At exactly eight o'clock, Jerri stood in the dimly lit hallway outside the VIP room.

She was wearing a razor-sharp, tailored black suit. It was her armor. She took a deep breath, fighting down the violent nausea twisting in her stomach just from breathing the air inside this club.

She reached out and pushed open the heavy, soundproof door.

The scene inside hit her eyes like a physical strike.

The lights in the room were low and moody. Emerson was leaning back against the dark leather sofa. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, radiating a raw, dangerous energy.

And Aliyah Oconnell was sitting practically on his lap, leaning heavily against his chest, holding a glass of red wine.

Jerri's feet stopped moving. It felt like an invisible hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart until it bruised.

She dropped her arms to her sides. Her hands instantly curled into tight fists. She drove her fingernails so hard into her palms that the sharp pain finally sliced through the fog in her brain, forcing her to stay rational.

Hearing the door open, Emerson slowly raised his eyes. His cold, predatory gaze cut through the air and landed on her.

He didn't push Aliyah away. Instead, he moved his hand and placed it flat against Aliyah's waist, his thumb slowly rubbing the fabric of her dress.

Aliyah turned her head. When she saw Jerri standing there, a nasty, victorious smirk spread across her face.

Jerri swallowed hard, forcing the metallic taste of blood down her throat. She stepped forward. Her high heels clicked evenly against the hardwood floor. She walked straight to the armchair opposite them and sat down.

She elegantly crossed her legs and placed her Birkin bag on the table. Her posture was flawless. She looked like a CEO ready to execute a hostile firing.

"Let's skip the games," Jerri said, her voice freezing the air in the room. "What is your bottom line for the Anh Group acquisition?"

Emerson stared at the perfect, emotionless mask on her face. A violent, destructive urge ripped through his chest. He wanted to tear that mask off.

He let out a dark chuckle. He picked up his glass and took a slow sip.

"What makes you think you have any leverage to negotiate with me?" Emerson asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

Aliyah leaned closer to Emerson's ear. She spoke in a loud, breathy whisper designed to carry across the room. "She really doesn't know her place, does she?"

Jerri shifted her eyes. She looked at Aliyah's fake, exaggerated expression for exactly one second. Then she looked away, dismissing her completely, as if Aliyah were a piece of trash on the floor.

The absolute dismissal made Aliyah's face turn red with fury. She sat up straight, opening her mouth to scream an insult.

But before she could speak, Emerson casually raised his hand and patted Aliyah's arm. It was a silent command to quiet down.

That small, protective gesture hit Jerri harder than a bullet. It completely shredded the last tiny, pathetic piece of hope she didn't even know she was holding onto.

Jerri unzipped her bag. She pulled out a thick legal document and placed it deliberately on the crystal coffee table. The soft, definitive sound echoed the finality of her decision.

"This is our poison pill strategy," Jerri said, her voice sharp and clear. "If you force this hostile takeover, we will flood the market with new shares. You won't get the Anh Group. You will get an empty, bleeding shell."

Emerson didn't even glance at the document. His dark eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity.

He leaned forward, his massive frame eating up the space between them. The sheer physical pressure radiating from him was suffocating.

"I don't care if the Anh Group lives or dies," Emerson stated, his voice a cruel, low rumble. "I am just enjoying the process of destroying you."

The words struck her like lightning. The blood instantly drained from Jerri's face, leaving her pale as a ghost. But she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and refused to look away.

Aliyah let out a shrill, piercing laugh. "You were thrown out of here like a dog seven years ago, Jerri. And look at you now. Still a pathetic loser."

Jerri suddenly stood up. She looked down at the two of them sitting on the sofa. Her eyes were filled with absolute, freezing resolve.

"If you want a war," Jerri said coldly, "the Anh Group will fight you to the death."

She didn't wait for an answer. She turned around and walked toward the door. Her back was perfectly straight, but her shoulders were trembling slightly under the fabric of her suit.

Jerri reached out. Her fingers were inches away from the cold brass of the door handle.

"Emerson is going to destroy you just like he destroyed your reputation seven years ago," Aliyah sneered at Jerri's back, leaning her weight fully against Emerson's chest.

"Get out."

Emerson's voice hit her back like a physical weight. It was low, vibrating like the string of a cello, and packed with lethal intent.

Aliyah's shrill laughter stopped instantly. She looked at Emerson, her eyes wide with shock. "Emerson? What did you say?"

Emerson didn't even look at her. He kept his eyes locked on Jerri's back.

"Get. Out." He repeated the words, and this time, the murderous aura in his voice was impossible to ignore.

Aliyah's face turned paper-white. She scrambled off the sofa, grabbed her purse, and practically ran for the door. As she rushed past Jerri, she violently slammed her shoulder into Jerri's arm.

The impact knocked Jerri off balance. She stumbled sideways.

Before she could catch herself, a massive hand clamped down on her wrist like an iron vice.

Emerson had moved faster than she could process. He yanked her backward with terrifying force.

Jerri fell hard onto the leather sofa. Before she could sit up, Emerson was there. He leaned over her, planting both his hands on the cushions on either side of her head.

He completely trapped her in his shadow. The oppressive heat radiating from his body and the sheer physical presence of his raw male aggression instantly swallowed her whole.

Jerri's heart hammered violently against her ribs, but she tilted her chin up. She stared straight into his dark, furious eyes, refusing to show a single ounce of fear.

"Are you still holding onto some pathetic fantasy about the past?" Emerson hissed through his teeth, his face inches from hers. "Do you still think about the man you used to know?"

He was talking about the foolish, naive girl who used to love him.

Jerri let out a cold, sharp laugh. She didn't flinch.

"You think way too highly of yourself," Jerri spat back, her words coated in venom. "That idiot died seven years ago. The only thing I feel when I look at you now is pure disgust."

The words hit Emerson like a sledgehammer to the chest. The raw agony that flashed in his eyes was so intense it almost spilled over.

But he shoved the pain down, burying it under a mask of explosive rage. He reached out and grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

"You put on a good show," Emerson mocked, his voice cruel.

He reached over to the table with his free hand and grabbed a glass filled to the brim with straight, top-shelf Russian vodka.

He pressed the rim of the glass against her lips.

"Show me your sincerity," he ordered. "Drink it. Prove to me you're ready to play with the big boys."

Jerri looked down at the clear liquid. She knew exactly what it was. It was pure fire. It was strong enough to burn the lining of her throat.

She didn't hesitate for a microsecond. She reached up, grabbed his wrist, and tilted the glass back.

She swallowed the entire glass of vodka in three massive gulps.

The harsh alcohol ripped down her esophagus, lighting a violent fire in her stomach.

But inside her mouth? On her tongue? She felt absolutely nothing. No burning sting. No bitter taste. Just the sensation of cold liquid washing over dead nerves.

Her destroyed sense of taste had suddenly become her greatest weapon against his cruelty.

She slammed the empty glass upside down onto the crystal table. The sharp clack echoed in the room. She didn't cough. She didn't even blink.

She looked up at Emerson, a mocking smile on her lips. "Is that enough sincerity for you?"

Emerson stared at her. Seeing her swallow straight vodka without changing her expression made his blood run cold. He truly believed she had turned her heart into solid stone.

He slowly let go of her chin. He took a step back, his shoulders dropping as if the energy had been drained from his bones.

Jerri stood up. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her suit jacket.

"See you in court," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

She opened the door and walked out, disappearing down the dark hallway without looking back.

The second the heavy door clicked shut behind her, Jerri collapsed against the wall. A blinding, tearing pain ripped through her stomach. She doubled over, clutching her abdomen as cold sweat instantly soaked through the back of her shirt.