Roselle's POV
The banquet hall was radiant—lavish chandeliers, expensive wines, soft classical music in the background.
All the high-society parasites gathered, whispering and smiling like wolves in designer suits.
I sat at the head of a private lounge, legs crossed, glass of whiskey in hand, eyes half-lidded in amusement.
That was when the doors swung open.
Joshua Leinin entered like he owned the room—slick suit, arrogant stride, and that same smug little grin. And trailing behind him, like a shadow made of guilt and bad decisions, was Abigail Bardot, dressed in white, trying to look unbothered.
I smirked.
"So the comedy duo arrives," I murmured, swirling my drink.
Just then, I saw him—Joshua—step right into Kaisel's path.
My assistant, loyal, sharp, silent. Kaisel never needed to prove himself. He handled everything from murders to meetings like a damn ghost. But tonight? Joshua decided to play smart.
He shoulder-checked him. Deliberately.
"Watch where you walk, servant." Joshua sneered.
Kaisel stopped.
I saw his eyes narrow, his jaw tighten—but he didn't say a word. He didn't need to. I stood up slowly, the entire room pausing as I did.
"Joshua." My voice was soft. Almost sweet.
He turned toward me, trying to play it off.
"Ms. Vasilyev, just a misunderstanding. No harm done—"
"I didn't ask for excuses." I cut in.
Abigail stepped forward, frowning. "Roselle, I'm sure he didn't mean anything—"
I raised my hand to silence her. My smile didn't reach my eyes.
"You put your hands—" I walked toward them, heels clicking like war drums. "—on my people."
Joshua stiffened. **"I just—"
"Bow."**
He blinked. "What?"
"Bow and apologize to Kaisel." My voice held steel now. "Right here. In front of everyone."
Abigail looked around awkwardly. "That's ridiculous, Roselle—"
I turned to her with a smile. "And if he doesn't, Abigail, I'll destroy every company you've partnered with in the last five years. Your name will be poison in every boardroom from here to Monaco."
The room had gone dead silent.
Joshua's face flushed with humiliation. "You're overreacting—he's just an assistant—"
I took another step forward, and this time, Kaisel moved beside me, calm as ever.
"No, Joshua," I said coldly, "he's my assistant. And you just insulted me through him. So bow. Or bleed. Your choice."
A long, tense silence.
Then, with all eyes watching, Joshua slowly—painfully—lowered himself to his knees in front of Kaisel. His pride crumbled with every inch.
"I... apologize." He muttered.
"Louder," I said.
"I apologize!" he shouted, fists clenched.
Kaisel didn't even blink. He just nodded once.
I sipped my whiskey, savoring the victory.
"Good boy," I said to Joshua. "Now get up. Try anything like that again, and next time I won't stop Kaisel."
I turned back to the crowd and smiled.
"Let this be a reminder," I said sweetly. "There's a difference between a businesswoman... and a mafia queen."
And tonight? Everyone remembered which one I was.
________________________________________
Roselle's Private launge.
The ice in my glass clinked softly as I swirled the amber whiskey. The dim lights of my private lounge cast golden hues on the velvet walls, and the quiet hum of an old jazz tune played in the background—smooth, nostalgic, dangerous. Just how I liked it.
And then she arrived.
Abigail Bardot.
Wearing white again, as if purity could be faked after all that filth she buried herself in. She walked in hesitantly, her expression unreadable—but her pride tried to walk tall.
I didn't stand. I didn't need to. Power sat with me.
I sipped my whiskey slowly, letting the silence stretch until it started to crack her composure.
"Ms. Bardot," I finally said, voice silky, eyes sharp, "do you know who was the only man in this world who ever made me feel something close to thrill?"
Her brows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering. "Who is it?"
I smirked, placing the glass down with a soft clink.
"Your late husband... Samuel Gebb."
The moment the name passed my lips, her face changed. Subtle, but enough for me to notice. Her throat tensed, eyes widened for a second before she quickly masked it with her usual cool. But I saw it. That slap of cold reality.
I leaned back and let the words cut deeper.
"He nearly destroyed me." I chuckled softly. "A man who never bowed, never begged. I can't tell if you were lucky to have him… or just foolish to lose him."
She didn't respond. Couldn't, maybe.
I watched her squirm in silence.
Then I lowered my voice and leaned forward.
"I must congratulate you, though." I said, letting every syllable drip with venom-laced elegance. "To tame a man like him, even briefly… that's a feat. One I wouldn't expect from someone like you."
Her hands clenched, ever so slightly.
And now, the killing blow.
"You know," I continued, my smirk widening, "I've been thinking about an heir lately. Someone worthy of inheriting my empire. A child as relentless and dangerous as me."
Her eyes met mine, confused.
"And I think…" I paused, watching her breath hitch.
"Before I killed Samuel—" I whispered the lie like gospel, "—I should've taken his DNA. Made myself pregnant. That kind of strength… that kind of fire… would've been perfectly compatible with me."
Her jaw dropped—part disbelief, part horror, part something else she didn't understand.
I stood, walking past her slowly, brushing my hand over her shoulder like a queen dismissing a commoner.
"You settled for a boy, Abigail," I whispered at her ear, "when you had a king."
Then I left her there, standing alone in silence, drowning in her regrets.