CHAPTER 3: Pride & Poison

Nico Jordan didn’t sleep that night. He paced the penthouse on the 62nd floor of One57, bare feet on cold marble. From the bar to the window and back, gazing out at Manhattan below like it was mocking him… sirens, horns, that endless drone of people chasing things they’d never catch. It matched the noise in his head.

He poured two fingers of Macallan 25. No ice. Held the glass, didn’t drink, he poured it down the sink instead. Pulled his phone from his pocket, opened the camera roll.

He looked at a photo of his mother, Sofia…the woman who had taken her own life because his father had treated her like a disposable object. She was smiling, a real smile, tired eyes. The last summer she laughed without forcing it.

Before his father started staying out. Before the late-night calls, the hotel receipts in the trash… Rebecca loft, two names. His father’s. And hers. A call girl from a client's dinner. The man hadn’t even lied about it, moved her in while Sofia was still scraping together co-pays for Nico’s asthma meds.

One night she tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and whispered, “You’re the only good thing I ever did.”

The next morning he found her in the bathtub. Cold water. Empty pill bottle. Lipstick on the mirror: I can’t anymore. Sorry, baby boy.

Eight years old. He'd sat on the tile until the paramedics came.

Ava’s words haunted him: *Your mother must be proud...*

“Sir?” The voice came from the doorway, hesitant.

Nico didn’t turn. “Speak.”

“The file you requested,” his assistant, Will, said carefully as he walked in with a tablet. “On Ava Williams.”

Nico finally turned. He set the glass down with a heavy thud and walked over to take the tablet from Will’s hands.

He swiped through.

*Ava Moreau. 26. No criminal record. Dropped out of NYU junior year. Lives in a crappy Astoria walk-up. Got fired at Velvet Room Spa (new job). Emergency contact: granda, Margaret Moreau, just admitted to Mount Sinai with stage IV pancreatic cancer. Bankrupt.*

Nico stared at the screen, his frown deepening.

He scrolled through photos. Her walking out of the hospital. Her carrying groceries. Her laughing with a friend at a bus stop. She looked different like this…softer, real, stripped of the uniform and the anger.

“Why did she work there if she’s… like this?” Nico muttered, more to himself than to Will.

“From what we gathered, sir, it pays better than most places,” Will said quietly. “And her grandmother’s bills are… substantial.”

Nico handed the tablet back. A strange feeling was settling in his gut. She was poor. Desperate, even. But she didn’t act desperate. She acted like she owned herself.

“Leave,” Nico ordered.

Will retreated quickly, closing the double doors silently.

The next day, the sun was bright, but Nico’s mood was darker than a thunderstorm.

He arrived at the headquarters of Jordan Enterprises in a black Rolls-Royce. The building was a glass monolith, towering over the city, a testament to what he had built from nothing.

Usually, walking through these halls calmed him. Seeing the fear and respect in his employees’ eyes fed his ego.

Today, nothing worked. He walked through the open-plan office, and the atmosphere instantly froze. Typing stopped. Conversations died. Everyone straightened their backs.

Nico didn’t even look at them. He was wearing a tailored charcoal suit, his tie perfectly knotted, his face a mask of cold stone. But anyone who knew him could see it…the slight clench of his jaw, the way his eyes scanned the room without really seeing anything.

He entered his corner office, and his secretary, Mrs. Vivian, jumped up.

“Good morning, sir. Your schedule…”

“Cancel everything,” he barked, walking past her desk and into his inner office.

He threw his suit jacket onto the sofa and loosened his tie. He sat behind his massive desk, trying to focus on the spreadsheets and contracts in front of him, but the words blurred.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

“Keep your money!”

His phone buzzed. A call from his friend, Ethan…one who had recommended the Velvet Room in the first place.

Nico answered, putting the phone on speaker.

“Nico! My man! How was last night? Hale called me, sounding like he saw a ghost. Said you and the girl had a… disagreement?” Ethan laughed, loudly.

Nico’s hand curled into a fist on the desk. “Don’t ever send me to that place again,” Nico said, his voice low and dangerous.

“Whoa, easy. What happened? Was she not good? I told Hale to pick the best one.”

“She was fine,” Nico snapped. “Until she got ideas above her station. And Hale is a snake. He implied things… sold a package that wasn’t there.”

“Ah, come on, Nico. You know how it works. They all want the money. She was probably playing hard to get.”

“No,” Nico said firmly. The image of her file, flashed through his mind. “She wasn’t. And you were wrong, Ethan. Not everyone is for sale.”

The line went quiet for a second. “Okay… okay. My bad. I didn’t know it was that serious. You okay, bro?”

“She slapped me. Called me a shameless bastard, told me to go fuck myself.”

Ethan whistled. “Damn. That’s… bold.”

Nico’s voice went ice-cold. “Tell Hale his ‘gift’ just cost him eight figures in future business.”

Ethan’s laugh died. “Wait, Nico, come on. It was a joke. A little fun…”

“Fun?” Nico cut him off. “You think sending a woman to my suite like she’s takeout is fun?”

Ethan stammered. “I didn’t mean…”

“Save it.” Nico ended the call.

His assistant poked her head in. “Your 9:30 is here. Ms. Laurent from the Dubai consortium.”

Nico hissed. “I told you to cancel all my meetings…send her in.”

The door opened. Michelle Laurent–tall, sexy, polished, in a red dress that hugged every curve. She’s been trying to get him between her legs for months. “Mr. Jordan,” she purred, closing the door behind her. “You look tense.”

She crossed the room, stopped too close. Leaned on the edge of his desk. “I could help with that.”

Her hand brushed his arm. Fingers trailed up toward his shoulder.

Nico looked at her hand like it was something dirty.

“Michelle,” he said quietly. “If you touch me again, you’re out of the building and off every deal I control.”

She froze, her smile faltered.

He stood up. “The consortium numbers are weak. Fix them or don’t come back.”

She straightened quickly, and left without another word.

Nico dropped back into his chair. Rubbed his face.

Ava’s voice kept echoing.

*Your mother must be so proud…*

A call.

Nico looked at the screen.

Unknown Number.

He stared at it for a long moment. His heart gave a strange, heavy thud against his ribs. He had a feeling. A gut feeling that only came to him when something big was about to happen.

He picked up the phone, swiped to answer, and pressed it to his ear.

Heavy, breathing silence.

Nico didn’t speak. He just waited, his eyes narrowing, a slow, dark smile starting to form on his lips.