Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I am an immortal vampire.

Six centuries ago, to conceal my existence among mortals, I bestowed my fortune in gold upon my servant, elevating him to the wealthiest merchant in the realm. In exchange, he and his bloodline swore an eternal covenant: to serve me without question and to deliver my tribute of wealth each month.

Yet six hundred years later, his twelfth-generation descendant broke the oath.

Flanked by his fiancée, he stood before me and tore the contract to shreds.

"Ms. Vance, Julian is the chief executive of a multi-billion-dollar enterprise. He works around the clock," Chloe Montgomery said, her voice dripping with disdain. "While you do nothing but vacation and shop. What makes you think you're entitled to sixty percent of this company's net profits?"

Julian Sterling looked at me and let out a weary sigh.

"Times have changed, Vivian," he said smoothly. "In the modern world, capital belongs to those who generate value."

I nodded slowly, setting down my untouched glass of wine.

Times had indeed changed. It seemed my gold was never coming back.

In that case, I would simply take back the land beneath Sterling Tower.

"So the Sterling family intends to unilaterally breach our covenant?"

I withdrew a linen napkin from the table and meticulously dabbed at a faint droplet of red wine on my fingertip.

Chloe scoffed at my reaction. She tossed her styled blonde curls over her shoulder and looked down at me from behind the gala's VIP table.

"Get one thing straight, Ms. Vance. This isn't a breach of contract," she said, tapping her French-manicured nails against the mahogany. "This is corporate restructuring. We are simply excising deadweight and eliminating useless sunk costs."

With a flick of her wrist, she slapped a freshly printed legal agreement onto the tablecloth in front of me.

"Frankly, I have no idea how you managed to leach off this firm for so long. You hold no executive title. You generate zero revenue. Why on earth did Julian’s father wire sixty percent of our monthly dividend yield directly into your private trust? Because of some archaic family superstition? It's absurd."

The moment the words left her mouth, several senior vice presidents seated around the table leaned in, murmuring in agreement.

I knew exactly what puzzled them.

Six centuries had passed; my true nature had long faded into myth. None of them knew of the original transaction, nor did they realize that every existential crisis Sterling Enterprises had faced over the decades had been quietly erased by my hand.

To them, I was merely Vivian Vance—a shadowy socialite bound to the family by a centuries-old tradition that dictated unconditional deference to my name.

"She's right," one executive whispered. "We kill ourselves sixty hours a week, and she pulls nine figures while lounging in the Hamptons."

"Julian just closed that five-billion-dollar cross-border AI partnership," another chimed in. "He's the sole architect of this empire."

I ignored the background noise and cast my gaze over the new document.

Under the distribution clause, my sixty-percent profit entitlement had been slashed to one-tenth of one percent. Below that, an added stipulation demanded that I irrevocably surrender all proprietary executive privileges and hidden voting rights tied to Sterling Enterprises.

I lifted my chin, locking eyes with Julian, who had remained silent while swirling an amber scotch in his crystal tumbler.

"Is this your doing?" I asked.

Julian finally looked up. His eyes held the cold, condescending pity unique to young men blinded by early success.

"Chloe’s delivery may be blunt, Vivian, but the core premise is sound," he said, setting his glass down with an arrogant sense of finality. "To close that five-billion-dollar deal, my team and I worked ourselves ragged for a month straight. Meanwhile, you spend your afternoons tending orchids in the penthouse conservatory and sipping tea."

Julian leaned back into his leather chair, crossing one tailored leg over the other.

"I am not my father. I don't answer to ghost stories or medieval loyalty pledges. Times have changed. Only those who produce results get a seat at the table."

I looked at his youthful, ambitious face. For a fleeting second, another face overlapped with his—raw, blistered with frostbite, weeping in the bitter snows of a winter six hundred years ago.

In the courtyard of an ancient stone estate, a starving beggar named Barnaby Sterling had fallen to his knees, clutching my velvet pouch of gold coins to his chest.

My Lady, thank you for this mercy, he had sobbed. You took a wretch doomed to freeze in the mud and made him a master of coin. In return, I and every son born of my line shall serve you without condition, laying our wealth at your feet until the end of days.

I had never needed money; I merely required a human identity to walk unnoticed among mortal society. Barnaby needed bread and power; I needed camouflage. It had been an agreeable arrangement.

Throughout the centuries, I opened doors, smoothed over regulatory ruin, and funneled sovereign connections into their lap, ensuring the Sterling empire flourished with unnatural ease.

Yet six hundred years later, his bloodline genuinely believed they had built this empire with their bare hands.

Especially this crowning jewel of theirs—the five-billion-dollar AI enterprise deal.

"Are you deaf?" Chloe snapped, rapping her knuckles against the polished table. "Julian was generous enough to leave you a fraction of a percent. That's still a couple million a year—plenty for a woman with no marketable skills to live comfortably in early retirement. Sign the paperwork, and let's end this with some dignity."

I picked up the Montblanc pen from the table, spun it lazily between my fingers, and let it drop with a sharp clatter.

"And if I refuse?"

Chloe froze, caught off guard by my flat indifference. Her practiced corporate smile vanished entirely.

"Vivian, are you out of your mind?" Her voice rose an octave, drawing the attention of the surrounding tables. "Do you honestly think you have leverage? With one call from Julian, our finance department will freeze every single transfer to your account by sunrise."

Watching her flush with frantic venom was almost tedious.

"Then freeze them," I said mildly.

Fools. The wealth I had granted Barnaby Sterling was merely my surplus liquid coin. My actual foundations—the sovereign land deeds, centuries of real estate, antique vaults, and diversified trusts—yielded returns beyond their comprehension. The allowance Sterling Enterprises wired me every month was little more than pocket change.

I rose from the table, done indulging an insolent socialite.

"I will not sign," I said, meeting Julian’s eyes. "Since you are so thoroughly convinced that five-billion-dollar triumph belongs entirely to your genius, let us see if it survives without me."

I turned and walked toward the grand doors of the ballroom.

Behind me, Chloe’s shrill laughter echoed across the hall.

"Who does she think she is? Don't tell me she's taking credit for the AI merger! A decorative parasite who spends her life tanning on the roof wouldn't know the first thing about venture capital!"

Chapter 2

The following morning, I arrived at the ground-floor lobby of Sterling Tower precisely at nine.

After six centuries, routine was second nature. Empires rose and collapsed, yet I still enjoyed watching the morning sun break over Manhattan. The crown jewel of Sterling Tower—the penthouse terrace overlooking Central Park—had always offered the finest light.

I walked toward the private executive elevator and swiped my encrypted keycard.

The reader flashed red. Two sharp beeps chimed through the brass enclosure: Access Denied.

I raised an eyebrow.

Nearby, a public elevator opened, and several junior analysts stepped out. Recognizing me, they ducked their heads and began whispering behind their lanyards.

"Isn't that Ms. Vance from the penthouse suite?"

"Heard Julian cut her off completely last night."

"They pulled her executive clearance, and she still showed up? Shameless."

Ignoring them, I walked over to the reception desk.

The young receptionist blanched the moment our eyes met, shifting her gaze away guiltily. "Ms. Vance... Ms. Montgomery ordered your private elevator clearance revoked first thing this morning."

I nodded gently. "And the public elevators?"

"Those... those are still open to the public floors, ma'am."

"Thank you."

I stepped into an open service elevator and rode it straight to the top.

The doors slid open on the fiftieth floor to the sound of crashing porcelain and frantic scraping. Several facilities workers were hauling my potted winter orchids out into the hallway. Near the entrance, my favorite seventeenth-century antique tea set sat tossed into an open cardboard box—its hand-carved porcelain lid chipped at the rim.

Chloe Montgomery stood in the center of my former private office, barking orders.

"Toss all this antique garbage into the compactor. The place smells like a musty museum. Replace it with an imported Italian leather sectional and bring in an ebony executive desk by noon."

She turned around and spotted me standing by the threshold. Her lips instantly twisted into an exaggerated, mocking pout.

"My goodness, Vivian! What are you still doing here?" She clicked across the marble floor in her Christian Louboutins, her eyes gleaming with malice. "I do apologize for the mess. Julian mentioned that my previous office was entirely too modest for the Chief Strategy Officer. Seeing as your penthouse suite was sitting empty doing nothing, I took the initiative to requisition it."

I looked down at the chipped porcelain lid on the floor. It had been crafted by a master artisan in Europe over three hundred years ago. It held little financial consequence to me, but I had grown fond of using it.

"Pained by your little trinkets?" Chloe followed my gaze, dripping with theatrical pity. "Just obsolete junk, really. If you're genuinely that attached to it, I'll Venmo you twenty bucks so you can take it down to a thrift store."

Just then, Julian stepped out of the private corridor accompanied by three senior associates. Seeing the standoff, he offered a mild scowl.

"What's going on here?"

Chloe’s arrogance instantly melted into vulnerable distress as she glided to his side. "Julian, I was only trying to prepare a proper workspace for our European partners, but Ms. Vance seems upset. She doesn't even handle corporate business—leaving this entire floor to her is an absolute waste of firm resources."

Julian patted her hand reassuringly, then looked at me, his jaw set in cold annoyance.

"It's just an office, Vivian," he said, his tone clipped. "Chloe is spearheading our international expansion next year. She requires an appropriate venue to entertain sovereign wealth funds." He paused, his expression hardening. "As for you, if you aren't comfortable hot-desking on the trading floor, there's a vacant storage room by the second-floor stairwell. Have facilities clear out the file boxes, and you can sit there."

Behind him, two associates barely choked back their laughter.

Banishing a woman who had drawn sixty percent of the firm’s dividends to a windowless basement utility closet was a deliberate, calculated humiliation.

I looked straight at Julian. There was no remorse in his eyes—only the impatient hunger of a predator eager to shed an obsolete burden.

"You want me in a second-floor utility closet?" I asked, my voice calm.

Unsettled by my stillness, Julian squared his shoulders. "This is purely business, Vivian. Sterling Enterprises does not carry deadweight. If you feel slighted, you are free to tender your formal resignation. Naturally, out of respect for our shared past, I'll instruct payroll to cut you a standard severance check."

I nodded slowly.

"Very well."

Without another word, I stepped over the shattered porcelain at my feet and walked back toward the elevator bank.

Behind me, Chloe’s triumphant laughter echoed through the marble hallway.

"At least she knows when she's beaten."

Chapter 3

I bypassed the second-floor storage closet entirely and walked out into the crisp autumn air. The morning sun was brilliant, but my appetite for basking in it had vanished.

I spent the morning at a quiet private lounge nearby. Around noon, my phone rang.

It was Richard Sterling. Julian’s father. A man who possessed just enough competence to manage an inheritance, but lacked the spine to rule it.

The moment I answered, his cautious, strained voice came through the receiver.

"Ms. Vance... is this a convenient time to speak?"

"Go ahead," I said, sipping my Earl Grey.

Richard sighed heavily, his voice laden with timid hesitation. "Julian and Chloe... the children acted rashly. I heard about what happened this morning. It's completely unacceptable!"

His condemnation was loud, but entirely hollow.

"However, Ms. Vance, you know I've stepped back from daily operations. Julian runs the board now. The boy was educated abroad—he looks at nothing but quarterly yields and EBITDA. He has little patience for... our family's ancient customs."

I rested against my chair, watching the traffic crawl down Fifth Avenue. "Your point, Richard?"

He choked on his words for a brief second before continuing. "What I mean is, the current executive committee was handpicked by Julian. They harbor significant resentment over the sheer volume of dividends allocated to you each month. Ms. Vance, perhaps we can find an amicable compromise?"

He was finally circling toward his real objective.

"If you would just concede a step. Let us lower your dividend distribution to ten percent, and I will personally arrange an executive suite for you on another floor. A mutual compromise to preserve family harmony. What do you say?"

I let out a soft, dry laugh. "Richard Sterling, are you attempting to negotiate terms with me?"

The line went dead silent.

"Twenty years ago, when your reckless leveraged buyout brought Sterling Enterprises to the brink of federal liquidation, it was my capital that insulated your board from bankruptcy," I said softly, the weight of centuries pressing through the receiver. "You know better than anyone what sits in my vaults. Now that the balance sheet is flush and the company has found new momentum, you believe you can discard me?"

Panic crept into Richard’s voice. "No, no, Ms. Vance! That was never my intention! I was only... trying to shield you from the board—"

"Enough," I cut him off. "In all my centuries, I have despised compromise. What is mine remains mine to the cent. Since your son believes I contribute nothing to this firm, let us see how well he fares on his own."

I ended the call without waiting for a reply.

When I returned to the Sterling family estate in Westchester that afternoon, I found my personal belongings boxed up and piled haphazardly on the front driveway.

Inside, Chloe was lounging on the velvet sofa, admiring her fresh manicure. She didn't bother looking up as the front door opened.

"Oh, Vivian, so sorry about the mess," she said breezily, blowing on her glossy red nails. "Julian and I are hosting our engagement gala next month, and we're renovating the estate from top to bottom. Your vintage clutter was taking up far too much square footage, so I had the groundskeepers pack it up."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't fret. Julian leased a charming one-bedroom apartment for you out in Queens. Quiet neighborhood. Perfect for someone transitioning into retirement."

I stared at the cardboard boxes stacked by the entrance. Packed haphazardly inside were first-edition manuscripts, illuminated medieval texts, and classical oil paintings I had acquired over the centuries. Several rare canvases had been crudely folded to fit into the cardboard containers.

"Who authorized you to touch my possessions?"

I walked over to the sofa and looked down at her.

My gaze was cold enough to make her instinctively flinch backward into the cushions. But within seconds, she remembered whose house she was in and snapped to her feet.

"I authorized it!" she sneered, puffing her chest. "This estate belongs to the Sterling trust. You’ve squatted here rent-free for decades. Asking you to vacate is entirely within our legal rights. Don't flatter yourself, Vivian."

She thrust a manicured finger within inches of my nose.

"All you know how to do is posture. Scream all you want—by nightfall, you're off this property!"

I looked at her face, twisted by petty greed and unearned arrogance. I felt no rage, only a profound weariness. Human stupidity truly was an incurable, hereditary disease.

I took half a step back, brushing her hand away.

"You don't need to throw me out. I'm leaving."

I pulled out my phone and dialed my private estate manager.

Within eight minutes, two midnight-black Maybachs glided silently through the estate gates, stopping before the front steps. Four private security operatives in charcoal suits stepped out, methodically loading my boxes into the trunks with white-glove precision.

Chloe watched the multi-million-dollar motorcade, her sneer faltering for a split second before curdling into bitter spite. "Renting high-end town cars with Julian’s dividend checks... how pathetic."

I didn't dignify her venom with a response. At the car door, I paused and cast a final look back at her.

"Remember every word you spoke today, Chloe," I said calmly. "I will collect on this debt, with compound interest."

Chapter 4

Three days later.

Sterling Enterprises convened an extraordinary general meeting of shareholders. As the largest registered individual beneficiary on file, I received formal notification.

When I pushed open the double doors of the boardroom, the room fell dead silent.

Every eye turned toward me—glares laced with curiosity, mockery, and naked schadenfreude.

The long boardroom table was packed with senior executives and institutional representatives. At the head of the table sat Julian Sterling. Chloe sat directly to his right in her capacity as Chief Strategy Officer.

Scanning the room, I noticed that my customary chair at the head of the table had been occupied by an unfamiliar new vice president.

"Apologies, Ms. Vance. Seating is exceptionally tight today," Chloe said with a saccharine smile, pointing toward a far corner near the service exit.

A single red plastic folding chair sat alone on the carpet.

"You rarely participate in proxy votes anyway," she added smoothly. "Feel free to observe from over there."

A ripple of muted chuckles echoed down the mahogany table. Several department heads exchanged amused glances.

She really showed up after being stripped of her credentials.

Desperate. Probably here to stage a scene.

A scene? Julian could blacklist her from the tristate area with a single phone call.

I absorbed their whispers without expression. Walking past the rows of tailored suits, I took a seat on the folding chair.

"Proceed," I said quietly.

Disappointed that I hadn't erupted into an undignified tantrum, Chloe clicked her tongue and signaled the corporate secretary to begin.

The initial agenda consisted of mundane operational updates and quarterly earnings projections. Then came the final item.

Julian adjusted his silk tie and cleared his throat, commanding the room.

"Gentlemen, the final order of business today is our most critical strategic initiative: the complete recapitalization of our equity structure, alongside the formal revocation of Vivian Vance’s permanent veto authority."

He tossed a thick legal docket onto the center of the table.

"A modern corporation cannot remain shackled to legacy burdens. Over the past three decades, Ms. Vance has contributed precisely zero operational value to this balance sheet. I move to formally terminate her special director privileges and permanently cap her profit participation at one-tenth of one percent of net common dividends."

Julian looked around the room. "The floor is open for a vote."

Silence reigned for half a second before Chloe raised her hand high.

"I vote in favor of the Chief Executive's motion," she declared loudly. "Sterling Enterprises belongs to its builders, not to retired parasites."

With her lead, every executive and shareholder along the table raised their hands in rapid succession.

Unanimous approval.

Not a single soul looked in my direction. In their minds, I was already erased.

Julian reviewed the tallied votes, a smug, triumphant smirk curling the edge of his mouth. He turned toward my corner, fixing me with the gaze of a conqueror looking down on a captive.

"The resolution carries, Vivian," he said coldly. "As of this moment, your connection to the Sterling family is reduced to a non-voting fraction of a percent. Pack whatever remains in your drawers and remove yourself from our premises."

The executives held their breath, waiting for me to slink out like a kicked stray.

I rose slowly from the plastic chair, smoothing the lapel of my tailored coat.

"Stripping my veto authority?" I asked, my voice soft yet carrying effortlessly across the cavernous room. "Very well."

"Terminating my profit distribution?"

I paused, meeting his gaze. "That is acceptable as well."

Chloe let out a sharp scoff. "At least she understands her place. Now get out."

Ignoring her entirely, I reached into my leather tote and drew out an ancient, dark walnut box.

Chapter 5

I unclasped the brass lock and lifted the lid. Inside lay a single sheet of vellum, yellowed with age, its edges brittle and dark.

Holding the parchment, I walked deliberately toward the center of the boardroom.

"Since you consider me an idle parasite and wish to sever all historic ties," I said, my heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor, "then we have some long-overdue accounts to settle."

I set the ancient vellum flat before Julian.

"You may revoke my board seat. But you will also vacate this building."