Alexander King didn’t sleep. He spent the night watching the woman who was now his wife. She slept soundly, a stark contrast to the storm she had unleashed in his mind. The business plan she’d given him was not just brilliant; it was prophetic. It detailed the collapse of Argent Financial with a precision that defied logic. It was impossible. Yet, his gut, the instinct that had made him a billionaire titan, screamed that it was real. His obsession was no longer just about possessing her beauty. It was about owning the terrifying, brilliant mind behind those cold eyes. Who was she? The ghost trader who vanished years ago? Or something else entirely? He felt a primal need to crack her open, to possess every secret she held. Vivian woke to the low hum of the city from beyond the mansion’s bulletproof glass. She felt Alexander’s eyes on her before she opened her own. He was sitting in a chair across the room, dressed in a sharp black suit, his gaze a physical weight. There was no warmth in it, only a predatory, calculating intensity. “Good morning, wife,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Ready for the show?” She didn’t need to ask which one. Her revenge was on a strict timeline. “Turn on the news,” she commanded, her voice flat as she rose from the bed, wrapping a silk robe around herself. He didn’t move, simply tapping a command into his tablet. A massive screen descended from the ceiling, already tuned to the city’s biggest business channel. The breaking news banner flashed across the bottom: ‘WHITE FASHION’S REVOLUTIONARY ‘ETHEREA’ COLLECTION LAUNCHES TODAY.’ Amelia’s saccharine-sweet face filled the screen. She was being interviewed, her eyes wide with fake humility. “I was just so inspired,” she cooed. “The designs… they just came to me in a dream. It’s like they were a gift.” A gift she stole. A dream she turned into Vivian’s nightmare in her last life. Beside her, Julian preened, looking every bit the proud CEO. “Amelia is a true visionary,” he boasted. “This collection will not only redefine our brand but the entire industry.” Alexander watched Vivian’s face. He expected anger, tears, a plea for his help. He was ready to offer it, to crush Julian White like an insect for her. But her expression was unnervingly placid. She walked to the breakfast cart that had been silently wheeled in and poured herself a cup of black coffee. “They’re stealing your work,” Alexander stated, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “Say the word, and their company will be a smoking crater by noon.” Vivian took a slow sip of her coffee, her eyes fixed on the screen. “Unnecessary,” she said coolly. “Karma has an appointment. I’ve simply ensured it will be punctual.” His jaw tightened. This woman didn’t need a weapon. She was one. And his desire to wield her, to be the only one who could, became an all-consuming fire. The live press conference began at ten a.m. Julian and Amelia stood on a brightly lit stage, flanked by posters of the ‘Etherea’ collection. The designs were hers. Every stitch, every cut, every fabric choice was a ghost from her past life, a memory of her own hands at work. Amelia, in the collection's signature gown, a swirl of iridescent silk that mimicked a butterfly’s wing, looked like an angel. A thieving, venomous one. “Welcome!” Julian’s voice boomed across the packed room of journalists. “Today, we are not just launching a collection. We are launching a new era of fashion, conceived by the brilliant mind of my partner and muse, Amelia White!” The applause was thunderous. Amelia blushed, clutching Julian’s arm. “Oh, Julian, you give me too much credit. I was just the vessel for this… this art.” Vivian scoffed softly from the mansion’s penthouse. “Vessel for a parasite, more like.” Alexander watched her, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. He was enjoying this far more than he should. He was witnessing the methodical dissection of her enemies, and it was the most intoxicating thing he had ever seen. On screen, Julian raised a hand for silence. “To protect this revolutionary art, we have, of course, filed for exclusive design patents and copyright on every single piece. The ‘Etherea’ collection is wholly and legally the intellectual property of White Fashion.” That was Vivian’s cue. She picked up her phone and sent a single text message: ‘Now.’ Back at the press conference, just as Julian was about to unveil the runway show, the grand doors at the back of the hall burst open. It wasn’t more reporters. It was a dozen uniformed police officers, moving with grim purpose. They were accompanied by two stern-faced individuals in sharp suits. The room fell into a stunned silence. Flashes from cameras began to pop like firecrackers. Julian’s face went from triumphant to confused. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded into the microphone. “This is a private event!” One of the men in suits strode forward, holding up a badge and a thick sheaf of documents. “Mr. Julian White? I am Agent Peterson with the International Intellectual Property Crime Unit. We have a warrant to cease all operations and seize all assets of White Fashion pending an investigation into grand-scale copyright infringement.” The words hit the room like a bomb. Infringement? Julian let out a short, incredulous laugh. “That’s absurd! We filed the patents ourselves this morning! The paperwork is iron-clad.” Agent Peterson’s expression didn’t flicker. “You filed your domestic claim at 9:03 a.m. today. Unfortunately for you, an international copyright claim for the exact same designs, including detailed schematics and fabric compositions, was filed, approved, and sealed last night at 9:03 p.m.” He paused for effect, his voice cutting through the silence. “The claim was filed by the legal owner and creator of the ‘Etherea’ collection. A Mrs. Vivian King.” Amelia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her angelic facade shattered, revealing the panicked rat beneath. Julian’s face turned a blotchy, furious red. The name echoed in his ears. Vivian. Vivian King. “That’s impossible! She… she has nothing!” he roared, his voice cracking on the live feed. The police began to move, slapping bright red ‘SEIZED PROPERTY’ seals on equipment, on boxes of merchandise, on the very door to the design studio. Reporters swarmed, shouting questions. “Mr. White, were you aware the designs were stolen?” “Amelia, did you lie about your inspiration?” Amelia started to sob, a pathetic, theatrical sound. Julian lunged for Agent Peterson, his eyes wild. “This is a trick! A set-up by that bitch! I’ll sue you! I’ll sue her!” Two officers grabbed him, forcing his arms behind his back as he thrashed. The final, humiliating image broadcasted live across the city was of Julian White, the rising star of fashion, being restrained by police while his empire was dismantled before his eyes. His last, desperate scream was a name. “VIVIAN!” In the penthouse, the screen went dark. Vivian calmly placed her empty coffee cup on the saucer. The first phase of her revenge was complete. Justice hadn't just been served; it had been a public execution. A perfect, cold act of karma. She felt the weight of Alexander’s stare, heavier than before. He crossed the room, his powerful frame eclipsing the morning light. He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His dark eyes scanned her face, searching for something. “That wasn’t foresight,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “That was a declaration of war. Perfectly executed.” He gently touched a strand of her hair, his fingers surprisingly gentle yet possessive. “The news reported that your parents’ design studio burned down years ago. That all their original work, your early sketches included, were lost in the fire.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he delivered the final, chilling blow. “How curious that those burned designs have been so perfectly reborn… just like you.”

Chapter 7: Intellectual Property Theft? Think Again!