Ch: 8 Good Riddance.

Nerissa's POV

Unknown Number: Nerissa. It’s Lysander. I don’t know what kind of sick, manipulative game you think you’re playing by leaving a fake ultrasound on my desk, but it isn’t going to work. Did you really think mocking Seraphina’s pregnancy with a forged picture of your own would make me chase you? It’s pathetic. Honestly, it’s a relief. You finally did the one thing I’ve been waiting five years for, you packed up and left. The house already feels lighter without you creeping around like a ghost. I’m glad you finally signed the papers and took the hint. Have whatever cheap lawyer you found send their address to my office. Don't bother coming back. Enjoy whatever life you have left. I’m finally going to enjoy mine.

​I stared at the glowing screen of my phone, the pale morning light of Geneva suddenly feeling very cold against my skin.  

​For a fraction of a second, the old Nerissa, the dutiful, silent wife who had spent five years swallowing her pride wanted to scream. She wanted to type furiously, to hurl the absolute truth at him, to send him the medical records that proved the child growing inside me was real. She wanted to break him the way he had just broken her all over again.  

​But then, as I read the words 'It's a relief' and 'I'm finally going to enjoy mine,' something miraculous happened.

​The heavy, suffocating weight that had rested on my chest for half a decade simply evaporated. The lingering grief over the yacht explosion vanished. Lysander hadn't just burned the bridge between us; he had ground the ashes into the dirt. His cruelty, which he wielded like a weapon, was actually the greatest gift he could have ever given me. It killed the last, pathetic shred of hope I hadn't even realized I was still holding onto.  

​A soft, genuine laugh escaped my lips. It echoed in the quiet expanse of my childhood suite, sounding completely foreign to my own ears.

​"Goodbye, Lysander," I whispered to the empty room.

​I didn't reply. I didn't defend myself or my unborn child. I simply pressed the block button, deleted the message, and tossed the phone onto the mattress. The woman who would have wept over his rejection was dead. In her place, the secret heiress to Vane Holdings, one of the world's most powerful private conglomerates, had finally woken up.  

​Walking into my massive walk-in closet, I bypassed the modest, subdued clothing I had worn to blend into the background of the Blackwood estate. Instead, I reached for a sharp, tailored crimson suit. I dressed with meticulous care, pulling my hair back into a sleek, unforgiving style. When I looked in the mirror, the modest orphan Lysander thought he had married was completely gone. I looked like my grandfather. I looked like a Vane.  

​When I descended the grand sweeping staircase of the estate, Henri bowed his head in silent approval, his eyes gleaming with recognition. "Miss Nerissa. Your grandfather is waiting for you in the solarium. He has a guest."

​"Thank you, Henri," I replied, my voice steady and clear.

​The solarium was bathed in bright, crisp sunlight. My grandfather, Edouard Vane, sat at the head of a wrought-iron glass table, sipping espresso. Across from him sat a man I had not seen in years, though his reputation in the financial world preceded him.

​Lucien.

​He was a high-ranking tycoon and one of my grandfather’s most trusted proteges. Lucien possessed a sharp, aristocratic profile, striking silver-gray eyes, and an aura of authority. He was dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit that screamed old money and ruthless ambition.  

​"Nerissa," my grandfather greeted, a rare, approving smile touching his lined face as he took in my appearance. "Come sit. You remember Lucien."

​"It has been a long time, Nerissa," Lucien said, standing up smoothly to pull out a chair for me. His voice was a rich, deep baritone, laced with a subtle French accent. "Though, I must say, it is profoundly good to see you back where you belong."

​"Thank you, Lucien," I said, taking my seat. "I assume Grandfather has brought you up to speed?"

​"He has," Lucien confirmed, retaking his seat and sliding a sleek leather tablet across the glass table toward me. "And I took the liberty of monitoring the markets this morning, per your instructions to the legal team last night. The withdrawal of the Blackwood overseas expansion contracts was executed flawlessly."  

​I picked up the tablet, my eyes scanning the red lines plummeting across the digital graphs.

​"Blackwood Industries opened to a sheer drop," Lucien explained, his tone strictly business, though I could see a glint of predatory satisfaction in his eyes. "Without the Vane safety net to underwrite their new ventures, their international partners panicked. Three major distributors pulled out before breakfast. The financial tremors you requested have begun."  

​"Lysander won't know what hit him," my grandfather noted, taking a slow sip of his espresso. "He has operated for five years under the delusion of his own invincibility. He never realized he was standing on our shoulders."

​"Let him fall," I said coldly, tapping the screen to close the market report. "But we are not going to actively crush them yet. I want them to bleed slowly. I want Lysander to feel the exact weight of what it costs to run an empire without the woman he treated like a servant."  

​Lucien watched me carefully, his silver eyes missing nothing. "It is a dangerous game, Nerissa. A desperate man will eventually look for the source of his ruin. When he realizes Vane Holdings is holding the strings, he will come looking for blood."

​"Let him look," I challenged, meeting Lucien’s gaze without flinching. "By the time he figures it out, I will be untouchable. Speaking of which, Grandfather, we have a board meeting in two hours. You mentioned Fouchard and Lemont have been circling since your illness was announced?"  

​"Like vultures," Edouard replied, his expression darkening. "They will not take kindly to a young woman stepping in as the acting CEO, regardless of your bloodline. They think you are too soft, simply because you have been absent for five years."  

​"Then I will just have to correct their misconception," I stated, finishing my tea and standing up.

​Two hours later, the doors to the Vane Holdings executive boardroom swung open. The room, filled with twenty of the most intimidating financial minds in Europe, fell into an immediate, heavy silence.

​I walked in with my head held high, my crimson suit acting as armor. Lucien walked slightly behind my right shoulder, a silent, imposing shadow of absolute support. My grandfather remained at the estate; this was my battle to win.

​As I approached the head of the long mahogany table, an older man with a ruddy face and a sneer, Fouchard cleared his throat aggressively.

​"Miss Vane," Fouchard began, not bothering to stand. "With all due respect to your grandfather, this seat requires a seasoned executive. Not a young woman who has spent the last five years playing house in obscurity. We cannot risk the firm's future on a provisional appointment."

​I didn't sit down. I rested my manicured hands flat on the polished wood, leaning forward until I held the eye contact of every man in the room.

​"First of all, Monsieur Fouchard, my appointment is not provisional," I said, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "I am stepping in as the acting CEO, officially and permanently. Secondly, while you were sitting in this comfortable room debating my competence, I orchestrated the quiet dismantling of a major competitor’s supply chain before my morning coffee. If any of you feel that my 'playing house' has dulled my instincts, I invite you to tender your resignations right now."  

​The silence that followed was deafening. Lemont, sitting next to Fouchard, opened his mouth to object, but Lucien smoothly interjected.

​"Miss Vane has the absolute backing of my shares, as well as the majority proxies from the Vane family trust," Lucien stated, his tone carrying a soft, lethal warning. "I strongly suggest we move on to the quarterly projections. Unless, of course, anyone else wishes to test the new leadership?"

​No one spoke. Fouchard swallowed hard and looked down at his files.