Chapter 4

Scarlett’s POV

{7 years ago}

The elevator let out a sharp hiss as it opened, and I walked as fast as my heels allowed toward my office, checking to see if Mr. Woods had beaten me in.

Not seeing him, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Gosh, how the fuck had I managed to sleep right through a single missed alarm?

Groaning, I shoved the door to my office open, dropped my bag on the desk, and sank into my chair, letting it hold the weight I hadn't realized I was carrying.

A sharp footstep echoed outside. I straightened up instantly, smoothing my blazer and tidying my desk. Thank goodness I'd already prepared Sterling’s schedule for today.

Standing back up, I walked over to the private coffee dispenser in the corner. Mr. Woods had an ego the size of the fucking Manhattan skyline.

He refused to share a machine with the rest of the floor. Mug in hand, tablet tucked under my arm, I walked down the corridor to his office. I gave a sharp knock, and his gruff voice answered from the other side.

"Come in."

I stepped inside and immediately regretted it. A woman, draped across his leather sofa, moaning as she touch herself.

Mr. Woods sat behind his massive mahogany desk, all attention on her. I wasn’t the judgmental type—but the whole fucking scene had a certain shamelessness to it that made me want to set the damn coffee down and walk right back out.

"Are you planning to stand by the door all day?" His voice cut through the silence, sharp and annoyed.

I crossed the room carefully, keeping my footsteps light.

“Good morning, Mr. Woods." I gave a tight, professional nod and set the coffee down.

He picked it up and drank it in one long swallow.

I blinked, genuinely surprised. That was new.

"Baby, slow down," the woman purred, sliding closer, her manicured fingers trailing along his jaw.

I pressed my lips together, keeping my expression entirely blank. It wasn't envy—not in the way she probably assumed.

"My schedule for today?" His voice snapped me back Right. I tapped my tablet awake and scrolled through the day.

"You have a breakfast meeting with the City Planning Commission at 8:00 a.m.—that's in twenty minutes. At 9:30, the Crown Towers site inspection, architects included. 11:30 is the board presentation for Q3 projections in Conference Room A. At 1:00 you have lunch with Legal for the Dubai contract review. 2:30 is investor calls, four back-to-back. 6:00 is the site walk for the new waterfront development. And 7:30 is a client dinner at The Meridian with the Al-Fayed group."

I glanced up. His brow risen already. “That's your full day, sir. You're free by nine, maybe ten at the latest," I added quickly.

"And would you care to explain to me why the hell my life is packed that tight, Scarlett?" he asked, his voice chillingly calm.

He began tapping a single finger rhythmically against the mahogany desk. Even the lady was glaring daggers at me now.

"I tried to clear it, sir. That's the absolute furthest I could push those meetings back. Honestly, your calendar should be heavier," I replied, keeping my tone strictly professional.

This man treated his fucking empire like a playground. He loved handing his responsibilities to anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby, and somehow he'd still built this multi-billion-dollar behemoth. It didn't seem fair.

“Why haven't you fired this proud little thing, Simon?" the woman snapped, venom dripping from every syllable.

I resisted the fierce urge to roll my eyes and looked instead at him, who wore an infuriatingly knowing look, as if he could read the sarcastic thought running through my head.

"You can go, Jones. And don't bother preparing to accompany me to these meetings—forward the details to my PA instead.” he said smoothly.

"Yes, sir. Excuse me." I turned on my heel and walked out.

My phone buzzed so hard it rattled my desk the second I sat down.

A message reminder flashed across the screen.

‘I’m coming, Jones’

My hands shook. I read it again. And again.

A knock hit my door.

I locked my jaw, wiped the sweat off my face, and yanked it open.

Empty hallway. Then movement. A figure in green smirked at me from the elevator before the doors slid shut.

Cold swept through my veins.

The Green Vipers.

My eyes dropped. A package sat on the floor at my feet. No note. No return address. Just green tape.

I swallowed. Picked it up. Carried it inside and shut the door.Rip the bandage off, Scarlett. I tore it open and choked on my own spit.

A severed middle finger with a gaudy ring still jammed on it rolled out onto my desk, resting on top of a paper soaked in dark, drying blood.

I gagged, my stomach convulsing violently before I threw myself toward the bin, heaving up whatever little was left in my gut.

Jesus fucking Christ. Those psycho bastards weren't just sending warnings anymore; they were carving out pieces of people.

I stared at the horrifying little package on my desk, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as my hands trembled so hard I could barely stand upright.

If I don’t come up with fifteen grand by midnight, that ringed finger would look like a goddamn party trick compared to what they'd do to me. They were watching me. They know this place.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my shaking hand, I forced myself to shove the blood-soaked nightmare into the bottom drawer out of sight, the phantom iron stench of it still clung thick to the air.

Checking my wristwatch, I froze. 2:30 p.m. already. Time really does accelerate when you're drowning in a world filled with chaos.

My stomach let out a ferocious growl, though the thought of food now made me want to gag all over again. Still, I needed fuel if I was going to survive this waking nightmare.

I grabbed my bag, stormed out of the office, and punched the button for the café floor. By the time the elevator chimed, the ground-floor café was almost blissfully empty, well past the afternoon rush.

"Hey, Teal," I muttered to the brunette behind the counter. She offered a bright, welcoming smile and slid a loaded tray of cheeseburger and fries across the counter.

"Don’t bother about payment," She said.

I arched a brow. "Since when do you hand out free meals?”

“Some guy paid for it ahead of time. Said it was for you." She shrugged

"A guy? What did he look like?"

"Didn't see his face too well," she shrugged, "He had a green hoodie pulled low. Walked right in, dropped a hundred-dollar bill, pointed at your usual table, and walked out."

Green hoodie. Green Vipers?

Panic choked out my appetite.