Chapter 4: "Good girl"

The conference room on the forty-seventh floor of Vale Technologies smelled of fresh coffee, and expensive cologne of powerful men, but Soren Vale barely noticed.

He sat at the head of the obsidian table, fingers steepled, his expression locked in the detached authority that had made seasoned investors sweat during earnings calls.

One of the investors was droning on about quarterly projections, gesturing at the projected slide like it held the secrets of the universe.

“…and with the new AI integration, we project a thirty-two percent uptick in user retention by Q3, assuming—”

Unfortunately, Soren’s mind wasn’t in the room. It was back in the burgundy suite. Back to the moment she had obeyed.

The image slammed into him without warning. The delicate pink folds already swollen and slick just from the act of confessing.

Her breath had hitched when he’d ordered her to spread wider. Her clit had pulsed visibly under his stare like it was begging for the touch he refused to give.

He pictured sliding into her slowly, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her open.

“Soren—” she would gasp, her voice cracking the way it had when she admitted her fantasies featured him.

He would pin her wrists above her head, thrust deeper, harder, until her thighs trembled around his hips and she began to beg.

Begged miserably for release.

He shifted in his chair as his cock thickened against his trousers, insistent, and traitorous.

“Mr. Vale? Your thoughts on the scalability concerns?”

Soren blinked. The room had gone quiet. All eyes were now fixed on him.

His assistant, Marcus, leaned in from the side. “Boss.”

Soren cleared his throat, the sound rougher than intended. “Read the brief again.”

A nervous junior analyst scrambled to comply. The slide refreshed, and numbers appeared across the screen.

Soren stared at them without seeing.

Instead he saw her face, flushed, eyes glassy with shame and want. The way she’d bitten her lip when she whispered that she dreamed of being edged until tears spilled.

He shook his head sharply. "No, I can't let her get to me. Not after what she'd done to me, many years ago."

Ten years ago she’d painted him as a fraud in black and white, stripped him of credibility, watched his first empire collapse while she collected her byline and moved on.

He’d clawed his way back from nothing. Built something untouchable. She didn’t get to unravel him now.

His phone vibrated against the table. The screen lit with “Father.”

Soren’s brows lifted slightly. His father rarely called during business hours.

“Excuse me,” he said smoothly, pushing back his chair. 

Soren adjusted his jacket as he left the room and crossed into his executive office, a space designed for silence and absolute authority.

“Dad.” He said as he placed the phone on his ear.

“Soren, my boy.” His father responded warmly, unusual for the old man.

"You’ll never guess what happened.”

Soren leaned one shoulder against the wall, staring out at the city. “You know I’m terrible at guessing. Just tell me.”

A low chuckle rolled through the line. “I know, I know. Patience was never your strong suit.”

“The woman I told you about—the one I’ve been pursuing for months—she finally said yes. She’s agreed to marry me.”

Soren’s grip tightened on the phone. “Really?”

“Really. I’m meeting her again tomorrow to discuss the preparations. I’d like you there. I want to introduce her to my son properly.”

Soren exhaled through his nose. “No problem. I’ll make time.”

“You should be happy for your old man.”

“I am.” Soren replied. “Talk later. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“Understood. Don’t work too hard.”

The call ended, and Soren stared at the darkened screen for a beat longer.

Who the hell had finally agreed to tether herself to Vale Godfrey?

The man had charm, money, and a reputation for quiet ruthlessness hidden in philanthropy. But at sixty-two, he wasn’t exactly a romantic catch. Whoever she was, she must want something—security, status, or leverage.

He shook his head. He’d find out soon enough.

Without hesitation, he turned to re-enter the conference room, but one of his security men—Jamal—stepped into his path.

“Sir. The video and audio from last night have been transferred to the SD card, as you requested. Should I proceed with publishing, like you mentioned earlier?”

Soren went stilled instantly. He took a deep breath and muttered. "Where is it?"

Jamal held out the tiny black card between two fingers, and Soren stared at it for a moment.

Memories surged back uninvited. Her trembling voice. The way she had looked at him, defiant and undone at the same time. The way she had melted under a single word of praise.

“Good girl.”

His fingers tightened around the card.

Publishing it would be easy. A single upload and her reputation would fracture beyond repair.

It would be justice. It would be revenge. But it would also end the game.

He took the card from Jamal, and turned it over in his palm. Slowly, he exhaled, fully aware of the tension still coiled inside him.

Without a word, Soren strolled to the window, and slipped the card into his inner pocket. Jamal, who was confused and curious, cleared his throat and blurted.

“You alright, sir?”

“Yes.” Soren replied. “You know what? Get me Sandra.”

Jamal nodded slightly. “Yes, boss.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Soren alone in the room.

He exhaled slowly, trying to force his pulse back to baseline. At the same time, the door behind him opened.

Slowly, Soren turned, expecting Sandra's long legs, red lips, and the easy distraction she always provided when his control frayed.

But instead, Elena stood in the doorway, dressed in a black coat. Her hair pulled back severely. Eyes wide with fear and defiance.

For the first time that day, Soren forgot to breathe.

"What the hell is she doing here?”