The Investor's Shadow

Trapped in the suffocating, tense atmosphere of the moving vehicle, Tasha looked back and forth between Sloane and Vance with wildly feigned surprise. She flashed an incredibly cunning, toxic smile that stretched uncomfortably wide across her face. She loudly clapped her hands together in mock delight, the sound sharp against the hum of the engine. "Owh great, you guys know each other. Sloane, care to tell me how you met?"

Sloane sat rigidly in the backseat, the expensive scent of the luxury car's leather interior doing nothing to soothe her racing pulse. She inwardly hurled vicious curses at her own momentary weakness for getting into the car in the first place, silently berating herself for not just walking away. Before she could formulate a cold deflection to shut down her cousin's agonizing game, the driver himself completely obliterated the tension.

Vance bluntly and shamelessly answered to the rearview mirror. "We dated."

Sloane immediately shot a lethal, freezing glare at Vance. Her eyes looked as though she was fully prepared to skin him alive right there in the driver's seat if he didn't instantly shut his mouth. His casual, unemotional tone infuriated her.

Smugly taking advantage of the explosive revelation and relentlessly rubbing salt deep into Sloane's fresh wounds, Tasha continued her psychological torture. She leaned back against the headrest and sighed dramatically, clearly reveling in the awkwardness. "Is that so? Well honestly, I don't mind that at all. Sloane, don't feel bad ok, I know Van loves me the most. I trust him."

Refusing to give them the immense satisfaction of a complete emotional breakdown, Sloane forcefully bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper. She maintained her composure, squared her shoulders, and merely offered a terrifyingly hollow smile, replying with a single, clipped sentence. "I see."

Treating the vehicle's arrival at the bustling filming site as her ultimate lifeline, Sloane frantically scrambled out of the car door before the tires even fully ground to a halt. The heavy door slammed shut behind her as she desperately sprinted away to escape the suffocating embarrassment and toxic air.

She quickly navigated the busy set, weaving through thick tangles of black electrical cables and towering light stands, and successfully located Director Declan near the main soundstage. The older man completely changed her mood by warmly introducing her to the various crew members and the incredibly talented cast. They walked from section to section, shaking hands with the camera operators and exchanging pleasantries with the props team. The only notable absence from the lively gathering was the highly anticipated female lead, who was scheduled to arrive specifically for the grand welcoming dinner the following evening.

After the production crew shared a communal, high-energy meal filled with easy laughter and casual industry gossip over paper plates, Director Declan approached Sloane privately. He wanted to ensure she was comfortably settling into her role as the screenwriter. As they spoke, he suddenly slapped his forehead, apologizing.

"Ms. Kensington, I forgot to introduce you to one of our primary investors," Declan said, and physically pulled her away from the noisy crowd, leading her toward the temporary production office set up in a nearby trailer.

The exact moment Sloane stepped into the cramped room, her fragile good mood instantly plummeted straight to the depths of hell. Standing there in a pristine, tailored suit was Vance. He stood by a makeshift desk, looking perfectly at ease in his surroundings. Her mind exploded in a furious internal monologue: *Why the heck do I have to meet this bastard everywhere I go?*

Completely unaware of the explosive, blood-boiling tension crackling between them, Director Declan enthusiastically introduced them. "So Sloane, this is Mr. Vance... you'll be seeing a lot more of him in the coming few days."

Desperately fighting the overwhelming, primal urge to wrap her hands around Vance's throat and strangle him to death right then and there, Sloane forced a heavily strained, highly professional smile. Her nails dug painfully deep into her palms. Through gritted teeth, she said, "Mr. Vance, thank you for investing."

Vance did not speak; he merely flashed a deeply arrogant smile and nodded his head, his dark eyes glinting with unspoken amusement.

Utterly incapable of standing within his physical presence for even one second longer, Sloane abruptly excused herself from the office, citing a sudden need to review her notes, and demanded a ride straight back to her hotel.

Blind to the passing city scenery on her long ride back, Sloane's mind was entirely consumed by dark, raging thoughts about the bastard who successfully ruined her first day of work. The bustling streets and towering skyscrapers blurred past the window. The second she unlocked her hotel room door, the quiet isolation of the room pressed in on her. She made an aggressive beeline straight for the mini wine cooler, desperately craving an immediate chemical antidote for her violently spiking stress levels.

Chanting under her breath as she yanked the small glass door open, she repeated the mantra. "Alcohol, alcohol, alcohol."

She grabbed a chilled bottle, uncorked it with shaking hands, and poured herself a massive glass of dry white wine. She absolutely did not care about the bitter, acidic taste as long as it successfully numbed her immense frustration; by the time she aggressively downed her third glass, the liquid went down smoothly, and the heavy, warm buzz began to hit her system, dissolving her anger into a desperate, alcohol-fueled need for comfort.

Pulling out her smartphone, she angrily scrolled through her contacts. Her vision blurred slightly around the edges of the bright screen until she found her target and dialed his number. The exact moment the line connected, she unloaded her emotional baggage like a machine gun, refusing to even let the other person breathe.

She loudly ranted into the receiver. "You know what I hate the most? It's when the person I hate just shows up out of nowhere, stays at the exact same hotel as me, and the absolute worst of it all, I have to tolerate his arrogant face cause guess what? He is one of the freacken investors. I'm so livid right now you don't even know."

Miles away, the man on the other side of the phone heavily frowned. He held the phone slightly away from his ear, slightly confused by the sudden auditory assault, before coolly asking a single question.

"Are you drunk?"