Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 55: Vetting

Zane sat alone in his office, the city stretched out beyond the glass wall like a living thing—steel ribs, pulsing lights, honking cars, motion without rest.

Afternoon sunlight slanted in, catching on the polished surface of his desk and the neat stacks of folders arranged there. Jewelry designs. Dozens of them.

Renderings printed on thick paper, some accompanied by fabric swatches, stone samples sealed in tiny transparent envelopes, notes scribbled in margins by designers who believed fervently that this would be the year their work stood out.

That this would be the year their works were selected to represent the company.

With every check though, Zane was seeing that both he and the designers might have their expectations dashed.

So far, since he had taken the responsibility upon himself, to vet the designs this year, he had seen nothing.

The chief director must be intuitive then, to have offered him the files...

The latter had done so hesitantly hours ago, as if unsure whether he would care enough to look. But he had taken the file without comment, his jaw tightening just a fraction as he did.

He cared. He had to.

Information had filtered in quietly over the last week, the kind that never made it into official memos—huge companies would be present at the convention this year. International names. Powerhouses.

The sort that could make or break reputations with a single glance, a single nod of approval.

And the Becketts would surely let Gianna participate.

The thought came unbidden, totally unwelcome.

Zane’s fingers stilled on the edge of the folder he was holding, the pad of his thumb pressing briefly into the paper until it bent.

He exhaled through his nose, slow, controlled, as if that alone could disperse her name from his head.

Once, he had dumped that part of his past. Buried it under work, under discipline, under the rigid structure he had built around his life.

These days, it seemed to always find ways to claw out.

Gianna was not his concern anymore, he thought, except where necessity demanded otherwise. Except where competition demanded awareness. Anything more than that would be... indulgent.

He shouldn’t check her out either. Shouldn’t send in an informant to gather information. Spying on her would be a new low.

He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Zane sighed, and reached for the glass of water on his desk.

Not what he wanted water, not really, but Athena’s warning rang in his head on repeat these days too; firm and maddeningly calm, telling him to cut down on caffeine, to stop running his body into the ground like it was expendable.

He took a measured sip, cool water sliding down his throat, grounding him. His shoulders eased slightly as he set the glass back down.

A faint smile touched his lips then, unguarded and brief. Ewan would be back soon.

The thought carried warmth with it, a rare thing these days. His friend had a way of cutting through his intensity, of reminding him that there was life beyond boardrooms and deadlines.

The smile didn’t last.

He refocused on the designs, eyes scanning lines and curves with ruthless precision. They were good. Technically sound. Polished. Any one of them would have impressed a lesser audience.

But as he flipped through the pages, one after another, a familiar dissatisfaction settled in his chest.

They weren’t resonating.

Zane leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

Gianna had clutched the prize last year. That fact alone should have sharpened his designers’ instincts, should have given them insight into the caliber of their rival.

Had they learned nothing? Or were they expecting him to design himself?

His mouth tightened. Maybe he should.

The thought flickered, tempting in its simplicity. He could design. He still had it in him. The muscle memory, the vision, the instinct...

He could clutch the win effortlessly, tip the scales back in his favor with a few bold strokes.

Zane shook his head, once, as if dislodging the idea. No. That wouldn’t be leveling the field at all. That would be domination.

And despite everything—despite the rivalry, the history, the unresolved ache that sometimes still surfaced—he found that he didn’t want that.

He wanted Gianna to have a fighting chance.

Why? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just curious.

Afterall, one more win wouldn’t put the Becketts over his company. Not really.

Still... his designers had to learn how to fight.

He rose to his feet, gathering the designs in one decisive motion. He had to talk to them.

—

The elevator ride down was silent save for the soft hum of machinery.

Zane stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, gaze fixed on the numbers as they ticked downward.

The floor reserved for the top designers came into view, and when the doors slid open, a ripple of surprise moved through the open-plan studio.

Conversations faltered. Styluses paused mid-air. Heads turned.

Zane rarely came down here.

The designers knew him by reputation more than presence, a distant authority who existed several floors above them, abstract and untouchable.

The exception, of course, was Sabrina.

She spotted him immediately, her spine straightening as she abandoned her workstation and hurried toward him, heels clicking sharply against the floor.

The others watched with a mixture of curiosity and envy, accustomed as they were to Sabrina’s favored position.

She acted as Queen Bee for a reason—Zane preferred to communicate through her, a choice that had cemented her influence and inflamed resentment in equal measure.

"Sir," Sabrina said, breathless but composed, flashing a sexy smile. "Is something wrong? I wasn’t informed you’d be coming down—"

Zane walked past her without a glance.

The snub landed like a slap.

Sabrina faltered, confusion flashing across her face before it hardened into something more brittle. She turned and followed him anyway, heels biting into the polished floor.

"Gather around," Zane said, his voice cutting cleanly through the space.

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

Designers abandoned their stations, forming a loose semicircle around him. Zane moved to the center of the room, setting the stack of designs on the nearest desk before picking them up again, one by one.

He called names. Each designer stepped forward when summoned, hands twitching, shoulders tense.

Zane handed each person their work without comment, his expression unreadable, gaze lingering just long enough to unsettle.

As he did, the directors appeared at the entrance, drawn by the disturbance.

Panic flickered across their faces when they saw him. They hadn’t expected the big boss to descend like this, unannounced. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

One of them opened his mouth to speak... Zane ignored them.

Instead, he perched on the edge of a desk, one leg dangling, posture deceptively relaxed.

"Tell me," he said, eyes sweeping over the group, "what did you draw?"

Silence.

The top designers—his top designers—stood frozen, suddenly acutely aware of the weight of his attention. No one spoke. No one breathed too loudly.

Sabrina cleared her throat.

"There’s nothing wrong with my design," she said, chin lifting slightly.

Confidence rang in her voice, edged with defensiveness. "It aligns perfectly with our brand identity. The stones, the cuts, the inspiration—"

Zane looked at her then.

It wasn’t a glare. It was worse. A stark, assessing stare that stripped away pretense and left nothing but raw exposure.

Sabrina shifted under it, her shoulders drawing in despite herself, head dipping a fraction as uncertainty crept into her eyes.

She wondered, distantly, what had changed, what had summoned this hostility into the air.

"These," Zane said, gesturing to their files, "are trash."

The word landed hard, echoing in the stunned quiet.

"You will redraw," he continued, voice steady, controlled. "All of you. Did you know the Becketts will be competing this year? Are you not aware of their new recruit? Did you know you are not designing in a vacuum?"

A murmur rippled through the group. Faces paled. Eyes widened.

"We have to win this year," Zane said. "There is no alternative."

He didn’t say Gianna’s name. He didn’t need to. The connection snapped into place anyway, sharp and undeniable.

He saw it register in their expressions, felt it settle into the room like a challenge.

Sabrina’s eyes flashed, venom glinting there before she could mask it.

Good, Zane thought with quiet disgust. Channel it. Use it.

"You have three days," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening. "Surprise me."

Then he walked out.

—

The hallway beyond the studio felt cooler, quieter. Zane exhaled as he stepped into it, feeling suddenly drained.

"Already riding your employees to hell because of Gianna?"

Zane blinked, then laughed as he turned to find Ewan leaning against the wall, arms crossed, amusement dancing in his eyes.

The surprise was pleasant, immediate. Zane closed the distance between them and pulled his friend into a brief, solid hug, the kind that spoke of years and shared battles.

Ewan cocked a brow when they parted. "So, Gianna... I’m hearing some things..."

Zane scoffed, shaking his head as they started walking. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."