Chapter 4

The next morning, I didn't receive the wire transfer from finance. Instead, I got a text message from the bank saying my credit card had been frozen.

Immediately after, someone rang the doorbell of the mansion.

"Ms. Reese, please hand over the keys to the sports car."

I pushed open the front door. Grant's head of security was standing at the bottom of the steps with an arrogant look.

Two assistants followed behind him. One was holding an asset checklist, avoiding my gaze.

The security chief cleared his throat to explain.

"The boss said you've been too tense lately. Suspending your card and taking the car is just to let you rest at home for a few days."

"The boss also said that once you figure things out and are ready to compromise, he will personally pick you up and take you back to the company."

So Grant arrogantly believed that as long as he cut off my financial resources, I would obediently swallow my pride and crawl back to him like before.

I smoothly opened my clutch and tossed the car keys and the frozen card right into his hands.

"Anything else?"

He was taken aback. "The boss said just these for now."

"Then take them and get lost."

His expression became complicated. "Ms. Reese, do you need me to give you a ride?"

"No need."

I took out my phone and quickly ordered a ride-share.

The card Grant bestowed upon me could be cut off at any time. The sports car he gave me could be driven away at any time.

But this was the empire I had built with my own skills, and the massive commissions I had earned over these five years. I wouldn't take a single cent less.

I could walk away from the feelings, but I wouldn't walk away from the money.

I slept with him for five years and played the canary for five years, but I wasn't here to do free charity work for him.

When the car pulled up downstairs at the agency, my assistant hurried over.

She was clutching a printed email.

"Reese, the top fashion magazine suddenly breached the contract and pulled our scheduled cover."

The opening cover for that major fashion magazine next month, along with an eight-page spread and a short film, was something I had negotiated six months ago.

"What's their excuse?"

"Grant called the editor-in-chief himself and said he wanted Tessa to shoot it instead."

My assistant handed me the phone. "They also told us to hand over your contacts for top directors, saying that it's all company resources anyway, so there's no need to divide it so clearly."

Stealing the cover I worked so hard to get, and then taking the director network I spent five years building just to pave the way for Tessa.

This superstar really knew how to calculate his bets.

"Tell them to keep dreaming."

I dialed the editor-in-chief of another magazine.

They had always been jealous of the exclusive scoops and top-tier artists I held.

Hearing that I was bringing someone over directly, they immediately offered double the exposure with exclusive interview privileges and locked down the entire front page.

In less than half an hour, the backup magazine interview was fully secured.

My assistant finally let out a long breath of relief.

"Then what about the director list the PR department wants?"

"Whoever wants a role can go audition for it themselves."

"I have no obligation to hand her a career on a silver platter."

In the afternoon, Grant called. The first thing he asked for was an answer.

"Why won't you let Tessa use that list of directors?"

His tone was as entitled as always.

"Those are my personal bargaining chips, not your production company's public property."

"I just want her to pick a few scripts."

His tone shifted slightly. "It's her first time joining a cast, so naturally, she's scared. Just throw a few crumbs her way to take care of her. Consider it sharing my burden, okay?"

Because it was Tessa's first time causing trouble on a yacht, a corporate espionage crisis could be easily forgiven.

Because it was her first time acting on a set, my hard-earned core resources should just be sucked dry by her for free.

"I have no obligation to be a saint."

The breathing on the other end paused for two seconds.

"Reese, stop making a fuss. I know you're not actually this heartless, right?"

"She stole my confirmed cover, and I went out and got another interview without saying a word."

"I didn't blacklist her in the industry, and I didn't release any hit pieces against her. That's me being polite."

I let out a mocking laugh into the phone.

"So if I don't hand-deliver her a career on a silver platter, I'm bullying her?"

Grant's voice turned cold.

"I have a meeting later. Have a good dinner by yourself."

"We'll talk when you've calmed down and stopped being so stubborn."

He hung up the phone rudely.

He was probably certain that without his protection, I wouldn't last three days in the vanity fair before obediently surrendering.

I turned to my assistant and asked her to bring the partnership buyout agreement that had been prepared well in advance.

"After this cover shoot is done, sell all my shares."

My assistant gasped in shock.

"Reese, are you really going to ditch the company and go solo?"

"Of course."

I signed my name with a flourish, then arranged for finance to do the final handover, cleanly erasing all traces connected to Grant.

Finally, I packed my briefcase and prepared to leave the office.

After the sky had turned completely dark, a danger warning for a remote login to my cloud account suddenly popped up on my phone screen.

The device forcing the login was the backup computer I left in the hillside mansion.

It contained client files, scanned contracts, and work records from the past five years of me dining with investors, going in and out of hotels, and pouring dead-drunk investors into cabs at 2 a.m.

Just as I was about to initiate a remote wipe, my assistant's frantic calls started blowing up my phone.

"Reese, something happened."

"A gossip blog dug up photos of you."

The next second, dozens of messages flooded my screen.

I clicked on the push notification.

The top trending story had a glaring red headline: "The Superstar's Canary: How Many Execs Has She Slept With Over the Past Five Years?"