**Read the Author's Note before starting!**
Valarie
Manhattan glimmered beneath me, the city alive with ambition, hunger, and chaos. From the glass-enclosed sanctuary of my penthouse, I watched it all. Skyscrapers stretched upward, their lights flickering. The horns, the sirens, the hum of humanity. From where I am, they couldn't reach me. My world high above theirs, untouched by the grime and desperation below.
It was my life's work laid out in glittering lights, and the penthouse wasn't just a home, but a statement.
Every inch of it was designed to impress and intimidate. The floors were polished black marble, with silver threads that caught the city's faint light. Floor-to-ceiling windows across every wall, offered the views of Manhattan as if the city itself bowed before me. A massive chandelier hung in the open living room, its crystal design casting rainbows that danced across the walls.
There wasn't much furniture but that was intentional. The living room had a pair of leather sofas in deep onyx, a glass coffee table with a sculpted steel base, and a sleek grand piano that gleamed under the lighting. The walls were covered with an eclectic collection of art pieces that showed wealth and connections rather than screamed them. Even the air smelled expensive, a blend of cedar and leather.
The penthouse wasn't just a testament to my success. It was a fortress. A reminder that I had clawed my way to the top and had no intention of leaving.
I stood near the window, a whiskey glass in hand. I rarely drank, but tonight I let the amber liquid swirl in the glass, its warmth contrasting to the cool detachment I wore like armor. I was dressed in my usual uniform, tailored black slacks and a silk blouse in deep emerald. The kind of outfit that spoke of authority without trying too hard. Every detail of my appearance was calculated, just like everything else in my life.
Power was a game, and appearances were part of my strategy.
In the public eye, I was Valarie Campbell, CEO of Campbell Capital Investments, a woman who had found her way to the top with nothing but determination and a razor-sharp mind at the age of twenty-five. A name who built an empire brick by brick, whose financial achievements turned Campbell Capital Investments into a powerhouse that shaped economies. On the surface, I was perfect and untouchable.
But the truth was far darker, the kind of truth that would shatter lives if it ever came to light.
But perfection was a façade, and every empire had its foundation. Mine just happened to be blood, fear, and secrets.
The glass desk behind me, minimalist and tastefully modern, held everything that mattered to my public persona. Neatly arranged papers, a MacBook with my calendar carefully scheduled to the hour, and a pen sat perfectly aligned.
I turned from the window, setting the glass down, my reflection distorted against the spotless surface. I liked my space like I liked my life: clean, orderly, and unyielding. But beneath the gleaming marble floors and curated art was a truth no one could know. Campbell Capital was my mask, a legitimate front for the empire I ruled in the shadows.
A vibration cut through the quiet. My phone buzzed against the glass, flashing a name I didn't associate with my polished world: Marcus.
I picked it up without hesitation. "Talk."
"It's the shipment," Marcus said, his tone strained. "We've got a problem."
My grip on the phone tightened. "Define 'problem.'" I hire the best employees to handle my shipments. What problem could be occurring where they need to disrupt my evening? I didn't hire incompetence, I only hired the best.
"Cortez sent his men early," Marcus replied. "They're trying to renegotiate." Cortez has been a business partner of mine for almost a year now. I don't consider him loyal, so this doesn't surprise me. With that being said, I didn't expect him to cross me. My reputation may be private to the public, but it's well-known in the drug ring community. I am not the one to mess with.
Renegotiate. A polite way of saying they were attempting to weasel in on my terms. Valarie Campbell makes an offer, but she does not renegotiate. Only a fool would think otherwise.
"Renegotiate." The word came out like a curse. "At the drop?"
"Yeah. Warehouse on 34th. But, Val—"
I hung up and slipped the phone into the tailored pocket of my black trench, my heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floors as I made my way to the private elevator. The lobby of my penthouse was immaculate, a vision of luxury and precision. Neutral tones, minimalist art, and furniture that screamed sophistication. A life curated to perfection, a fortress hiding the chaos beneath.
I step out of the elevator and see the bellboy already has my car pulled around. He hands me the keys and I ignore him as I walk to my black Mercedes Benz with the tension in my chest building as I mentally run through the possibilities. The car gleamed under soft lighting. Its black finish was polished to a mirror sheen, a car as ruthless and elegant as I was.
I slid into the driver's seat, the leather interior cool against my back. The engine roared to life with a growl, its power humming beneath my fingertips as I pulled out and sped into the night.
The city blurred around me, neon lights smearing against the rain-slicked streets. My mind was a storm of calculations and contingencies. Cortez's men were testing boundaries, but they'd soon learn that I didn't negotiate from a position of weakness.
When I arrived at the warehouse, the scene was just as I'd expected: shadowy corners, damp concrete, and the faint stench of oil. The dim overhead lights cast harsh shadows on a group of men clustered near a stack of crates.
Marcus spotted me first with relief flashing across his face. He stood with a stocky man in a cheap suit. If my memory was correct his name was Rami. He was Cortez's right-hand man and I'm unsure of why he's here now. I had specifically asked for Cortez. Behind Rami were a handful of other lousy men who clearly thought they could intimidate with numbers and their weapons.
"Ms. Campbell," Marcus said, stepping toward me.
I ignored him, my focus fixed on Rami. He turned to face me, a cocky grin plastered across his face, but I could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He thought he was coming here to score a great deal for his boss, but he was sadly mistaken.
"Cortez couldn't make it?" I asked, my tone sharp and cutting. I hide the annoyance in my voice that I am here right now. It's not often that I allow myself to have an evening without an occasion, but when I do it tends to be ruined by something not worth my time.
"He sent me to handle things," Rami replied smoothly, his smile widening. "Name's—"
"I didn't ask for your name," I said flatly. I know who Rami is and I don't care to know more about him. "I asked why your boss decided to alter the terms of our agreement."
Rami's grin faltered, but he recovered quickly. "Things change. Costs go up. You understand, right?"
"I understand." I stepped closer, letting the click of my heels echo in the vast space. "What I don't understand is why Cortez thinks I'll tolerate this kind of disrespect."
The men behind him shifted uneasily, their bravado beginning to crack.
"Listen, lady—"
"Ms. Campbell to you," I corrected, my voice as sharp as a blade. "And if you value your life, you'll choose your next words carefully."
Rami hesitated, glancing at his men for support although none of them moved. Smart choice.
"I'm trying to be reasonable," he said finally, his tone wavering.
"Reasonable," I repeated, letting the word hang in the air. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and walked closer to Rami. The space is quiet except for the clacking of my heels against the concrete "Let me show you what I consider reasonable."
With a speed that caught everyone off guard, I pulled the knife from the sheath hidden beneath my coat and drove it into Rami's hand, pinning it to the crate beside him. His scream echoed through the warehouse, sharp and panicked. I look at Rami with a flat expression as he looks up at me begging for mercy through his eyes.
The other men reached for their weapons, but I raised my free hand. "Try it," I said calmly. "And you'll be next."
They froze, their hands hovering over their holsters as I leaned in closer to Rami.
"You want to renegotiate?" I asked, my voice low and icy. "This is how I renegotiate."
I yanked the knife free, blood dripping onto the floor as Rami crumpled to his knees, clutching his injured hand.
"You tell Cortez that the next time he tries something like this, it won't be your hand," I said, wiping the blade clean on Rami's jacket. "It'll be his head."
The other men exchanged uneasy glances, their loyalty to Cortez clearly wavering in the face of my fury.
"Understood?" I asked, turning my gaze to each of them.
They nodded, fear written across their faces.
"Good," I said, slipping the knife back into its sheath. "Now get out of my sight."
They didn't need to be told twice. Within moments, the warehouse was empty, except for Marcus and me. Two of Rami's men helped him up as they walked out of the warehouse. They all left with the urgency as if I were to do something else, but I had no other tricks up my sleeve. I wanted to send a message and I had done just that.
"You didn't have to go that far," Marcus said quietly, his voice tinged with disapproval. He was unphased when I pulled out the knife and stabbed Rami. He knows what I'm capable of and what his job can entail. All I ask from my employees is their loyalty and despite his disapproval of the way I handle things, Marcus gives me just that.
In this line of work, you can never be too careful and you can't trust anyone. So even though I expect loyalty, I don't always give it in return. Especially if it threatens the empire I have built. I have worked too hard to get where I am for some lousy person to come in and fuck it all up. At the end of the da,y if I have to choose between someone else or myself, I will choose myself every time with no hesitation.
"Yes, I did," I replied. "If we give them an inch, they'll take a mile. You know that."
He didn't argue, though the disapproval in his eyes was clear. Marcus has been with me since I joined the drug trade four years ago. He has seen a lot over his career as have I. He knows that once you show weakness they will continue to hit you where it hurts.
"Clean this up," I ordered, gesturing to the bloodstained crate. "And make sure the shipment goes through as planned."
Marcus nodded, already pulling out his phone to call in the cleanup crew.
I left without another word, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins as I slid back into the Mercedes Benz.
As I drove back to the penthouse, the city's lights blurred together, their brilliance dimmed by the darkness I carried within me.
It was always like this. A seamless transition between the polished CEO and the ruthless enforcer, two sides of a coin no one could ever see.
By the time I returned to the penthouse, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a cold, familiar emptiness. The vast space felt quieter than usual, the silence pressing against my chest like a weight. The luxury surrounding me felt hollow, the emptiness a constant reminder of the walls I'd built around myself.
I poured myself another drink, the Scotch catching the light as I stared out at the city. From this height, everything seemed so small, so insignificant.
And yet, as the city's lights flickered and danced in the distance, I couldn't shake the gnawing emptiness inside me. Power and wealth were my armor, but they couldn't fill the void.
They never had.
I took a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol grounding me as I let my gaze wander over the skyline. Somewhere out there, Cortez was nursing his wounded pride, plotting his next move. But he wouldn't win.
No one ever did.
And I know I wasn't untouchable. The blood on my hands, and the empire I'd built had all come at a price. And no matter how high I climbed, no matter how powerful I became, I was always alone.
And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what I deserved.