Chapter 3 The Thirty Billion Heiress

"Mr. Vance has agreed to let you remain in Riverstone for the time being," Barnes stated, meticulously detailing the terms of the new arrangement. He held out a sleek, leather-bound folder containing the official documents. The bodyguards stood like imposing statues behind him, casting long shadows on the sunlit pavement. "However, there is one strict, non-negotiable condition."

Rowena stared at the paperwork, her expression guarded. "Speak."

"You must formally accept the management rights of Pinnacle Corporation," Barnes continued, his tone smooth but firm. "Furthermore, you are required to single-handedly increase its total profits by five percent within the fiscal year." He paused, letting the sheer magnitude of the task settle before delivering the veiled threat from her father. "Mr. Vance noted that you have the right to refuse. But if you do, things might end badly for Thorne Construction Group."

Rowena gritted her teeth. Her jaw locked in frustration. The mention of the construction group struck a raw nerve. Before Grandfather Alistair Thorne passed away, she had made a solemn promise to look after his life's work. The company was his legacy, the only reason the business stayed afloat through the family's endless mismanagement. Her father knew this perfectly well. He was blatantly exploiting her one lingering weakness to force her hand, maneuvering her right where he wanted her.

Left with zero alternatives, she snatched the folder from Barnes's grasp. "Fine. I will do as he says," she said.

With a swift, elegant flourish of the pen, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sharp scratch of ink against paper sealed her fate. She thrust the contract back to Barnes. In exchange, he respectfully presented her with the supreme, gold-surfaced Centurion Card.

Rowena took the card. It felt heavy in her palm, loaded with thirty billion. Staring intently at the gleaming gold surface, she shook her head in sheer amusement. The irony tasted metallic on her tongue. Just moments ago, she was a discarded ex-wife standing on the pavement, a woman without the spare change for a taxi fare. Now, she held enough wealth to buy half the city.

She reflected on the agonizing three years she had just endured. The restrictive pact with her father had forced her to conceal her true identity as Rowena Astor Vance—the beloved youngest daughter of the country's wealthiest family. This forced anonymity meant playing the part of a penniless orphan. It resulted in all her personal bank accounts and vast trust funds being frozen.

Her thoughts drifted toward her toxic mother-in-law and sister-in-law. Those women pathetically worshipped wealth and status, spending the last three years degrading her worth at every opportunity.

A painful memory surfaced from the darkest corners of her mind. She remembered the cold marble floor of the Thorne estate. She remembered kneeling desperately before her mother-in-law, Myra, begging to borrow money to save a dying friend from the orphanage. Instead of showing a shred of empathy, the older woman had flaunted a gleaming platinum card in her face. Myra had sneered, claiming she would rather use the funds to buy high-grade dog food than lend Rowena a single cent. She insulted the destitute friend further, laughing that people from the orphanage were lower than dogs.

Now armed with billions in untethered capital, a fierce wrath ignited within Rowena's chest. She traced the embossed numbers on the Centurion Card. She was ready to vent her pent-up fury. She wanted nothing more than to teach those haughty women a severe lesson in humility.

The sharp clack of high heels approached from behind. Suddenly, a harsh hand grabbed her wrist.

Rowena's internal monologue shattered. Acrylic nails dug into her skin. She turned her head slowly to find her former mother-in-law, Myra Cornett, standing right there. The older woman looked down her nose at her with undisguised disdain. Myra was flanked by several well-to-do high-society ladies. The suffocating scent of their designer fragrances filled the air, and they all carried extravagant shopping bags from high-end boutiques.

Surreptitiously and calmly, Rowena slipped the Centurion Card safely into her designer bag. She met Myra's hateful glare without flinching.

"Is there something the matter?" Rowena asked in a flat, indifferent tone.

Deeply shocked by the previously meek daughter-in-law's sudden blasé attitude, Myra snapped. Her face twisted in indignation, a stark contrast to her usual composed superiority.

"Who allowed you to step out and embarrass me in public?" Myra demanded, her shrill voice turning heads on the sidewalk. She pointed a manicured finger at Rowena's face, interrogating her. "Have you finished your household chores? Did you cook lunch? If my precious Kingston goes hungry, I will skin you alive!" Myra then gestured wildly at Rowena's inexpensive clothing, her upper lip curling in disgust. "Look at the pathetic scraps you are wearing! You have been married into our family for years and still dress like a beggar. Hurry back home immediately!"

Rowena reacted with a sharp, mocking smile. She behaved exactly as though she had just heard the most hilarious joke in the world.

"Am I the shameful one?" Rowena asked rhetorically, her tone dipping into a dangerous register.

Without missing a beat, Rowena began a rapid-fire public exposure of the Thorne family's abuse. Her voice rang out clearly across the street, ensuring every socialite behind Myra heard every word.

"After the wedding, you dismissed all the household help," Rowena stated, her eyes locking onto Myra's. "You forced me to quit my professional job to become your son's unpaid maid. You maliciously framed me for stealing your jewelry just to unjustly withhold the inheritance shares Grandfather Thorne left me. And when you felt like it, you brutally forced me to kneel outdoors in the freezing, pouring rain."

Rowena took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Have you conveniently forgotten all those atrocities?" she demanded loudly.

The wealthy gossiping ladies standing directly behind Myra gasped. They began to click their tongues in profound shock, suddenly realizing the horrifying extent of the domestic abuse hiding behind Myra's respectable facade. They exchanged wide-eyed glances, murmuring judgments under their breath. Embarrassed by the exposure and wanting no part in the ensuing scandal, the ladies quickly invented flimsy excuses. They hastily scattered away, retreating down the street and clutching their shopping bags tight.

Left alone, Myra's bravado faltered. The color drained from her cheeks. She stammered, trying to regain the upper hand. "W-What nonsense are you spouting?"

But she was unable to interrupt Rowena's imposing aura.

Jerking her chin up imperiously, Rowena's gaze turned as sharp as a razor's edge.

"You know full well whether I'm spouting nonsense. I tolerated you in the past, but if you dare provoke me again in the future, I'll settle the score with you for all past grievances doubly!"