The board demands an explanation, Zane! Who is this girl? Word is she’s an unvetted tutor you found in an underground lounge!”
“She solved the derivative projection that your entire risk team failed to reconcile three weeks ago, Richard,” Zane said coldly, flicking a glance toward the CFO, who immediately dropped his head. “And my personal life is not on the agenda.”
“It is when it drops our share price by two percent!” Richard snarled, throwing a tabloid onto the table.
On the cover was a blurry photograph of Jocelyn stepping into the subway after leaving the Valentine estate, framed by sensationalist headlines: The Penniless Tutor Who Broke the Sterling Engagement.
Zane’s blood ran cold. He didn’t care about his own reputation; he had survived decades of corporate warfare. But Jocelyn was a private citizen, a woman whose entire life was founded upon modest independence. The paparazzi would tear her world apart.
Without another word to the board, Zane stood up, buttoned his tailored suit jacket, and walked out of the boardroom.
“Where are you going?” Richard called out, furious. “We have an emergency investor call in twenty minutes!”
“Reschedule it,” Zane threw back over his shoulder.
Within thirty minutes, Zane’s black armored sedan pulled up outside an old brick building in Astoria. Down on the street, three paparazzi photographers were already cornering Jocelyn at the entrance of her building, thrusting microphones and flashing lenses into her face as she tried to balance her groceries and her satchel.
“Miss Mercer! Are you Zane Valentine’s mistress?”
“Did you target the Valentine family through his nephew?”
Jocelyn was pale, her fingers trembling against her paper bag, but her jaw remained rigid. “Excuse me. Let me through.”
A photographer grabbed her elbow. “Just one comment, Miss Mercer—”
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A heavy hand clamped around the photographer’s wrist with bone-crushing force. The man yelped in pain, dropping his camera to the concrete.
Zane Valentine stepped between Jocelyn and the crowd, his towering silhouette radiating pure, terrifying hostility. “Touch her again,” Zane whispered in a voice that made the other two cameramen step back in terror, “and your agency will cease to exist before sundown.”
