RUTHLESS MAGNATE'S SUPREMACY

Prologue

The heavy plastic slam of Jarren Corpuz's tablet striking the polished mahogany desk fractured the heavy afternoon silence of his office, echoing against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the sprawling Manhattan skyline.

​"Shit! Crazy woman!"

​He threw himself back into his ergonomic leather chair, his throat dry, swallowing hard against a sudden constriction that tightened his chest like a vise. The double doors swung open without warning, revealing his executive secretary, Terry Martyns, her heels clicking a rhythmic, unapologetic tattoo against the hardwood floor.

​"Bad mood today, Boss? I mean, your mood is always bad, whether we're talking about the market or your temperament," she chuckled, her tone dripping with dry amusement.

​He pinned her with a glare so venomous it could have withered flowers, but Terry merely pulled out the visitor chair opposite him, sinking into it with maddening ease while keeping her sharp, observant eyes locked onto his face.

​Jarren Corpuz, the ruthless magnate who ruled the vast empire of Corpuz Estate, sat trapped in his own skin, reeling from the digital headline that had branded him a public fool. Nerisa Joans, his ex-girlfriend of three years, was plastered across every financial and social blog in the city, photographed draped over another man barely forty-eight hours after thtey had supposedly called it quits.

​"The news broke last night, and you didn't think to warn me?" he demanded, his voice low and vibrating with restrained fury.

​"Mr. Corpuz, I thought you prided yourself on being the fastest man in the city to gather information," Terry replied smoothly, crossing her legs. "Ah, forgive me. You're only fast when it comes to business. When it comes to your personal life, you're always the last to know."

​He swallowed again, the motion painful and labored, as if his throat had swollen shut from sheer disbelief.

​"Users," he muttered, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "Leeches never truly vanish from this world."

​"You can say that again," Terry agreed, offering a soft, mocking hum that grated on his already frayed nerves.

​Her melody was a deliberate taunt, reminding him of the countless times she had warned him about the Joans family's sinking fortunes and notorious opportunism. He hadn't listened. He had been too thoroughly blinded, too completely intoxicated by Neri's breathtaking face and fragile grace.

​He remembered the bitter foundation of their romance, tracing back to the days before they had ever gone on their first official date, when the Joans empire had been teetering on the absolute brink of total financial collapse. It had been Mr. Joans himself who had practically orchestrated the courtship, engineering a calculated introduction between his ambitious daughter and the city's most eligible billionaire bachelor. But the moment the ink dried on their corporate rescue deals and the family tasted the sweet nectar of success once more, Neri had unceremoniously discarded him like a worn-out glove.

​Terry cleared her throat, softening her tone just enough to acknowledge the raw nerve she was pressing. "I know this hurts your pride, Boss. But there's nothing we can do now. Opportunists like your ex-girlfriend are a permanent fixture of high society."

​His jaw worked, his thick eyebrows twitching upward in a rapid, involuntary spasm of pure indignation as he re-read the headline flashing on the dark screen.

​"It's not just that it hurts, Terry. Look at who she replaced me with! The man looks like a twenty-year-old truck model that failed safety inspections back in the nineties!"

​"What?!" Terry blinked, startled.

​"It’s an insult to a man's ego, Terry! If you're going to trade me in, at least have the decency to upgrade! She could have at least put in the effort to find someone better looking than me!" He punctuated his rant with a sharp click of his tongue. "Jimmy Terson, of all people? Is there seriously no one better in this entire city?"

​He pretended to himself that it was purely a matter of wounded pride, but beneath the superficial sting, his entire world had fractured into jagged pieces. He had poured everything into Neri—his time, his unfiltered devotion, his guarded heart—only to be cast aside for a man whose pedigree was a joke.

​"Money talks, Boss," Terry reminded him dryly. "Though I do know you're hurting beneath all that bluster."

​He nodded stiffly, the physical ache in his chest demanding an outlet. He felt a sudden, violent urge to retreat to his private basement gym, to beat a heavy leather punching bag until his knuckles bled, or perhaps retreat to the subterranean shooting range where he practiced his grouping against human silhouette targets.

​"Three years we were together, Terry. That's why I'm going to take her back."

​"Boss?!" Terry stared at him, her mouth parting in sheer disbelief.

​He refused to lose, least of all to a man like Terson.

​"Terry, we never even broke up face-to-face. She didn't even have the courage to show her face the day she ended things over a screen. Which means, legally and fundamentally, she is still mine," he insisted, his voice hardening into unyielding steel.

​"Are you completely out of your mind?"

​"Yes, Terry! This is driving me insane! Now send a message to Neri's father immediately and tell him I demand a meeting."

​"But, Boss—"

​"There are no buts left, Terry. Just do as I say!"

​Jarren rose from his leather chair in one fluid motion, shrugging his broad shoulders into his tailored black tuxedo jacket. He reached up to loosen his silk necktie, though the sudden tightness in his throat had nothing to do with the knot around his collar and everything to do with the suffocating fury boiling in his veins.

​"Where are you going?"

​"To clear my head..."

​"Jarren Corpuz—"

​He spun on his heel and strode out of the office, leaving Terry staring after him in stunned silence.

​Hours bled away as he drove aimlessly through the congested veins of Manhattan, letting the evening chill blur into the neon haze of seven o'clock. Seeking anonymity and a strong drink, he pulled his vehicle into a dim, upscale lounge downtown, sliding onto a leather barstool and ordering a glass of neat whiskey that he downed like water.

​"Hi, handsome," a sultry voice purred beside him, accompanied by the rustle of expensive silk and a perfume that smelled overwhelmingly sweet. A woman slid onto the adjacent stool, her cleavage spilling perilously close to the rim of her low-cut dress. "Can I sit here?"

​His mind was too entirely consumed by plotting how to drag Nerissa back into his orbit to register the woman's presence, let alone care.

​Without waiting for an answer, she pressed close against his side, her arms wrapping possessively around his neck. Before he could react, her lips brushed against his throat in a hot, predatory kiss while her fingers began to roam with practiced familiarity down his chest.

​He let her hand slip lower, sliding effortlessly beneath the tailored fabric of his trousers, but the moment her fingers grazed the band of his underwear in an overt invitation, he surged to his feet with cold precision, quietly adjusting his zipper.

​"What's your problem? I thought you wanted this! You were clearly hard!" she hissed, her face contorting with offense.

​He didn't blink.

​"Any man's dick will harden if you touch it, sweetheart, but that doesn't mean I'm desperate enough to sleep with trash."

​The woman bristled, stepping forward as if to strike, but Jarren casually pulled back the lapel of his tuxedo jacket, revealing the dark, cold steel of a concealed sidearm tucked snugly into his shoulder holster.

​"Would you prefer this real piece of iron to go off instead? Where would you like it? Between the eyes? Or straight through the chest?"

​The color drained instantly from the woman's face, and she stumbled backward, vanishing into the crowd without another word. Jarren sank back onto his stool, his dark eyes scanning the room before locking onto a figure near the corner booth.

​There she was. Nerissa Joans, laughing softly as she sat directly across from Jimmy Terson.

​Blood rushed violently to his ears, painting his vision a dull, furious crimson. They had arrived only moments before, yet the physical distance of a single table felt like an intolerable chasm. He snatched his glass, poured another generous measure of liquor, and swallowed it in a single burning gulp to quench the fire racing through his veins.

​He watched as the beautiful woman pushed back her chair, leaving Terson alone at the booth as she walked straight toward his table.

​"So, you're here too?" Neri murmured, her voice laced with sudden caution.

​"You make headlines awfully fast, Neri."

​"Ah, yes." A faint, apologetic frown touched her brow. "By the way, I really am sorry for ending things over a phone call." She swallowed hard, struggling to meet his piercing gaze. "Now that we're actually face-to-face, I hope we can truly put an end to whatever we used to be."

​He poured another drink, swirling the dark amber liquid before slamming the glass back down onto the wood.

​"Jimmy Terson, of all people?"

​"Jarren, please don't harbor any bitterness toward Jimmy. And let's try to be civilized about this."

​"It's awfully easy for you to say that, Neri. You treat me like an old shirt you've outgrown—useful when it keeps you warm, to be discarded the moment you find something newer."

​Neri didn't offer a defense. Instead, she reached into her designer handbag, pulled out a small velvet box, and placed it gently on the edge of the table between them.

​"We shouldn't rehash the past or dissect how deeply we loved each other once. Here is the diamond ring you gave me, Jarren."

​Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, burning beneath his lids as betrayal warred with pure, unadulterated fury. He stood up abruptly, his broad hand sweeping across the table to snatch the velvet box with bruising force.

​"If this is what you want, Neri, then you shall have it! But mark my words, you will live to regret this! We have nothing more to say to each other!"

​Jarren whipped around, his heavy coat swirling behind him.

​Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Terson rising from the booth to close the distance behind her.

​"Jimmy, do you think I did the right thing?" Neri asked softly as Terson reached her side.

​"Of course you did, Neri. I'm going to show you and make you feel every single day that you made the right choice," Terson answered, his voice dripping with sycophantic reassurance.

​Jarren never looked back, his boots striking the floor with heavy, decisive strides as he stormed out into the cold Manhattan night.

Desc-

For three years, Jarren Corpuz and Nerissa Joans shared a love that seemed unshakeable. When the Joans family empire teetered on the brink of ruin, Jarren stepped in, pulling her family’s company back from the edge of oblivion. Yet, without a single sensible reason, Nerissa cast him aside for another man—carelessly casting away the very person who had saved her family from losing everything.