Sloane Montgomery didn't believe in revenge.
Not in the petty, emotional sense, at least. She believed in strategy. In action and consequence. In making sure that every move made against her was repaid tenfold.
Vincent had made his move.
Now, it was her turn.
She leaned back in her chair as the call connected, tapping her nails lightly against the polished wood of her desk. The other end rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Sloane," a smooth, masculine voice greeted. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting a call from you today."
Sloane smiled, slow and deliberate. "Stefan, darling. I figured it was time for us to catch up."
Lena, still standing beside her desk, let out a quiet curse.
Stefan Edgar wasn't just an investor. He was one of the most influential men in international business, a power broker with deep ties in both the financial and political world. He was also the last person Vincent Saint-Clair would want involved in their engagement.
Stefan chuckled, clearly intrigued. "And here I thought you were too busy planning the wedding of the century."
Her grip on the phone tightened slightly, but her voice remained smooth. "You've seen the headlines, then?"
"Hard to miss," Stefan mused. "Though I have to admit, I was surprised. You've never struck me as the type to marry for anything less than absolute control."
Sloane exhaled a soft laugh. "What makes you think I'm not?"
That made him pause. She could practically hear the gears turning in his mind. Stefan was no fool, he knew marriages like these were rarely about love.
But that wasn't why she had called him.
"I need a favor," she said, keeping her tone casual, as if she were asking him to join her for lunch instead of setting the next phase of her plan in motion.
Stefan hummed, considering. "And what exactly does the stunning Sloane Montgomery need from me?"
Sloane glanced at Lena, who was watching her like she had just detonated a bomb in the middle of her office.
She turned back to the call, her smile sharpening. "I need you to give the press something better than Vincent's little wedding feature."
A pause. Then, amusement colored Stefan's voice. "Oh, this is interesting."
She crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. "I thought you might think so."
"You want to shift the narrative."
"Exactly."
Another pause. "And what exactly do I get in return?"
Sloane smirked. "Aside from the pleasure of Vincent's irritation?"
Stefan chuckled. "Tempting, but I'll need more than that."
"I'll have my team send over a proposal," she said smoothly. "But let's just say there's a prime piece of real estate in Milan that I know you've been eyeing."
Stefan hummed, clearly pleased. "You always know how to sweeten the deal, don't you?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"Alright," he said after a moment. "I'll make some calls. Expect something to hit the press by the end of the day."
Sloane's smirk deepened. "Pleasure doing business with you, Stefan."
"The pleasure," he said smoothly, "is all mine."
She ended the call and set her phone down, exhaling slowly.
Lena, still standing beside her desk, stared at her like she had grown horns.
"You just called Stefan Edgar," Lena said, her voice somewhere between awe and horror. "The man Vincent nearly ripped apart in Monaco."
Sloane arched a brow. "And?"
Lena let out a low whistle. "Vincent is going to lose his mind."
Sloane's smile was pure satisfaction.
"Good."
Vincent had made his move.
Now, it was her turn to make him regret it.
The news broke before noon.
By the time Sloane finished her meetings and returned to her office, Lena was already waiting, tablet in hand, looking far too entertained.
"It's everywhere," she said, handing over the device. "Just like you wanted."
Sloane glanced at the screen, scanning the headlines.
Vincent Saint-Clair & Sloane Montgomery: Business deal or Fairy-tale romance?
She scrolled further. New questions. New speculation. Stefan had delivered beautifully. The press had gone from blindly accepting Vincent's "exclusive" wedding feature to questioning it altogether.
Another headline caught her attention.
An insider close to the couple says there's more to this marriage than love.
Sloane smirked, clicking on the article. Stefan had been careful, but his fingerprints were all over it. The language was vague, but the message was clear: This was more than just an engagement. This was a calculated move between two families.
And now? Vincent's perfect love story was falling apart before it had even begun.
Lena exhaled a quiet laugh. "Remind me never to piss you off."
Sloane didn't respond. She was too busy watching the news update in real time, too busy waiting.
Because there was only one thing left to happen.
And right on cue, her phone buzzed.
Vincent.
Sloane exhaled slowly, letting the call ring once. Twice. Then, finally, she picked up.
"Saint-Clair."
A pause. Then came his voice, low and dangerously calm.
"Sweetheart," Vincent murmured. "I hope you know exactly what you've just started."
Sloane's smirk deepened. "Oh, darling," she whispered, leaning back in her chair.
"I was just getting started."
The silence on the line stretched, thick and heavy.
Sloane could almost picture him, somewhere in his glass-walled office, fingers curled around a glass of whiskey, jaw clenched as he fought to keep his temper in check.
The thought sent a ripple of satisfaction down her spine.
"What's wrong, Vincent?" she drawled, tapping her nails against her desk. "Did you think I'd just let you have the last word?"
His low chuckle sent heat skimming across her skin. "I underestimated you."
It wasn't a compliment, it was a warning.
Sloane's smirk deepened. "That's your first mistake, Saint-Clair."
Vincent went quiet again, but she could feel him on the other end of the line. Calculating. Plotting. Waiting to strike back.
He thrived in the shadows, in long games played over months and years. But Sloane?
She thrived in chaos.
"You know what I like about you, Sloane?" Vincent finally murmured, voice smooth as smoke.
Her pulse skipped, just once.
She crossed her legs slowly, leaning back in her chair like he wasn't affecting her. "I'm sure you'll tell me."
"You're ruthless." There was something almost admiring in his tone. Almost. "You fight dirty when you want to. I respect that."
Sloane smirked. "I wasn't aware I needed your respect."
"You don't." His voice dipped lower. "But you want it."
Her breath caught, just for a second.
God, he was infuriating. Arrogant. Calculated. Dangerous.
And the worst part? He wasn't wrong.
She hated how much she wanted to prove herself to him. Hated that this entire game was starting to feel less like a business transaction and more like a battle neither of them wanted to win.
Sloane shifted in her chair, clearing her throat. "If you called to stroke your own ego, Saint-Clair, you're wasting my time."
Vincent's low laugh sent shivers down her spine.
"I called to remind you," he murmured, voice slow and lethal, "that you don't want to start a war with me."
Sloane's fingers tightened around her pen.
He was baiting her, dangling control just out of reach, waiting to see if she would snap.
She wouldn't. Not yet.
"You're mistaken, darling," she purred. "The war already started the moment you walked into my office."
The line went quiet again, but this time the silence felt heavier, thicker.
When Vincent finally spoke, his voice was lower. Darker.
"And how exactly do you think this ends?"
Sloane's pulse flickered, but she forced herself to sound bored.
"With me on top, obviously."
A sharp breath crackled through the speaker, so quiet she almost missed it.
But she didn't.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both knew she had just crossed into dangerous territory.
"You like provoking me, don't you?"
Sloane smirked. "Someone has to keep you on your toes."
Vincent's chuckle was low and indulgent, like he was letting her think she was winning.
"I should warn you, sweetheart…" His voice dropped lower. "I play better when I'm angry."
Sloane's pulse skipped again, heat flickering down her spine, because so did she.
The tension between them stretched too tight, too thin, the air crackling through the line.
He was waiting for her to break.
To flinch. To fall first.
But Sloane Montgomery never fell first.
She exhaled slowly, schooling her features into something cold and detached.
"I'll see you at the photoshoot next week, Vincent," she said, her voice light and careless. "Try not to miss me too much."
She hung up before he could respond.
But not before she heard his quiet, dark laugh like he knew exactly what she was doing.
By the time the sun dipped below the Paris skyline, the article Stefan had promised was splashed across every major news outlet.
Inside the Saint-Clair & Montgomery Engagament: Power couple or Corporate merger?
The story danced around the rumors, never confirming or denying. It hinted at a relationship built on strategy, a carefully crafted alliance between two dynasties.
It was exactly what she wanted.
The cracks were already showing.
By the end of the week, the whispers would grow louder.
The perfect couple. The perfect deal. The perfect lie.
Sloane stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse that night, a glass of wine in hand as she watched the city flicker beneath her.
Her phone buzzed against the marble countertop.
A text from Vincent.
Enjoy your little victory, sweetheart. It won't last.
Sloane smirked, taking a slow sip of wine.
Oh, darling. This isn't a victory.
It's a warning.
The next morning, she arrived at Montgomery Atelier headquarters dressed to kill.
The photoshoot was set for noon, a full feature spread for LUXE Business, complete with behind-the-scenes interviews and carefully staged candid moments.
It was supposed to sell the perfect illusion of them.
What the cameras didn't know was that the war had already begun.
Sloane stepped out of the sleek black Rolls-Royce, her fitted ivory dress hugging every inch of her curves, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose.
She could feel the weight of every gaze on her as she walked through the glass doors, employees whispering, cameras flashing.
She always knew how to make an entrance.
Vincent was already there, leaning casually against the marble reception desk like he hadn't spent half the night trying to figure out how to rip apart everything she'd built.
His navy suit was perfectly tailored, his tie loose at the collar. Unbothered and unshaken.
Their eyes locked across the room, heat flickering like a match striking against dry paper.
Sloane smirked, stepping into his space without missing a beat.
"Good morning, fiancé," she purred.
Vincent's gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate.
"Sweetheart." His voice was low, just for her. "I almost didn't recognize you without your claws out."
Sloane leaned in slightly, her perfume wrapping around him like smoke.
"They're still there," she whispered. "I just sharpened them."
Vincent's smirk flickered, dark and dangerous.
And Sloane knew, without a doubt, that by the end of this day, one of them was going to bleed.