Chapter 5: Champagne and Counterattacks

The elevator dinged on the forty-second floor of Victoria’s building, and before the doors even finished opening, I heard her heels clicking fast across the hardwood.

“Get in here, you badass!”

Victoria Hale, my best friend since college, twenty-eight, zero filter, grabbed my wrist and yanked me into her loft like I was late for my own party. She wore ripped jeans and a silk camisole, hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot, but the energy coming off her could’ve powered half of Manhattan.

She shoved a flute of champagne into my hand. Bubbles raced up the glass like tiny fireworks.

“To freedom,” she said, clinking her glass against mine so hard I thought it might crack. “And to the bitch who finally stopped apologizing for breathing.”

I took a long sip. The cold fizz burned down my throat in the best way.

“I signed the papers,” I said.

“I know. Theo texted me screenshots of the headlines. ‘Heiress Dumps Billionaire in Dramatic Courthouse Showdown.’ Iconic.”

I laughed, really surprised. “They’re already calling it a showdown?”

“Baby, you walked out in the rain last night, signed divorce papers this morning, and went straight to Voss Media like you owned the place. Which you basically do. That’s not a divorce. That’s a hostile takeover of your own life.”

She dragged me to the sectional sofa, plush gray velvet, littered with fashion sketches and half-empty takeout containers. Her design studio took up one wall: mood boards, fabric swatches, a mannequin wearing a half-finished red gown that looked angry in the best way.

“Sit,” she ordered. “Drink. Then talk.”

I sank. The cushions swallowed me. For the first time all day, my shoulders dropped an inch.

Victoria curled up beside me, legs tucked under. “How bad was it?”

“Bad.” I stared into the champagne. “He showed up late. Looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Told me I’d never outrun him.”

She snorted. “Possessive much?”

“Very.” I met her eyes. “He said it right in front of the cameras. Quiet, so only I could hear. But he meant every word.”

Victoria’s expression hardened. “Then we make sure he has to watch you run circles around him.”

She set her glass down, reached for her tablet, and swiped open a presentation she’d clearly been working on since Theo’s text.

“Exhibit A,” she said, tapping the screen.

A mock-up filled the display: bold black background, gold lettering, my face a recent candid from a charity event last year, looking straight at the camera with eyes that didn’t flinch.

The headline read: VOSS MEDIA PRESENTS: THE NEW ERA. Below it, smaller: Led by Elena Voss, Chief Strategy Officer

My breath caught.

“You made this?”

“Started it the second Theo said you were back in your office. We launch in two weeks. Full press conference, live stream, takeover of every Voss platform. No soft re-entry. We hit hard.”

I scrolled. She’d mapped out teaser campaigns, short videos of me walking through the Voss tower halls, voice-over saying things like “I stepped away to build someone else’s dream. Now I’m building mine.”

“This is… aggressive,” I said.

“Good. Aggression is what you need right now.” She leaned in. “You’ve been invisible for four years. Damian’s world, Damian’s rules, Damian’s spotlight. Time to steal it back.”

I felt something shift in my chest, but real. Like a door cracking open after being locked too long.

“What if I’m not ready?” I asked quietly.

Victoria’s face softened. “You’re scared. That’s normal. But scared Elena still signs divorce papers in front of fifty cameras. Scared Elena still walks into her father’s building and claims her office. Scared Elena is stronger than the one who stayed quiet.”

I swallowed. “He called me this afternoon. Said I’d never outrun him.”

“Let him try to catch up.” She grinned wickedly, bright. “We’re going to make so much noise he won’t be able to hear himself think.”

We spent the next hour plotting.

She poured more champagne while I pulled up the streaming platform acquisition file from work. Together, we brainstormed tie-ins: exclusive Voss content drops timed with the launch, influencer partnerships, and a celebrity-hosted premiere event.

“Make it personal,” Victoria said. “The world knows the divorce story. Lean into it without saying it. Show them you’re not broken, you’re upgraded.”

I nodded, ideas firing faster than I could type.

By the third glass, we were laughing, real, loose laughter that hurt my sides.

She raised her flute again. “To the woman who finally chose herself.”

I clicked. “To never choose wrong again.”

We drank.

Then my phone lit up on the coffee table.

Damian.

I stared at it as it might bite.

Victoria saw. “Answer on speaker.”

I hesitated.

“Do it,” she said. “Let him hear you happy.”

I hit accept. Speaker.

“Elena.”

His voice filled the room, low, controlled, but I could hear the edge under it.

“Damian.”

A pause. “You’re with Victoria.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

Another pause. “I signed. It’s official.”

“I know.”

“I want to see you.”

Victoria mouthed: Tell him no.

“I’m busy,” I said.

“Busy celebrating?”

I looked at Victoria. She nodded, go for it.

“Something like that.”

Silence stretched. When he spoke again, his tone had dropped dangerous, intimate.

“You think a few drinks and a new title make you free?”

My grip tightened on the phone.

“I think signing my name on those papers made me free.”

Victoria gave me a thumbs-up.

He laughed, short, dark. “You’re still wearing my ring in your head, Elena. I can feel it.”

My left hand curled into a fist. The diamond was gone, pawned this morning on the way to the office, but his words landed anyway.

“I sold it,” I said. “This morning. The money’s going to charity.”

Victoria’s eyes went wide, proud.

Dead silence on his end.

Then: “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“No,” I said. “I’m done playing yours.”

I hung up.

The room went quiet except for the soft pop of bubbles in our glasses.

Victoria stared at me. “Holy shit. You just hung up on Damian Black.”

I exhaled, shaky, but steady. “Yeah.”

She grabbed my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”

We clinked again. Drank again.

But the high didn’t last long.

My phone buzzed once more. Not a call. A text.

From an unknown number.

One photo attached.

I, laughing on Victoria’s couch, champagne in hand, was taken from outside the window.

The loft was on the forty-second floor.

No balcony. No fire escape in sight.

Just glass.

My blood went cold.

Victoria leaned over. Saw the photo. Her face drained of color.

“Who the hell?”

I zoomed in.

In the reflection of the window, barely visible, a silhouette.

Broad shoulders.

Dark hair.

Too far to make out the face.

But I knew.

We both did.

Victoria whispered, “He’s watching.”

I stared at the image until it blurred.

The champagne suddenly tasted sour.

He hadn’t lied.

I couldn’t outrun him.

Not yet.

But tonight, for the first time, I didn’t want to hide.

I wanted to fight.

I set the phone down.

“Add a live stream to the launch,” I told Victoria. “Make it unscripted. Let the world see everything.”

She nodded slowly. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Because if Damian wanted to watch?

I’d give him a show he’d never forget.

And when the cameras turned on in two weeks?

He wouldn’t be the only one watching.

I’d be watching him right back.