Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 56: Sour Anger

Clement sat hunched over his desk, shoulders tense, jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

The reports before him lay scattered in controlled chaos, papers overlapping, some marked with red ink, others creased where his fingers had dug into them too hard.

Numbers stared back at him. Projections. Losses. Deadlines.

And there was the sixty million dollars... In one month. The figure pulsed in his head like a wound that refused to close.

Clement dragged a hand down his face, fingers catching briefly in his graying beard as he exhaled sharply. How was that even possible?

How was he supposed to pull that kind of money together in four weeks without collapsing everything he had spent decades building?

His foot bounced beneath the desk, a restless, anxious tell he hadn’t been able to suppress all morning.

Sixty million. One month. No extensions.

And the board...

His mouth twisted bitterly as he flipped to another page. The board members had barely bothered hiding it anymore. Side glances. Whispered conversations that fell silent when he entered the room. Polite smiles sharpened with calculation.

They were circling him like vultures, waiting for him to stumble so they could swoop in and replace him with someone younger, cleaner, easier to control. He already knew the gossip; they wanted to replace him, that the company’s profits weren’t much since his takeover.

That was why he had wanted Gianna’s shares.

The thought burned hot in his chest. With her shares, his bargaining power would have skyrocketed. He would have been untouchable. Irreplaceable. A man they couldn’t simply vote out over brunch and champagne.

It would have secured his position, silenced the dissenters, and reminded everyone exactly who held the reins.

Instead, Gianna had proven stubborn. Worse—vindictive.

Clement slammed his palm onto the desk, papers jumping at the impact. Sixty million dollars. Just for mere items owned by dead people. Things that should have been sentimental at best, worthless at worst.

That girl had done it purely to spite him. There was no other explanation. She had looked him in the eye and decided to ruin him.

Anger swamped him. Rage clawed up his throat, tightening his chest until breathing felt like work. For a moment, a vivid image flashed through his mind—Gianna’s defiant face, the calm in her eyes as she handed him his sentence—and he felt the visceral urge to tear her apart with his bare hands.

Ungrateful little bitch.

What made it worse was the ledger.

His jaw tightened again, a muscle jumping at his temple. The ledger had been his advantage. His wild horse in this game of chess. Proof. Leverage. Insurance.

Something he could dangle in front of the right people if things went south, something that could buy him time, money, loyalty.

And now Gianna had taken that too.

Clement leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He should have done away with her earlier. When he had the chance.

Still... His throat tightened. He needed her help. At least for the company...

He shook his head, looking at his phone. He shouldn’t call her.

He shouldn’t debase himself like that. Shouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Shouldn’t remind her that she had him cornered.

But desperation had a way of eroding pride.

Clement stared at the phone for several seconds before finally grabbing it, fingers moving stiffly as he pulled up her contact. He hit call.

The ringing seemed louder than usual, each tone stretching his nerves thinner. His foot bounced beneath the desk as he waited, pulse ticking in his ears.

She answered.

"Gianna."

"Good afternoon Mr. Clement..." Her voice was calm. Neutral. Distant.

Something in his chest twisted unpleasantly.

"We need to talk," Clement said immediately, wasting no time on pleasantries. "This situation—it’s gone too far."

Silence crackled on the line for a fraction of a second. Then, "I don’t agree."

His grip tightened on the phone. "Listen to me," he pressed. "You don’t understand the position you’re putting the company in."

"I understand perfectly," she replied, tone unyielding.

He closed his eyes briefly, irritation flaring. "I can fix this... I can give you the money," he said, leaning back in his chair, forcing his voice into something smoother, more persuasive. "I just need you to help me speak to Thorne. You know him. You have access I don’t. I need his help."

Another pause. Shorter this time. "No."

Clement straightened. "Gianna—"

"I’m not linking you to Mr. Thorne," she continued, cutting him off. "And I’m not negotiating."

His jaw flexed. "You’re being emotional," he snapped. "This is business."

"No," she said calmly. "This is consequence."

Rage surged, white-hot. "You’re making a mistake," he warned. "You think you’re winning, but you’re burning bridges you’ll need later."

But her breath sounded steady on the other end. "I’ve already crossed that bridge."

"Gianna—"

The line went dead.

Clement stared at the phone in disbelief, chest heaving. She had ended the call. Shut him out before he could say another word.

His hand shook slightly as he lowered the phone onto the desk. That girl wanted him ruined.

Clement leaned back in his chair, as regret seeped into his anger. He really should have done away with her earlier.

But how was he supposed to know that the puppy would bite him in the ass now?

More thoughts crowded in then. Desperate ones. About selling properties. Liquidating assets he had once paraded as symbols of his success.

The mere idea made his stomach churn.

Yet... At this rate, if the company’s profits continued to plunge, he would have no choice.

And Clement could not—would not—allow his position among the elites to be threatened. He had worked too hard, climbed too far, bled too much to be shoved aside like yesterday’s news.

A knock sounded on the door, dragging him from his thoughts.

Clement flinched, irritation flaring instantly. "Come in," he barked, harshly.

The door opened to reveal his secretary.

She was in her late twenties, a brunette. Her skirt hugged her hips, blouse crisp, hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that revealed a slender neck Clement’s gaze lingered on longer than necessary.

She smiled as she stepped inside, practiced and knowing, even as the scowl on his face remained firmly in place. "Good afternoon, sir."

"What is it?" Clement snapped, not bothering to soften his tone.

"You have a visitor."

He scoffed, pushing his chair back with a scrape as he stood. Without warning, he reached for her, fingers digging into her waist as he dragged her closer. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Her surprised laugh barely had time to leave her lips before his mouth crashed against hers, rough and demanding, all teeth and frustration. He needed release. Something to cut through the rage buzzing beneath his skin.

She broke away a second later, laughing breathlessly, hands braced against his chest. "Clement—"

"What’s the matter?" he cut in sharply, annoyance flaring when she didn’t immediately comply. "I sent your weekly allowance. Didn’t I?"

She rolled her eyes, amusement flickering there. "Your daughter is outside," she said. "And she looks angry."

The words hit like cold water.

Clement stiffened, desire evaporating as quickly as it had come. He bit back a curse, forcing his mind to jump to the financial reports on his desk, the red numbers, the looming deadline. The erection subsided as irritation took its place.

"Go," he said curtly.

The secretary smoothed her clothes as she turned to leave, professionalism snapping back into place as if nothing had happened. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Clement adjusted his own suit, tugging his jacket straight before sitting back down. He picked up one of the reports again, pretending to study it, eyes skimming without absorbing anything.

The door opened again almost immediately.

Sabrina breezed in like a storm, heels striking the floor with sharp, angry precision. Clement barely had time to look up before her voice filled the room.

"She has to be brought down," she snapped. "She has to be cut down, kicked away, reminded of her position."

Clement winced, a dull ache blooming behind his eyes. A headache was forming. The same Gianna? What had she done now?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What are you talking about, Sabrina?" he asked, already weary. "What has Gianna done this time?"

Sabrina was pacing now, crossing the length of the office and back again like a caged animal. "She’s participating in the convention," she said, as if that explained everything.

Clement frowned. "Of course she is," he replied. That was obvious. Ever since he realized that Gianna was no small designer.

He gestured vaguely with a hand. "And what’s the problem? Aren’t you a better designer?"

Sabrina stopped short, turning to stare at him as if he had just spoken utter nonsense. "Are you listening to me?" she demanded. "She needs to go. She needs to be gone."

She dumped herself into the chair opposite his desk, scrunching her nose as she glanced around the room. "And what is that smell?" she added, wrinkling her face. "Your secretary’s perfume is everywhere. It’s nauseating."

Clement held his breath, tension spiking as he waited for her to spiral further. To his relief, she redirected quickly, launching back into her tirade about Gianna with renewed fervor.

"Father," Sabrina said, leaning forward now, eyes bright with something dangerous, "I have a favor to ask of you..."