Alexander’s voice was a blade against my throat. "You don't get to choose anyone else, Vivian. You are mine." The words hung in the penthouse air, thick with the smoke of Damian Vance’s incinerated empire. I saw it then. Not just obsession. Not just a billionaire’s possessiveness. This was a force of nature. An alpha predator who had decided I was his territory, and he would scorch the earth to defend it. My past life’s fear was a distant echo. This rebirth had forged me in ice. I looked at the terrifying man before me, the dangerous glint in his eyes, and I didn't see a cage. I saw a weapon. The most powerful weapon I could ever wield. My lips curved into a slow, cold smile. "Prove it." Alexander’s stillness was more frightening than any shout. "Name him." He knew. He knew this wasn't just about Damian. He understood the war I was silently waging. My revenge was his obsession. "Marcus Thorne," I said, the name tasting like ash. "Head of Echelon Press. In my last life, he was the architect of my public execution. His tabloids painted me as a thief, a fraud, a mentally unstable failure. He did it on Julian and Amelia's payroll." A flicker of something murderous crossed his face. "What do you want me to do to him?" "I don't just want him ruined," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "I want him humiliated. I want his legacy turned to dust in front of the very people who kiss his feet." My rebirth gave me the key. I knew Thorne’s darkest secret. "He runs an illegal insider trading ring. The proof is on a hidden server, codename 'Icarus'. The access protocols are tied to his biometric watch. He’ll be wearing it tonight." Alexander didn’t ask how I knew. He simply nodded, a dark prince accepting a decree. "Tonight?" "He's hosting the Echelon Media Gala," I replied. "At the Grand Astoria. In two hours." His lips brushed my ear, a ghost of a touch that sent a shiver of pure power through me. "Then we have a party to attend. Let them watch as karma comes collecting." Two hours later, I stepped out of Alexander’s black Rolls-Royce, a vision in crimson silk that clung to my body like a second skin. The dress was a declaration of war. Alexander was beside me, a shadow in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his presence a palpable threat that made cameras flash and whispers die. He was the king of this city, and tonight, he was my escort. My weapon. The Grand Astoria ballroom was a glittering pit of vipers. Media personalities, politicians, and socialites mingled, all orbiting the gravitational center of Marcus Thorne. He stood near the stage, a portly man with a smug, self-satisfied grin, basking in the glow of his own power. As we entered, a hush fell over the room. Alexander King did not attend events like this. His appearance with me on his arm was a statement. He guided me through the crowd, his hand a possessive brand on the small of my back, parting the sea of elites like a god of the underworld. We came face to face with Thorne. He looked me up and down, a dismissive sneer on his lips. "Vivian White. I heard you were back. Still trying to crawl your way up from obscurity?" In my past life, his words would have shattered me. Now, they were pebbles against a fortress. I smiled, a razor-sharp motion. "And you, Marcus. Still building your empire on the bones of other people's careers? You should be careful. Sometimes, when you fly too close to the sun, you get burned." His face darkened with indignation. "You insolent little—" "She is with me," Alexander’s voice cut through the air, cold as a tomb. It wasn't a warning. It was a verdict. Thorne paled, finally recognizing the abyss he was looking into. He stammered an apology and scurried away. "He's pathetic," I murmured. "He's already a dead man," Alexander replied, his eyes never leaving Thorne's retreating form. He subtly tapped his own watch. A signal. Somewhere, his digital assassins were moving. We took a table in the shadows, watching the grotesque theater unfold. Twenty minutes later, Marcus Thorne took the stage to give his keynote address. He puffed out his chest, basking in the applause. "Echelon Press is more than a company," he boomed into the microphone. "We are the purveyors of truth! The guardians of integrity!" Alexander raised a glass of champagne to his lips, his eyes glinting over the rim. "Showtime." As if on cue, a single phone screen lit up in the darkened ballroom. Then another. And another. A wave of blue light washed over the crowd as every guest received the same notification simultaneously. It was a push alert from every major news outlet on the planet. **BREAKING: ECHELON PRESS CEO MARCUS THORNE EXPOSED IN MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR INSIDER TRADING SCANDAL. LEAKED 'ICARUS' FILES REVEAL MASSIVE FRAUD.** The headline was a bomb. The room erupted. Gasps turned into frantic murmurs. On stage, Thorne’s face went from confusion to sheer, abject terror. His own teleprompter glitched, then displayed a single, damning document from the Icarus server, broadcast for the entire room to see. His fake smile dissolved. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He stumbled back from the podium, his breathing ragged. The empire he built on lies was crumbling around him, live, on a stage of his own creation. This was my revenge, delivered with the brutal efficiency only an alpha billionaire like Alexander could provide. "You!" Thorne shrieked, his wild eyes finding me in the crowd. "You did this!" I met his gaze and gave him a slow, deliberate nod. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to see the face of his destruction. Heavy-set men in dark suits—federal agents—stormed the ballroom from all sides. They swarmed the stage, grabbing a sputtering, protesting Marcus Thorne. They wrenched his expensive watch from his wrist, the key to his entire criminal enterprise, and slapped cuffs on him. As they dragged him away, a broken and ruined man, he screamed my name over and over. It wasn't a sound of anger. It was a sound of pure terror. The room was in chaos. My work was done. Karma had collected its debt, with interest. Alexander stood, pulling me to my feet. He led me out through a side exit, away from the pandemonium. In the quiet of the night, the adrenaline of my victory surged through me. It was intoxicating. He pinned me against the cool marble wall of the corridor, his body a cage of heat and power. His eyes were dark pools of obsession, drinking me in. "That was for you," he rasped, his voice rough with something primal. "Every scream. Every second of his terror. A gift." "It's a good start," I said, my voice steady, though my heart was hammering against my ribs. He smirked, a dangerous, possessive curve of his lips. "I didn't just leak the files, Vivian. While they were arresting him, my people were busy." He leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin. "I bought it all. The debt, the stock, the intellectual property. Echelon Press is mine now. The weapon they used to destroy you now belongs to me." He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his burning gaze. "So tell me, my vengeful little swan... whose name do you want on the front page tomorrow?"

Karma Comes Collecting