PRUDENCE POV
Fifteen Years Earlier
The high school gymnasium was a riot of cheap crepe paper, thumping bass, and the sharp, sweet smell of adolescent sweat and dime-store perfume. Prudence Smith, then just Prue, a scholarship student with too-big dreams and too-threadbare clothes, stood near the punch bowl, feeling like an exhibit in a museum of misfits.
Her dress was second-hand, a lavender lace number she'd painstakingly altered herself. It was pretty, she knew, but it felt like a costume among the designer labels and confident laughter of her wealthier classmates. She was there for one reason: Liam O'Connell.
Liam was the sun around which their high school universe revolved. Captain of the basketball team, devastating smile, with a warmth that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. For reasons Prue still couldn't fathom, he had noticed her. He'd talked to her in the library, laughed at her awkward jokes, and a week ago, under the bleachers, he'd kissed her. He'd asked her to the dance.
It felt like a fairy tale.
"Hey, you." His voice, warm and familiar, sounded behind her. She turned, her heart performing a frantic tap dance against her ribs.
"Liam! You made it." He looked like a movie star in his simple tux, his dark hair slightly messy.
"Of course I did. I've been looking for you." He took her hand, his touch sending jolts of electricity up her arm. "Come on, let's get some air. It's stuffy in here."
He led her through the crowds, his hand firmly in hers. She floated beside him, barely believing this was her life. He pushed open the side door that led to the deserted school gardens, the cool night air a relief after the gym's stifling heat.
"It's so much better out here," she sighed, looking up at the stars.
"Yeah," Liam said, but his voice had changed. The warmth was gone, replaced by a strange, tense energy. He dropped her hand.
"Liam? Is everything okay?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets, not looking at her. "Look, Prue. This has been… fun."
The word 'fun' landed like a lead weight in her stomach. "Fun?"
"Yeah. You're a cool girl. Different." He finally looked at her, and his eyes weren't the warm, crinkling ones she knew. They were flat, almost pitying. "But let's be real. This? You and me? It was never going to be a thing."
The world began to tilt. "What are you talking about? You asked me to the dance."
"A dare," he said, the word simple and brutal. "The guys… they said I couldn't get the scholarship girl with the homemade dresses to fall for me. They said you were too smart, too proud. I said it would take a week." He gave a careless shrug. "Took me five days."
Prue felt the air leave her lungs. She couldn't breathe. The lavender lace dress, which had felt so beautiful moments before, now felt like a fool's uniform. Every shared laugh, every whispered secret, every touch—it was all a scripted performance for his friends' amusement.
"So it was all a lie?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"It was a game, Prue. Don't take it so hard." He glanced back towards the gym door. "Look, my real date is here. Jessica Miller? Her dad owns the Mercedes dealership. It's… it's just how things are, you know?"
He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked back inside, leaving her standing alone in the cold, dark garden. The bass from the gym thumped on, a mocking rhythm to the sound of her heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.
She stood there until she was numb, the tears freezing on her cheeks. That was the moment Prudence Smith died, and the CEO of Provida Emporium was born. In the icy silence, she made a vow to herself.
Never again. Never again would she be the naive girl, the charity case, the punchline. She would become so powerful, so successful, so utterly self-contained that she would never need a man for anything. And if she ever chose to let one into her life, it would be on her terms. He would be someone she could manage, someone she could control, someone whose departure would be an inconvenience, not a cataclysm.
He would be a man she could take care of, so he could never, ever have the power to break her.
---
Present Day
The memory faded, leaving behind its familiar, bitter aftertaste.Thankfully the prudence of that time is nowhere to be found. I placed the empty tumbler in the sink. The encounter with Damien was just a reaffirmation of my life's philosophy. It had worked. His leaving had caused her no pain, only a mild irritation and the satisfying click of a problem being solved.
My phone buzzed on the counter. A message from her assistant, Anya: "The Steele Industries meeting is confirmed for 9 AM tomorrow. Full board. They're sending over the final NDA via courier now. Also, your 8 AM with Marketing is moved to 8:15."
Prudence typed a quick reply. "Understood. Have the Provida 'Aura' line projections and the market analysis for their 'Titan' men's line on my desk by 7 AM."
Steele Industries. A formidable, old-money conglomerate that had recently made a staggering foray into the male grooming sector with their 'Titan' brand. They were powerful, aggressive, and wanted a piece of Provida's distribution and marketing genius. A merger of sorts was on the table, a strategic partnership that could define the next decade for both companies.
And leading their charge was their founder and CEO, Justin Steele.
I'd done her research. A maverick. Brilliant. Inherited a fortune but had quadrupled it through his own ruthless business acumen. He was known for his charm, his relentlessness, and a reputation for being utterly uncompromising. He was, in every sense of the word, a predator. And worse, he was a predator with resources that matched, and in some areas, exceeded, her own.
He was the antithesis of everything I allowed into her personal orbit. A man like Justin Steele was not manageable. He was not controllable. The very thought of sitting across from him sent a strange, unwelcome thrill of apprehension down her spine. It was the same feeling I got before a corporate takeover, a mix of fear, anticipation, and absolute, unwavering focus.
I walked into my bedroom, the vast, minimalist space a sanctuary of order and control. I caught her reflection in the dark glass of the panoramic window. A beautiful, empty ice sculpture. Damien's words echoed, but they no longer felt like an insult. They felt like a description of my greatest achievement.
I had built Provida from a college dorm-room idea, mixing my own organic face creams, into a global emporium that defined beauty. I had taken my pain and alchemized it into power. I had everything, I had ever wanted.
So why, as I prepared to face a man who represented everything I had sworn to avoid, did I feel a quiet, traitorous yearning for something more? It was a whisper from a part of me I thought long buried, a ghost of the girl in the lavender dress, still hoping for a fairy tale.
I squared my shoulders, my reflection mimicking the movement with per fect symmetry.
"No," I said aloud to the empty room, her voice firm. "Not again."
Tomorrow was not about fairy tales. It was about war. And I, Prudence Smith never lost.