Revenge Served Cold I Reclaimed My Love and Power

Ten years ago, I mustered the courage to confess my feelings to him. He smiled faintly, saying he liked me too, but he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Instead, he suggested we aim for Ivory Heights Academy together, painting a picture of a shared dream.

But just days later, I saw him stepping into a sleek car belonging to a wealthy girl. Desperation clawed at me as I tried to stop him. He stepped out, his gaze cold and unyielding.

“Your affection for me means nothing,” he said, his voice cutting through me like a blade. “Amara can take me to places you never could. Even if she’s just toying with me, I’d rather be her plaything in luxury than waste my time on worthless emotions.”

I stood frozen, my heart splintering as his words echoed in my mind. Then, Amara Sterling emerged from the car, her tone dripping with contempt. “Run her over and claim insurance,” she ordered the driver, her voice as sharp as the roar of the Bentley’s engine.

My legs buckled, and I crumpled to the ground, trembling. Amara walked around to him, looping her arm through his as if to stake her claim. She cast me a look of pure disdain, sneering, “Hah, a pauper.”

He glanced at me one last time, his expression unreadable but distant, and said, “Forget me.”

Ten years later, I returned to the city, no longer the forgotten face of my youth but a rising star in the business world. Fate played its hand with perfect irony; a class reunion, held at my very own private club, brought me facetoface with ghosts of the past.

——

Midnight Reverie wasn’t just a venue; it was a testament to my success, a haven reserved for Bellemont’s elite. When I acquired it, profit hadn’t been my intention. It was a carefully crafted sieve, separating the influential from the insignificant, ensuring only the best crossed its thresholds.

Only those commanding wealth exceeding a hundred billion or wielding significant social clout could earn an invitation. Tonight’s guest, however, was exceptional: Jaxon Alderidge, the man steering Bellemont’s economy.

He was a minimalist in every sense. No wine, no indulgent luxuries, just coffee. And not even the extravagant kind. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we sealed a multibilliondollar deal with the ease of old friends.

Just as his phone buzzed with a call from the city office, I excused myself from the room.

Outside, Westley Kingsley, my assistant, approached. His tall frame, sharp features, and undeniable charisma commanded attention.

"Ms. Calloway, a secondgeneration real estate heir, has just arrived at Amber Crescent Pavilion downstairs. Would you like to meet him?" Westley asked, his smile carrying a touch of intrigue.

I cast a glance back at the private room, where Jaxon was engrossed in his call, then nodded. "Alright, let’s see what this is about."

Waiting around for Jaxon didn’t make sense; his calls had always dragged on for ages. As a businesswoman, my time was currency, and networking with industry leaders was how I invested it. Anyone Westley deemed significant was certainly worth my attention.

I descended to Amber Crescent Pavilion, a fine bottle of wine in hand, and knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," a voice called from within.

I stepped inside, my smile poised and courteous, but as my eyes swept the room, I froze midstep.

The faces before me were painfully familiar, yet time had rendered them distant, almost foreign. At the head of the table, commanding the room with effortless authority, was Amara. Even after a decade, the memory of her Bentley’s roar and those scornful words, “Hah, a pauper,” remained vivid, etched like a scar.

And then, my gaze landed on him, Gabriel Montgomery. The man who had dismissed my love as worthless now sat by Amara’s side, cradling a delicate little girl as though he had mastered the art of tenderness.

My mind drifted back to five years ago, in Cedarwick, where I had stumbled upon him. He had been locked in negotiations, cornered by coercion to drink. When he refused, the price of his defiance had been a sharp slap across his face.

I stepped in to diffuse the tension, sensing the situation teetering on the edge of chaos. He turned to me, his eyes glassy, and muttered that he wanted a drink.

As the night wore on, he surrendered to the haze of alcohol. Disheveled and crumbling under the weight of his own emotions, he said it was a matter of dignity, a line he wouldn’t cross.

But wasn’t this the same man who once sneered he’d rather be toyed with in opulence than drown in “worthless feelings”? Now, after five long years, he spoke of dignity as if it were a sacred relic he’d just unearthed.

But hadn’t he once claimed he’d rather be toyed with in luxury than entertain worthless feelings?

Why, after five years, had he suddenly unearthed his socalled dignity?

I asked him how much his dignity was worth; I’d buy it.

He cried, his tears streaming down, but stubbornly wiped them away and said it wasn’t for sale. Instead, he told me he’d give it to me for free.

I told him, "If you dare to give it, I dare to take it."

That night, I brought him home. But when I woke up, he was gone.

I had once considered finding him, even entertaining the humiliating thought of trying to win him back.

But in the end, I had let go.

I left the capital, assuming he was still toiling away at his career. To my surprise, he, too, had returned to Bellemont.

"Daddy, Briar wants shrimp," the sweet little girl piped up, her voice as delicate as her features.

So, he had a child?

Had he also gotten married?

Had he married Amara?

Amara’s voice cut through the thoughts, "Come here, Briar. Mommy will get you some shrimp."

She shot me a glance, one laced with a challenge, before returning her attention to Gabriel.

"Old classmate, it’s been ten years, hasn’t it?"

"I heard you got into Ivory Heights Academy back then. How did you go from that to being a waiter?"

With a flourish, Amara placed the shrimp on the little girl’s plate and then turned her gaze back to me, her expression dripping with disdain.

"You’re almost thirty, yet you’re still just a waiter? Isn’t that a little embarrassing? At least you could’ve become a supervisor."

Her words hung in the air, followed by the laughter of those around us.

Everyone in the room, just like ten years ago, instinctively fell in line behind Amara.

Their logic was simple: whoever Amara mocked, they would follow suit, eager to gain some favor in exchange for future benefits.

Back in school, those benefits might have been something as trivial as a pack of cigarettes she carelessly tossed aside.

Now, they likely hoped for something as valuable as a respectable job.

For the sake of survival, I couldn’t entirely fault their behavior.

I smiled, the gesture as cool as ever, and placed the bottle of wine down. My eyes met Amara’s.

"I’m just here to drop off a bottle of wine. I hope you all enjoy your evening," I said, my tone smooth and poised.

With that, I turned to leave.

I had briefly entertained the idea of revealing my true identity, of putting this spoiled girl in her place.

But a seasoned businesswoman knows better. Grace and selfcontrol always trump childish antics.

Such petty behavior wasn’t worth my time.

As for Gabriel… I didn’t spare him a second glance.

It was pointless.

He was married now, with a child. What was the point of lingering on the past? Why entangle myself in it any longer?

But then, a voice cut through the air.

"Cassia, Amara didn’t say you could leave."

I turned to see Matthews Whitlock.

He had risen to his feet, as always, Amara’s faithful lackey. Ten years ago, he had been the same, and here he was now, still playing his part.

His position near the door was no accident. It was the place of someone who existed only to run errands for her at a moment’s notice.

Amara stood, too, pushing herself up from the table with a grace that still made her seem untouchable.

"Cassia, it's been ten years," she said, her voice dripping with a feigned sweetness. "Since you've come this far to our reunion, why not join us for a while?"

I smiled faintly, my gaze cool.

"I still have work to do," I replied, my voice calm.

"I’ll do my best to become a supervisor before I turn thirty."

Another round of uproarious laughter followed as if I had just told the most absurd joke.

I couldn’t understand what they found so funny.

Was being a supervisor at Midnight Reverie really something to laugh at?

Sure, after all the deductions for insurance and housing, it left me with about 20,000 a month. Add the thirteenthmonth salary and benefits, and it wasn’t a laughable sum by any means.

Was that truly so ridiculous?

I took a closer look at them.

Their clothes were neat and polished, sure, but they were nothing more than offtherack items, the kind anyone could pick up at a mall.

The car keys scattered across the table were mostly for mid to lowend vehicles.

Yet, despite it all, their eyes gleamed with a smug superiority as though they owned the world.

Where did that inflated sense of accomplishment come from?

Nyla Merrick, catching my glance at the car keys, sneered with a mixture of pride and disdain.

"Cassia, don’t tell me you don’t even have a car?" she mocked. "My Ford may only cost a little over a hundred thousand, but at least it’s got four wheels. Are you still riding around on that electric scooter?"

I met her gaze, unfazed. "Oh, I use shared bikes," I replied calmly.

My highrise apartment was just a stone’s throw away from the club, and biking was often quicker and more convenient than any car.

Laughter followed once again, the same hollow sound as before.

It seemed like, without me, they had no one left to mock.

After all, they were all just Amara’s lackeys; they couldn’t very well ridicule one another.

Nyla turned to Gabriel with a smirk, her words dripping with false sweetness.

"Gabriel, you made a wise choice breaking up with her back then. If you hadn’t, you might be sitting on a bike, crying your eyes out right now."

They laughed again, the sound echoing through the room, especially Matthews, who stood opposite me. He threw his head back, laughing so hard that I could see every one of his molars.

Gabriel’s face, however, looked like a ghost, pale and tense. He averted his gaze, his eyes darting away like he was running from something.

What was he so afraid of?

Was he worried I'd dredge up that night in the capital?

I wasn’t that petty.

Amara’s fingers tapped the table, silencing the laughter almost instantly. She pointed at me, her voice thick with mockery.

“Cassia, stay here. I’ll talk to Assistant Westley later. I’m sure he can move you up to a supervisor position. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

When I didn’t respond, she gave a chuckle.

“You probably don’t even know who Assistant Westley is, do you? He’s the owner’s assistant here. Someone like you, just a lowly server, would never get the chance to meet him.”

“Even if you had the chance to meet him, do you really think someone as highprofile as Assistant Westley, someone even Amara’s father treats with the utmost respect, would bother with someone like you?”

“Oh, maybe,” she continued, her voice dripping with mockery, “but Cassia is pretty enough. Perhaps Assistant Westley would take her in as his mistress.”

The words had barely left her lips when Nyla let out a laugh full of scorn.

“So what if he did? Even as a mistress, she’d still be no better than a dog, at best, just a pet.”

For a moment, I wondered if I’d somehow wronged their ancestors; had I stolen their family's honor in some past life? Was all this necessary?

But the truth was, I couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t have the time or the energy to argue with them. Besides, the last thing I wanted was for them to find out who I really was. If they did, I’d soon be drowning in sycophants, all trying to suck up to me like parasites. What a bother.

“Enjoy yourselves, everyone. I really have to go now, or I’ll lose my job,” I said, forcing a smile as I turned to leave.

Just then, Matthews shoved me suddenly, his hand pushing against my shoulder with a little more force than necessary.

“Cassia, are you refusing to accept a little facesaving gesture?”

“When Amara shows you respect, you kneel and accept it, hands outstretched,” Matthews jabbed, pointing his finger straight at me.

I met his gaze with calm defiance before nodding. “Alright, I’ll accept it. I won’t leave.”

“That’s better,” Matthews said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction as he patted my cheek.

It was his right hand. The one that had never lifted a finger for anyone else except to mock them.

Amara pointed to the corner where a decorative oak barrel sat. “There are no more chairs. You can sit on that.”

Laughter erupted again, raw and unrestrained.

I didn’t respond, only shook my head and chuckled softly. How utterly childish.

Without another word, I walked over and lowered myself onto the barrel.

Suddenly, Gabriel stood up, his voice sharp. “Alright, that’s enough. Everyone, stop messing around. Cassia, just leave already.”

Amara shot him a cold, calculating glance. “What’s this? Are you feeling sorry for her?”

“No,” Gabriel snapped, his voice thick with disdain, “I just don’t want to see her.”

I couldn’t help but notice the tightness in his voice. It was clear he was terrified. Terrified that I might expose the past, the thing that could destroy everything he had with Amara.

“You don’t have to look at her,” Amara said, her smile as cold as ice. She sat down and then turned her gaze on me. “But I, on the other hand, quite enjoy watching Cassia. It’s like… watching a monkey perform. Haven’t seen one in ages.”

Matthews chuckled darkly. “Cassia, why don’t you quit here and go work at Amara’s company as a cleaner? Maybe seeing you would cheer her up, and she might toss you a banana or two for your trouble.”

Laughter erupted around me.

I remained unbothered. “Being a cleaner isn’t for me. When I have the money, I’ll just buy Amara’s company. I want to be the boss.”

The room fell silent before the laughter roared even louder.

Gabriel didn’t join in. His eyes turned a shade of red as he stared at me, almost pleading, as if silently begging me to leave.

Amara’s laughter faded before she spoke, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Cassia, if you really manage to get rich, I’ll definitely sell you the company. But by the time you have the money, my company will be worth even more.”

I didn’t dignify her words with a response.

Matthews played along eagerly, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Amara, what’s this about? Does the company have a new, big project lined up?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve heard whispers that the owner of The Secret Hour Club is a brilliant young talent, brought back at great expense by Bellemont’s top figure.”

“They say this person doesn’t get involved unless it’s a project worth over ten billion.”

“Bellemont’s business scene has been struggling recently, with half of the new development zone sitting empty. But rumor has it, this person is here specifically to tackle that.”

“My dad has ties to the top figure in Bellemont,” Amara said with a smug grin, basking in the attention. “If we can secure a slice of this project, we’ll be swimming in profits again.”

With that, Amara turned back to me, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Cassia, I still remember how you almost wet yourself when you saw my family’s Bentley all those years ago. I still have it, you know. Can you drive now? If so, come work as my driver. I’ll let you take it for a spin.”

“I’ve only ever driven domestic cars,” I said with a calm shrug.

Laughter erupted once again, their voices filling the air.

Were their jokes truly that funny? Even when I had attended a standup comedy show at Mystique Lounge in the capital, the laughs hadn’t come this easily.

The longer I remained calm, the more their frustration grew. It was like punching cotton, with no resistance and no satisfaction. They started to get annoyed, especially Amara, who clearly enjoyed keeping me as her personal punching bag.

She pointed at a bottle of liquor on the table with a smug smile. “Cassia, have you ever tasted Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc? It’s quite pricey. Here’s your chance to try it. If you finish the whole bottle, I’ll let you go.”

I didn’t drink; alcohol had a nasty way of messing with the mind.

“I don’t drink,” I replied, shaking my head.

The antics continued, and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was time to lay my cards on the table. “Amara, I’m the owner of The Secret Hour Club. The billiondollar project you’re so eager to talk about? That’s mine.”

I spoke with a calm, unwavering seriousness.

Instead of believing, I was met with mocking expressions, like they were watching some kind of circus act.

And, predictably, they burst into laughter once again.

Matthews pointed at me with a smirk. "Cassia, you’ve really got guts. Did you major in boasting at Ivory Heights?"

"I’m dying over here! Why don’t you just claim to be Kaia Morgan while you’re at it?" Nyla joined in, her laughter ringing out like a bell.

I sighed, glancing at them with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Is there something wrong with your perception? Have you ever seen an Ivory Heights grad working as a server?"

They paused, but the disdain still lingered in their eyes.

Amara sneered, her voice dripping with condescension. "Does it matter? Whether you’re a server or not, you’re still a pauper compared to me."

She stood, pointed at the bottle of liquor, and smirked. "Drink it, or I’ll smash it over your head. Your choice."

"If I drink it, can I leave?" I asked, my voice calm but laced with sarcasm.

Before I could say more, Gabriel suddenly stood up. He grabbed the bottle, inhaled deeply, and then, without a hint of hesitation, said, "I’ll drink it for her, and then she can go."

Why was he helping me?

Was he afraid that if I stayed, I’d lose my patience and bring up that night?

I stared at him, my heart tangled with emotions I couldn't quite keep in check.

Just then, the door to Amber Crescent Pavilion creaked open.

Westley and Jaxon walked in, one after the other, making a subtle but noticeable entrance.

Jaxon, a familiar face in the local news, drew immediate recognition from the room.

Westley, my assistant, had also been in the public eye enough to be somewhat known.

As soon as Amara spotted them, her eyes lit up with a sudden eagerness. She practically flew across the room, her smile oozing sweetness as she bowed. "Uncle Jaxon, Assistant Westley, what brings you here today?"

The others quickly followed suit, rising from their seats in unison.

I, however, remained firmly planted on the oak barrel, unbothered.

Amara’s sharp gaze flicked to me, and she scolded, her voice thick with anger, "Cassia, get up! Don’t you see who’s here?"