Helen's POV
I stepped into my new penthouse, and Mila was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, utterly absorbed.
I laughed, shaking my bag loose from my shoulder and letting it thump onto the floor. The sound made her look up, startled.
"Helen!" she squealed. "I didn't hear you come in."
"You wouldn't," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Always glued to that screen."
Mara appeared, glancing at the bag. "I'll take this upstairs for you, Miss Vance."
"Thanks," I said, letting her lift it easily while I lingered behind Mila.
We climbed the sleek staircase together, our laughter echoing lightly against the polished floors. The soft glow from the pendant lights bounced off her hair, and I couldn't help but smile at how genuinely excited she seemed. She's nothing like Silas… nothing like anyone who ever tried to hurt me.
"This is your room," I said when we reached the top. "Adjacent to mine. If you need anything, just…" I paused, caught by the warmth of her wide grin, "ask me."
"Thanks, Helen!" she said, skipping inside.
I turned back downstairs, where Mara was neatly placing my luggage in the corner. My fingers brushed the handle of the frying pan I'd set on the counter earlier. Cooking grounded me, gave me peace I didn't know I needed. My father had taught me to cook; I had never expected to be grateful for anything from him, but here I was.
The scent of roasted chicken and creamy macaroni curled through the room. Mila's voice floated up the stairs. "What's that smell? Come on, I'm starving!"
"Have your seat" I called back, stirring the macaroni.
When she joined me, her eyes widened. "Wow. You made my favorite" She dipped her spoon, closed her eyes, and savored the first bite.
I let myself relax just a little. For a moment, the penthouse, the laughter, the smell of food. It finally felt like a home.
Then my phone buzzed. Tessa: I have scheduled a meeting with the investors.
I dropped my phone onto the counter. I didn't know why an anonymous company was suddenly so invested in Vance Global, but allies would be necessary. The legacy my father built couldn't fall apart. Not now.
****
Next morning came, I prepared to meet the investors. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the silver streaks in my hair. I double-checked the proposal documents, placing them neatly in a leather portfolio.
I didn't bother telling Derick. I didn't need him hovering over every move. I needed to do this myself.
The ride to the investor's office was quiet. I stared out the tinted windows, mind racing over the company's numbers, potential offers, and what kind of allies these unknown investors might be.
The building towered over the street, all glass and steel. A polished brass plaque near the entrance read "Volkvo Capital Partners." I barely noticed it, my mind on the meeting ahead.
The receptionist gave me a polite nod as I stepped inside, her gesture courteous but automatic.
"Miss Vance," a crisp voice called, pulling me from my thoughts. "Right this way, please." She led me toward the boardroom, heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
The room smelled faintly of polished wood and citrus cleaner. Glass walls reflected the city skyline behind them. Three men and two women sat at the table, watched as I approached and stood to shake my hand.
"Please, have a seat. I'm Adrian," the man said, gesturing toward the leather chair opposite them. I didn't wait for the invitation, I took the seat with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you own more than just the room.
"Let's begin," I said, sliding the portfolio across the table. "I assume you've reviewed the preliminary figures. We can discuss growth potential, market expansion, and your expected involvement afterward."
"But why remain anonymous? Why invest without revealing your firm?"
They tilted their heads, smiling faintly. "Sometimes, the safest hands are those unseen. Discretion is as important as capital."
A low murmur of agreement ran through the group. They weren't here to waste time.
Who is your boss? I asked
"He prefers not to be available," the woman said, the name on her badge says Caroline.
I moved through the slides, highlighting revenue streams, acquisitions, and untapped markets. Questions came fast, pointed. I answered each without hesitation, my words precise, my tone steady.
One of the men, older, silver hair slicked back, spoke. "Ms. Vance, your leadership is… impressive. But you travel this path alone?" I inhaled, smiling tight. "I make decisions independently because I must. Allies can be useful, but control is essential."
A flicker of irritation crossed his face, subtle but clear. "Control is necessary, yes. But delegation shows strength. Even the strongest need counsel."
I didn't answer immediately. My fingers drummed lightly on the portfolio. "I assure you, I am aware of my responsibilities. And I know when to delegate."
The group exchanged glances, then nodded. "Very well," said the woman with dark hair.
"We are ready to move forward. Terms will be drafted, but we expect transparency moving forward."
I smiled, standing. "Agreed. Thank you for your time."
As I stepped out of the boardroom, my phone buzzed. A message from Derick: "Why didn't you tell me? I could have accompanied you.
I scowled, tapping a sharp reply: "I'm capable of handling my own meetings. I don't need a bodyguard as an escort."
His response came seconds later: "You could've been in danger going alone."
I shoved the phone back in my bag. My thoughts refused to settle; the investors, their interest, the hidden agenda behind their anonymity. I couldn't shake the feeling there was more than capital at play.
Back at the penthouse, I dropped into the sofa, letting the weight of the morning sink in. The aroma of the dinner I had prepared the night before still lingered faintly.
Derick appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed."Why did you go alone?" he hissed.
"And why should I answer that?" I retorted, sitting straighter. "I told you I can manage. Not everything requires your protection."
He stepped closer, his gaze hard. "You don't go anywhere without telling me." His fingers caught my jaw, tilting my face up.
"Fuck off," I shot back. His grip loosened, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.
"Don't pull that shit again." He turned and walked out.
I scoffed under my breath. What is wrong with him?
I opened my email, scrolling absently until an unknown sender stopped me. I tapped it, and the message loaded. My thumb hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. My eyes flicked over the words again, slower this time, as if reading them differently might change the truth. The room felt smaller, and my heart hammered in my ears.