Everyone in New York high society knew that Preston Van Der Bilt, the patriarch of the old-money Van Der Bilt family, had a little girl he kept in the palm of his hand. That girl, Bella, was spoiled rotten, treated like the protagonist of a romance novel, cherished by everyone in his circle. Everyone, except me. On my wedding day, Bella stood there in a white gown, looking at me with pure provocation: "The one who isn't loved is the mistress." "So what if you marry Preston? I’m still the woman he holds in his heart!" Hearing this, the corners of my mouth lifted slightly. I turned my head and slapped Preston right across the face. "Are you a corpse? The homewrecker is at your door, and you’re playing deaf and dumb?!" 1 On the day of the wedding, Bella wore a white gown—a deliberate insult to the bride. In front of the entire bridal party, she looked me in the eye and sneered. "The one who isn't loved is the mistress." "So what if you marry Preston? I’m still the woman he holds in his heart." The ceremony hadn’t started yet, but the waiting area was packed with the elite of Manhattan. Everyone looked at each other, awkward and silent, but no one dared to intervene. Why? Because everyone knew Preston Van Der Bilt had a strange, obsessive soft spot for his ward. She was the golden child, untouchable. Even though I was about to become Preston’s wife, I was just a strategic merger. A business transaction. I couldn't compare to his "true love." The room was dead silent. Preston walked over, surrounded by his groomsmen, his expression cold and detached. But the moment he saw Bella, his eyes melted like spring ice—soft, tender. When he turned to look at me, the frost returned. "Why are you just standing there like an idiot? The ceremony is about to start." I let out a cold laugh and looked at Bella. "Do you dare repeat what you just said?" Bella scoffed, emboldened by Preston’s presence, and repeated her insults loud and clear. Before she could finish, I wound up my arm and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Smack! I box four times a week. My arm strength is no joke. Bella’s delicate face turned instantly red, then bruised. A trickle of blood ran down her nose, ruining her "innocent, no-makeup" look. It was almost comical. Bella stood there, stunned, clutching her face as if her brain couldn't process what had happened. I didn't stop. I backhanded her again. Smack! Smack! Preston’s heart? Hilarious. I beat up Preston’s heart! Just as I raised my hand again, Preston finally snapped out of his trance and caught my wrist. "Victoria! Have you lost your mind?!" "Bella is just a child! How can you hit her over a few childish words?" She’s a child, yet you flirt with her? Are you a pervert? I snatched my hand back, sneered, and turned to Preston. He frowned at me. The next second, I raised my other hand and slapped Preston across his face! I smirked at the red handprint blooming on his cheek. "You probably don't know this, but back in the boxing gym, they call me the 'Slap God.'" I shoved him away and pointed a manicured finger at his nose. "I’m bringing two hundred million dollars into this merger, and you’re giving me 'Sugar Baby' drama?" "If you're an old creep who wants to sleep with his ward, just say it. Don't give me this 'father figure' grooming nonsense." "It’s absolutely disgusting!" I threw my bouquet right into Preston’s face. "If this mess isn't cleaned up today, the wedding is off!" "You think I’m desperate to marry you?" "The line of men wanting to date me stretches from Fifth Avenue to Paris. You think you’re special?" "If your father hadn't practically begged me on his knees for capital, you think you’d ever have a chance with me?" "Go to hell!" I ripped the veil off my head and stormed out of the waiting room. 2 My mother, Martha, was waiting in the dressing room. Seeing me storm in, she gave me a thumbs up. "That's my girl. Boss moves." I scoffed, threw myself onto the velvet sofa, and crossed my legs. I’ve been fighting in the business world for years; I’m not stupid. The Van Der Bilts letting Bella humiliate me publicly was just a compliance test. They are an old money dynasty in New York, high status, ancient bloodlines. But the reality? They missed the tech boom. Their assets are illiquid, their cash flow is dead. To survive, they needed a commercial marriage. And I, a woman with new money and "no pedigree," was the perfect ATM. They coveted my dowry but couldn't lower their aristocratic heads to ask for it. So, they tried to gaslight me. They wanted to use their "noble" status to suppress me, to make the "nouveau riche" girl feel inferior so I’d hand over my fortune with a smile, begging them to use it. I laughed out loud. Nice try. A dog wouldn't fall for that trick. They made one miscalculation: I’m not a doormat. I’m a stick of dynamite. My mother raised me alone. She caught the wave of the industrial boom in the 80s, started with steel mills, pivoted to tech, and built a fortune from scratch. I followed in her footsteps, carving out my own empire abroad. Several major fashion labels you see in SoHo? Those are my subsidiaries. Business is war. Anyone who survives it isn't someone to be trifled with. My mother and I are world-class at verbal warfare. If I didn't need the Van Der Bilt connections to break into the domestic luxury market, I wouldn't touch Preston with a ten-foot pole. Mom's assistant, acting as a mole outside, texted us. Apparently, Preston’s grandmother—the Matriarch—had arrived. They were arguing. We waited. There were snacks in the room. Mom and I cracked pistachio nuts and loudly roasted Preston. "Women in this society get eaten alive if they show weakness," Mom said. We knew there were spies outside the door, so we raised our voices. Mom, having come from the streets before she hit it big, has a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. She cursed eighteen generations of Van Der Bilts, digging up their ancestors just to insult them again. I added fuel to the fire. We went on for thirty minutes until we heard someone outside smash a vase and leave in frustration. Mom took a sip of tea. "Weak. They couldn't even handle that." "If they can't handle the heat, they shouldn't have brought that little tramp to the wedding," I laughed, twisting my diamond ring. "Pure masochism." "I heard the Van Der Bilts like to be dominated," I added loudly. "The more you curse them, the more they listen." 3 Another thirty minutes passed. No one came. It was a standoff. They couldn't bear to lower their "noble" heads to beg a "new money" bride. My phone pinged. It was Grandmother Eleanor Van Der Bilt. She texted, asking me to "forgive Preston for her sake" and proceed with the wedding. I laughed. For your sake? Your face isn't worth a penny to me. Unwilling to apologize? Fine. We go nuclear. I checked the time and called Preston. He answered on speakerphone. "Preston," I said, cutting him off before he could speak. "I’m giving you five minutes. You and your little pet get down here and apologize." "If you don't show up, I recall you hired a new asset manager recently?" "Don't forget, my capital is global. I can move markets." "If you're late, I become your competition tonight." "You short, I go long. You go long, I short. I have endless cash to burn. I don't mind losing money to sink you." "For every minute you're late, I’ll make you lose ten million dollars. Try me." I hung up. Three minutes later, the door burst open. Preston and Bella rushed in. I sat on the sofa, looking at my nails, as Preston walked over, reluctant and humiliated. Once he muttered an apology, I looked at Bella. Her face was a colorful mess of bruises. I gave her a fake smile. "Bella, I know you're just a kid. I can forgive a child for running her mouth." "It's okay. Once I join the family, I'll teach you some manners." I pulled a stack of cash from my clutch. "Since Preston raises you, that makes me your stepmother." "Call me 'Mom,' and I’ll give you your allowance." Bella looked up at Preston, tears streaming down her face. Preston looked away. She gritted her teeth, eyes full of hate, and whispered, "Mother." I laughed and threw the stack of bills directly into her face. "Good girl. Mommy likes girls who have self-respect." "Learn from me. Stop filling your brain with men. That's called being 'boy-crazy.' It’s a mental illness. Get it treated." I stood up elegantly, brushed nonexistent dust off my dress, and hooked my arm through Preston’s. "Well? What are you waiting for, honey? Let's go get married." 4 The wedding was a sensation. Victoria Sterling became an instant legend in New York high society. Slapping the husband and the mistress at the altar? Iconic. The in-laws wanted to humiliate me, but I shoved their humiliation right back down their throats. On the wedding night, Preston came into the bedroom, his face dark. "Victoria, let me make this clear. You may have my body, but you will never have my heart!" I scoffed and kicked him off the bed. "Who wants your body? You look like a pale pig. It makes me nauseous just looking at you." "Get out!" The next morning, I woke up refreshed. The first thing I did was gather the mansion's staff. The head butler stood there, nervous. I looked him up and down and smiled. "Who pays your salary now?" "You do, Madam," he said respectfully. I nodded. "Good. Since you know who feeds you, don't bite the hand." "If I catch any of you being disloyal, I’ll fire you and blacklist you. Let's see if the Van Der Bilts will hire you back then." The maids trembled and bowed their heads. I looked up. Preston was standing on the second-floor landing, frowning. "Come down if you want to talk," I said, pouring tea. "I hate looking up at people." Preston walked down, dark circles under his eyes. "Victoria, do you have to be so ruthless?" I raised an eyebrow. "It's not ruthless. It's staff management." "Reward and punishment. Basic business logic. You've been the head of the family for so long, haven't you learned that yet?" Preston took a deep breath. "That two hundred million... when are you transferring it?" I laughed. "My dowry? Why should I give it to you?" "Did you give me a dowry? No? Then why ask for mine?" Preston clenched his fists. "The family is in a liquidity crunch. We need the investment. As for the dowry... we wronged you." I snorted. A vague "we wronged you" in exchange for two hundred million? Keep dreaming. "You want the money? Fine." "But every cent I invest, every transaction, goes through my auditors." "Every business move you make requires my approval." Preston exploded. "Victoria! Don't go too far!" "I have never met a woman as mean as you!" Crash! I smashed my teacup on the floor. "Preston, don't be a hypocrite." "When your family refused to share resources or connections with me, you were silent!" "Now that the tables are turned, I'm 'mean'?" "This is a merger. If you want resources, show me value." "If you think you can freeload off me, you’ve got a death wish." I stood up and towered over him. "I know you like gentle women." "But your 'likes' are worth about as much as dog sh*t to me." "Think about your commercial value, show me some sincerity, and then come talk to me." I grabbed my Hermès bag from the butler and walked out the front door.
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