“He didn’t hit you by accident, Sarah,” Sterling said, his voice tight with fear. “Arthur is the current CEO. He expects to inherit everything today. If he knew you were coming… he was trying to stop you.”
“He told me my bloodline wasn’t worth his bumper,” I whispered.
“Arthur is ruthless. And he controls the board. The inheritance announcement is scheduled for three o'clock at the Vance estate in Bel Air. Richard’s entire board of directors will be there. If you don't show up to accept the transfer and sign the documents in front of them, the shares default to Arthur upon Richard's death. I will understand if you want to walk away. It is incredibly dangerous.”
I looked down at my stomach. I thought about my mother, working double shifts, hiding from monsters, dying alone on a wet highway. And I thought about Arthur Vance, laughing as he threw money at a pregnant woman in the dirt.
“I’m not walking away,” I said, my voice suddenly finding its steel.
An hour later, I was sitting in the back of Sterling’s chauffeured town car as it climbed the winding, manicured roads of Bel Air. The gates of the Vance estate loomed ahead, massive wrought-iron structures that parted silently as we approached.
The estate was a fortress of limestone and glass, overlooking the sprawling expanse of Los Angeles.
The town car pulled up the long, circular driveway, the tires crunching softly on the crushed white gravel. As we rounded the large central fountain, my breath hitched in my throat, and I felt Sterling stiffen beside me.
Parked perfectly in the center of the driveway, gleaming like a weapon in the afternoon sun, was the matte black Lamborghini Urus. The front bumper bore a faint, undeniable scratch exactly where it had hit me.
Arthur was already inside. And he thought he had already won.
CHAPTER 2
The heavy wooden doors of the Vance estate opened before Sterling could even raise his hand to knock. A butler in a spotless uniform bowed slightly, his eyes briefly dipping to the dirt stains on my maternity dress before snapping back up to maintain perfect professionalism.
“Mr. Sterling,” the butler said. “The board is assembling in the west wing. Mr. Vance requested that you bring our… guest… to the private study first.”
“Thank you, Harrison,” Sterling said, placing a reassuring hand on the small of my back.
The interior of the mansion was overwhelming. Cathedral ceilings, imported marble floors that echoed with every step, and walls lined with art that belonged in museums. It felt less like a home and more like a monument to unimaginable wealth. And Arthur had grown up in the center of it, believing every inch belonged exclusively to him.
We entered a private study off the main hall. An older woman with kind eyes and a tape measure around her neck was waiting for us, flanked by two rolling racks of clothing.
“Ms. Davis,” she said warmly. “Your father requested that I provide something suitable for the boardroom. First impressions carry significant weight with the directors. We don’t have much time, but I have several tailored options that can accommodate your pregnancy.”
I looked at Sterling. He nodded. “The board is conservative, Sarah. Arthur will try to paint you as an outsider, someone unqualified and desperate. You must not look like a victim today. You are the heir.”
Twenty minutes later, I looked in the floor-to-length mirror. The dirt-stained floral sundress was gone. In its place, I wore a sharply tailored black power suit, altered seamlessly to support my six-month belly. The fabric felt like armor. My hair was pulled back into a sleek, no-nonsense knot. I didn't look like a scared girl from the valley anymore. I looked like a woman who was coming for what belonged to her.
Sterling checked his watch. “It’s time.”
We walked down the long corridor toward the boardroom. As we approached, the heavy oak doors were cracked open, and the low, confident murmur of corporate power drifted into the hall.
We stopped just out of sight, listening.
“...and given my father’s declining condition, we all know this transition is merely a formality,” Arthur’s voice rang out, smooth, charismatic, and laced with absolute certainty. “Vance Tech requires strong, decisive leadership. My leadership. Today, my father steps down, and we secure the future of this company.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” a weak, gravelly voice replied.
My heart skipped a beat. It was my father.
“You have led the company effectively this year,” Richard Vance continued, each word sounding like it cost him immense physical effort. “But my legacy is not just about profit. It is about blood. It is about righting the wrongs of my past. I called this board here today not to crown you, Arthur, but to introduce you to your future.”
There was a shifting of chairs.
“I am transferring fifty-one percent of my voting shares, and the absolute controlling interest of the Vance estate, to my biological daughter,” Richard announced. “She has been lost to me for twenty-eight years. She has been found.”
The boardroom erupted into chaos. Overlapping shouts of confusion, protests from the directors, and a sharp, terrifying silence from Arthur.
“A daughter?” Arthur finally said, his voice cold and flat. “You’re delusional, Father. The medication is making you hallucinate. There is no daughter.”
Sterling pushed the heavy oak doors open.
I stepped into the room.
The boardroom was magnificent, walled entirely in glass overlooking a sweeping view of the city. Twelve directors in dark suits stopped talking simultaneously, turning to stare at me. At the head of the table sat Richard Vance in a wheelchair, looking frail and hollowed out by illness, but his eyes—my eyes—burned with sudden, brilliant life when he saw me.
But my attention snapped instantly to the right.