First Face Slap

Chapter 4

Shay's POV

One Year Later.

The air in Zurich had been cold, but it was a clean, sharp cold that tempered me like steel in a forge.

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in my penthouse suite at the Baur au Lac. A year ago, I was a woman who hid in the shadows of oversized sweaters and $10 foundation.

Today, the woman staring back at me was a stranger, a masterpiece of Lucien’s ambition and my own silent rage.

My hair, once a dull, neglected brown, was now a waterfall of obsidian silk that hit the small of my back. My skin, once sallow from overwork and tears, glowed with the luminous vitality of a woman who slept on silk and ate like royalty.

But it was my eyes that had changed the most. The warmth was gone. In its place was a cold, silver calculation.

I stepped into the dress Lucien had sent over, a custom-made gown of midnight blue that clung to my new curves like a second skin.

It was modest in the front, with a high collar that screamed old money, but the back was slashed to the waist, revealing the faint, thin scar on my spine, the only souvenir I kept from the night Massimo Falcone tried to kill me.

"Are you ready, Alessia?"

Lucien stood in the doorway. He looked impeccable in a charcoal suit, his presence as grounding as it was terrifying. For a year, he had been my mentor, my financier, and my harshest critic.

He had pushed me through physical therapy that made me scream and financial drills that made my brain bleed. He never once offered me a shoulder to cry on. He only offered me the tools for war.

"I was born ready for tonight, Lucien," I said, my voice now low, melodic, and perfectly accented with a hint of European mystery.

"Remember," he said, walking over to clasp a necklace of raw, uncut diamonds around my throat. The stones felt like ice. "You are not a Falcone. You are a Valois. You don't look for his attention. You make him realize he is unworthy of yours."

The Charity Gala for the Global Elite was held at the Louvre in Paris. It was the same circuit Massimo had spent his whole life trying to break into. Tonight, Falcone Enterprises was being officially inducted into the "Circle of Ten."

As our Bentley pulled up to the red carpet, the flashbulbs were blinding.

"The Ghost Billionaire is here!" someone shouted.

Lucien stepped out first, offering his hand. As I emerged, the sound of the crowd shifted. It wasn't the roar of greeting; it was the collective gasp of a thousand people holding their breath.

I didn't look at the cameras. I looked straight ahead, my chin tilted at the exact angle of a woman who owned the ground she walked on.

As we entered the grand hall, I saw them.

Massimo was standing near the center, a glass of vintage scotch in his hand. He looked the same, handsome, arrogant, and untouchable. Beside him, Elena was draped in a vulgar amount of lace and gold, her laughter high and shrill as she clung to his arm.

They looked happy. My blood turned to liquid nitrogen.

We were intercepted almost immediately by a particular person. She was wearing a tiara, typical, and a look of supreme smugness as she held court with a group of duchesses. She hadn't seen me yet, only Lucien.

"Lucien, darling!" Catherine chirped, gliding over. "I heard you were bringing a guest. I hope she’s more refined than the usual rabble you associate with."

Lucien didn't smile. He stepped aside, revealing me.

Catherine’s smile froze. Her wine glass wobbled in her hand. She stared at my face, her eyes darting over my features, searching for the "rag" she had discarded a year ago.

She saw the resemblance, but the sheer wealth and power radiating from me made her doubt her own eyes.

"Mrs. Falcone," I said, my voice a cool breeze I didn't fear. "You have something on your chin. A bit of... desperation, I think?"

The duchesses gasped.

Catherine’s face turned a mottled purple.

"Who... who are you?" she hissed, her voice trembling.

"This is Alessia Valois," Lucien said, his voice dropping like a guillotine. "My sister. And she doesn't care for small talk with the newly rich. Shall we, Alessia?"

"Of course," I said, brushing past Catherine. I purposely let the train of my silk gown sweep over her expensive shoes, treating her like she was part of the furniture.

I felt his gaze before I saw him.

Massimo had stopped talking. He was staring at me from across the room. I could see the confusion in the set of his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened around his glass until I thought it would shatter.

I didn't turn. I didn't acknowledge him. Instead, I leaned into Lucien and laughed at a private joke, the sound light and musical.

Ten minutes later, as Lucien stepped away to speak with a minister, a shadow fell over me. The scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco hit me, a scent that used to mean home but now meant enemy.

"You have a familiar face," Massimo’s voice said behind me. It was deeper than I remembered, vibrating with an intensity that used to make my knees weak.

I took a slow sip of my champagne before turning around. I looked him up and down, as if evaluating a piece of mid-range real estate.

"And you have a very common one," I replied.

Massimo flinched. Up close, I could see the dark circles under his eyes. He looked successful, yes, but he looked *hollow*. "I'm Massimo Falcone. CEO of…"

"I know who you are," I interrupted, my eyes cold as the moon. "You’re the man who thinks a billion dollars makes up for a lack of taste. Or a lack of... loyalty."

His eyes widened. He stepped closer, his breath hitching. "Shay?" he whispered, the name a ragged plea.

I tilted my head, a mocking smile playing on my lips. "Shay? What a quaint, dusty name. Is that one of your maids, Mr. Falcone? You really should keep better track of your staff."

I turned to walk away, but he reached out, his hand hovering inches from my bare back, right where the scar was hidden.

"Wait," he groaned. "I... I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. You just... You look like someone I used to know."

"A ghost, perhaps?" I whispered over my shoulder. "Be careful, Massimo. Ghosts have a habit of coming back to claim what was stolen from them."

I walked away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the ballroom, the most powerful man in the room looking like a lost child.

The hunt had officially begun.

I hadn't been standing by the balcony for more than a minute when the clicking of frantic, high-strung heels echoed against the stone.

I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Elena. Her perfume, something cloying and overly sweet, announced her arrival like a siren.

"You," she spat.

I turned slowly, leaning my lower back against the marble railing, the cool night air of Paris swirling around my bare skin. I looked at her with the bored curiosity of a scientist observing a part, particularly a section.

Elena Van Doren-Falcone was trembling. Her perfect blonde facade was cracking, her eyes darting over my face with a mixture of terror and jealousy.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Alessia, but I saw the way you looked at my husband. Stay away from him."

I let out a soft, melodic laugh. "Your husband? You seem remarkably insecure for a woman who supposedly has it all."

"I am the mistress of the Falcone estate!" she hissed, stepping into my personal space. "I am a Van Doren. You’re just some... some shadow Lucien Valois dragged out of a gutter to annoy us."

I stepped forward, forcing her to retreat. I was taller than her now, thanks to the heels and the way I carried the weight of my trauma like a suit of armor. I reached out, my fingers grazing the delicate lace of her sleeve.

"Van Doren lace," I mused. "Hand-stitched in Belgium, or so the boutique told you? It’s a shame. The pattern on the left cuff is mirrored incorrectly. This is a second-run garment, Elena. A factory second. Much like your marriage, I suppose. Shiny on the outside, but fundamentally flawed."

Elena’s face drained of color. She looked down at her sleeve as if it were crawling with spiders. "You lie."

"Am I?" I leaned in, whispering into her ear. "A year ago, a woman died in a fountain while you laughed. Do you think the universe forgets a debt like that? You’re wearing a fake dress to a real party, Elena. And very soon, you’ll be a fake wife in a very real divorce."

I pushed past her, leaving her gasping in the shadows. The face-slap felt better than any drug. It wasn't just about the clothes; it was about stripping away her confidence, piece by agonizing piece.

I returned to the main hall just as the lights dimmed. It was time for the coronation. Massimo was stepping onto the stage, a microphone in his hand, looking like the king of the world.

This was the moment he was supposed to announce the merger that would solidify Falcone Enterprises for the next century.

"Tonight," Massimo began, his voice echoing with that familiar, commanding vibrato, "is about the future. Falcone Enterprises is proud to announce our partnership with the Global Steel Syndicate, ensuring our infrastructure for…"

"I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans, Mr. Falcone."

The voice wasn't mine. It was Lucien’s.

The room went silent. Lucien didn't stand up; he simply leaned back in his chair, a tablet in his hand. The giant screens behind Massimo suddenly flickered. Instead of the Falcone logo, a sleek, silver "V" appeared.

"The Global Steel Syndicate was acquired at four o'clock this afternoon," Lucien said, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "The new board of directors has decided to terminate all pending contracts with Falcone Enterprises. Effective immediately."

Massimo froze. The blood drained from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost of the man who had stood there moments ago. "That’s impossible. We have a signed Letter of Intent."

"A Letter of Intent is not a contract," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a diamond-tipped drill. I stood up, every eye in the room turning to me. "And in the world of the 'Circle of Ten,' Mr. Falcone, intentions are for amateurs. Results are for Valois."

The room erupted into whispers. The "Circle of Ten" wasn't just a club; it was an ecosystem. If the Valois Group was cutting Massimo off, he wasn't a king anymore. He was prey.

Massimo’s eyes found mine. In that moment, I saw it, the first flicker of true, agonizing doubt. He looked at me, then at the screens, then back to me. The realization that I was the one holding the knife began to dawn on him.

I felt the sudden need for air. The triumph was intoxicating, but the ghost of the baby I had lost was screaming in the back of my mind. I slipped away through the side doors, out onto a secluded terrace overlooking the Louvre’s glass pyramid.

I gripped the cold stone railing, my breath coming in jagged gasps. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. It was flat, hard, and empty.

I'm doing this for you, I whispered into the night. Every tear I cry, I’m making them bleed in gold.

"Shay."

I didn't startle. I had expected him.

Massimo stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled. The polished billionaire was gone; in his place was a man who looked like he was drowning.

"That name again," I said, not turning around. "You really are obsessed with this Shay. Was she someone important?"

"She was everything," he choked out.

I turned then, a cold, sharp laugh escaping my lips. "Everything? Then why did you throw her away like a used rag? Why did you let her bleed on the floor while you toasted to your success?"

Massimo recoiled as if I had struck him. His eyes widened, his breath hitching. "How do you know those words? Those were private. I never told anyone."

"The world is full of secrets, Massimo. And I am the keeper of yours."

He lunged forward, not out of anger, but out of a desperate, pathetic need to be near me. He grabbed my upper arms, his grip bruising. "It is you. I don't know how you're alive, or how you look like this, but I know those eyes. Shay, I... I’ve had nightmares every night. I thought I killed you. I thought the baby…"

"The baby is dead," I said, my voice like a tombstone. "And Shay Falcone died with him."

I shoved him back with a strength that surprised both of us.

"My name is Alessia Valois," I said, stepping into the light so he could see the utter lack of mercy in my expression. "And I don't know you. But I am going to enjoy watching you lose everything you traded us for. By the time I’m done, you won't even have a name to stand on."

"Shay, please! I can fix it! I'll divorce Elena, I'll give you the company."

"I don't want you to give me anything," I smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I had ever done. "I want to take it. There’s no glory in a gift, Massimo. Only in a conquest."

"Is he bothering you, Alessia?"

Lucien appeared like a shadow behind me, his hand settling firmly on the small of my back. The gesture was possessive, a clear declaration to Massimo.

Massimo looked at Lucien’s hand, and a primal, raw jealousy flared in his eyes.

"He was just leaving," I said, looking at Massimo with pure pity. "He seems to have lost his way."

Lucien nodded, his eyes never leaving Massimo’s. "Security will show you to the door, Mr. Falcone. Your invitation has been revoked. Along with your credit line at Valois Bank."

Massimo stood there, humiliated and broken, as the guards approached. He looked at me one last time, a look of such intense, belated regret that it should have moved me.

It didn't.

As they led him away, I turned back to the view of Paris.

"You did well," Lucien whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

"That was just the beginning," I replied. "I want him to watch me shine from the bottom of the pit I’m digging for him."

I have 996 chapters to go. And I plan to enjoy every single one of them.