RUTHLESS MAGNATE'S SUPREMACY

Chapter 1

Jarren sat inside the hushed cabin of his newly released luxury car, staring quietly at the small velvet box resting in his palm. He flicked it open, letting the soft dim light catch the glittering diamond solitaire tucked inside the plush lining. It was the anniversary gift he had given Neri during their first year together, a token from a time when promises still held weight.

His phone began to buzz incessantly against the leather seat, breaking the silence. The screen illuminated with the name Terry, displaying a line of twenty-nine missed calls. Jarren closed the ring box with a quiet snap, slipped it into the inner pocket of his tailored tuxedo, and finally pressed the screen to answer his secretary’s persistent call.

"Boss, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Where in the world did you disappear to?!"

"Just getting some fresh air," Jarren replied, his tone was low and clipped.

"Fresh air? Give me a break! Maybe fresh air isn't what you need right now, Boss. Maybe you need a full-blown hurricane—something powerful enough to snap you back to reality! It's over between you two, and you aren't going to win Neri back." Terry took a sharp breath on the other end of the line before taking a businesslike tone. "Anyway, I managed to get through to Mr. Joans, and he agreed to meet with you. Tomorrow morning at nine, at Italiano Cuisine. Bye now! It’s late, and I only stayed up to make sure you got the meeting details. Oh, and I didn't tell him what you wanted to talk about. You’re on your own for that one."

"Terry—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the call went dead.

"Classic Terry," he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat with a faint shake of his head.

Jarren arrived back at his estate late that night, the heavy haze of alcohol clouding his senses. His housekeepers and butler were still waiting for him, their tired eyes showing the toll of the late hour. There was a time when returning to this grand home meant walking through the front entrance with Neri by his side, her laughter filling the spacious marble halls. Now, the quiet echoes served only as a reminder that he was entirely alone.

He climbed the grand staircase toward his master bedroom, skipping dinner altogether. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the bed, allowing sleep to temporarily numb the tangle of resentment, jealousy, and wounded pride tearing through him.

Morning came far too quickly. Jarren stirred around seven, jolting awake to the realization that he was severely running behind schedule. He skipped his usual morning routine, settling for a quick cup of dark coffee and a single piece of toast before hurrying out the door.

Instead of directing toward the Corpuz Estate, he drove to head straight for Italiano Cuisine in Boston. The drive took a couple of hours from Manhattan, but he didn't mind the distance. He needed to speak with Neri's father. In his heart, he hoped there was still a way to smooth things over, to fix what had been shattered. The truth was, Jarren had been planning to propose to Neri tomorrow, right on the day of their monthly anniversary.

He pulled up to the establishment and parked his vehicle in the designated VVIP spot directly in front of the restaurant.

Pushing through the heavy double glass doors, Jarren scanned the elegant interior to locate the table reserved for his meeting with Neri’s father.

He walked with purpose, making his way toward a secluded corner table near the back. Waiting there was Mr. Joans, along with Neri’s cousin, Damian.

"Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Dam," Jarren greeted, offering a respectful nod to both men.

He extended a hand to shake theirs and prepared to take his seat. Before his coat even brushed the back of the chair, Neri’s father spoke up, his voice cold and devoid of warmth.

"So, you and my daughter broke up, Jarren?"

Jarren swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the older man’s gaze. From the sharp tone alone, it was clear Mr. Joans held him entirely responsible for the split.

"Ah, yes, Dad... it’s my fault—"

"You're right about that, Jarren," Mr. Joans cut in sharply, raising a hand to stop him. "Because I know for a fact that Nerissa would never do anything wrong to you."

"Exactly, Uncle!" Damian interjected, chiming in with sneering enthusiasm. "I completely agree! You must have done something terrible to push Neri away like that."

Jarren swallowed the lump in his throat, keeping his jaw set tight. They didn't know the truth. They had no idea what had actually happened between them.

"In the three years you were together, do you know how many times I saw her crying?!" Mr. Joans continued, his voice rising with accusations. "You were probably playing her for a fool the entire time! I wouldn't be surprised if you had a dozen women on the side!"

"You hit the nail on the head, Uncle!" Damian sneered, leaning over the table with a smug expression. "With Jarren’s reputation and deep pockets, keeping Nerissa in his back pocket was child's play for him. With all the money this bastard has, who knows how many women he's bought to satisfy himself every single night!"

Beneath the white linen tablecloth, Jarren’s hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white. The only thing keeping him from vaulting over the table was his own self-respect; he refused to degrade himself or bring shame to the Corpuz name over a senseless provocation.

"It wasn't like that..." Jarren began, his voice dangerously low.

"It was exactly like that, Jarren," Mr. Joans interrupted, his stance firm. "The only reason I agreed to sit down with you today was to tell you directly that I no longer need your financial backing for my business. The Joans Group can stand on its own feet now without leaning on your charity," he said, puffing out his chest with unearned pride. "And leave Nerissa alone. She is far happier in Jimmy's arms now."

"That's the main reason I tagged along with Uncle today—to look you in the eye and tell you what a complete loser you are, Jarren Corpuz," Damian added, a mocking grin plastered across his face. "You had my cousin, and you threw her away! You really are an idiot, aren't you?"

"That’s enough, Damian," Mr. Joans said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "Don't waste your breath on a man like him. Let's go."

Jarren ran his tongue over his dry lips, maintaining absolute stillness as the two men stood over him. They cast one final, disdainful glare in his direction before turning on their heels and strolling out of the restaurant.

Jarren closed his eyes, taking a deep, controlled breath through his nose. The insult from Mr. Joans stung, but the sheer arrogance radiating from Damian made his blood boil. A sharp, violent urge to plant a fist right into Damian's jaw flashed through his mind, but he forced the tension out of his shoulders.

"You really are pathetic, Mr. Joans," Jarren muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he opened his eyes. "Enjoy yourself while you can. Jimmy Terson’s fortune might keep your head above water for a little while, but it won't be long before everything you worked for crumbles to dust."

From this moment on, any bond he had once felt toward the Joans family was officially severed. They were nothing more than opportunists who had taken advantage of every open door he had offered them.

Smile now, regret later, he thought to himself, a cold, ruthless resolve settling over him as he stared at the empty chairs across the table.