Chapter 4

Priyanka leaned back in her leather office chair, fingers drumming against the armrests with barely contained exhilaration. The boardroom still smelled faintly of expensive cologne and the sharp tang of betrayal—her betrayal, executed flawlessly. Every last one of those corporate vipers who’d underestimated her now sat in unemployment offices or airport lounges fleeing the country. She’d gutted Chopra Corporation like a fish and rearranged its skeleton to her liking. The thought made her lips curl into a vicious smile as she swirled the remnants of her whiskey, the ice cubes clinking like tiny bones.

Later, in the cavernous marble bathroom of her penthouse, steam curled around her naked body as she scraped the day off her skin with scalding water. She tilted her head back, letting the spray pound against her throat, her collarbones, the heavy swell of her breasts. Power thrummed through her veins hotter than the water. She toweled off roughly, admiring the red marks left behind—proof she could take whatever she dished out.

The bedroom was a kingdom of shadows and silk. She sprawled across the bed, fingers tracing idle patterns over her stomach before sliding lower. Thoughts of Heffner ambushed her—his stupidly perfect jawline, the way his tailored suits clung to shoulders that could pin her down effortlessly. Disgust coiled in her gut. She’d destroyed him too, hadn’t she? Wiped that smug grin off his face when she’d exposed his embezzlement. Yet her thighs pressed together at the memory of how he’d looked at her during the final board meeting—like he wanted to drag her out by the hair and fuck her against the nearest wall.

Her phone glowed in the dark as she pulled up FilthyRichXXX, the site she kept hidden behind three VPNs. Black muscle straining against pale skin, sweat-slick bodies moving in ways that made her bite her lip. The vibrator buzzed to life against her clit, a familiar sting of electricity. She arched off the mattress as two fingers plunged into her soaked cunt, imagining it was Heffner’s cock splitting her open instead. “You hate me,” she whispered to the empty room, riding her hand faster. “That’s why you’re hard for me right now, isn’t it?” The orgasm ripped through her so violently she saw stars, her cry muffled by a silk pillow.

Saturday blurred past in a haze of designer boutiques and champagne lunches. She bought a snakeskin bodysuit with no back, thigh-high boots that could double as weapons, and a diamond choker tight enough to leave marks. That night, she dreamed of boardrooms morphing into dungeons, of Heffner forcing her to her knees with a hand fisted in her hair while shareholders applauded.

Sunday morning found her sprawled across a spa table as strangers buffed and polished every inch of her. The aesthetician’s hands lingered too long on her inner thighs. Priyanka let her. Later, at the cinema, she smuggled in a flask of bourbon and laughed too loud at the violent climax of the thriller, her pulse jumping with each gunshot. By the time her Uber dropped her off, exhaustion draped over her like a lead blanket.