Too late, ex wife. From Janitor to Tycoon

Chapter Four

“Mr. Blackwood, a minute, please. Let me properly introduce myself,” the sophisticated woman said, her voice smooth and measured. Security flanked her, their silent presence like shadows at her side, subtle yet imposing.

“I am Susan Devanchi, head of operations of the Devanchi dynasty. I need your help.”

Sam froze mid-step, suspicion snapping into place like a switch. The Devanchi dynasty—he knew the name. A city powerhouse, cutting-edge tech, untouchable influence. And here she was, looking straight at him. A janitor.

“My help?” he asked, incredulous. “What could a janitor possibly do for you?”

Susan didn’t flinch. She held his gaze with the calm of someone who didn’t expect to be questioned. A faint crease at the corner of her mouth suggested impatience, but her voice was smooth, almost rehearsed. “If you would indulge me, can we talk in my office? My car is parked just outside—it’s a better way, I think.”

Sam’s mind raced. Kidnappers? Unlikely. Who would even want to kidnap me? No money, no fame, no leverage… but still, a prickling at the back of his neck had him tense, alert. His pulse slowed slightly as he tried to talk himself down, yet the caution lingered, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

“Very well… let’s go and talk,” he said, careful to keep his voice neutral, to hide the swirl of nervous energy in his chest. He followed her, each step measured, his eyes constantly scanning. Susan walked with an almost unnatural precision, calm and deliberate, her presence quietly commanding.

When they reached her car, an aide opened the door with a polished efficiency that only made Sam more uneasy. He glanced at Susan. “Miss Devanchi?”

She returned his gaze, smile calm and steady.

“Are you sure I’m the one you need help from?” he asked, uncertainty threading his words.

“Of course, Mr. Blackwood,” she replied evenly, her tone almost disarming.

Sam hesitated. His chest felt tight, a mix of nerves and anticipation. Slowly, he slid into the seat, bracing himself. The door clicked shut, sealing him in the small, quiet space with her. The low hum of the engine filled the silence, heavy and expectant.

As they drove, Sam’s mind spun. Was this about money? Leverage? Revenge? Every possibility ran through his head, colliding with another in a chaotic tangle. Some scenarios were ridiculous; some, terrifyingly plausible. He couldn’t decide which to prepare for, and the tension knotted in his stomach like a living thing.

Back at the office, chaos had erupted. An ambulance stood outside, its sirens muffled but urgent. Vanessa hovered near her mother, hands trembling, eyes wide with worry.

“Take good care of her,” she said, her voice firm, almost commanding, though the quiver beneath betrayed her fear. Paramedics gently lifted her mother onto the stretcher, moving with practiced care. Her sister followed closely, tense but restrained. Vanessa’s heart raced. She wanted to rush forward, to clutch her mother’s hand, to anchor her in that terrifying moment—but she held back, forcing herself to let the professionals do their work.

Lisa, left in the office, couldn’t contain herself. Fists clenched, knuckles white, eyes blazing. “You shouldn’t let this slide! That damn loser almost killed your mother!” Her voice shook with a mix of fear and fury.

Vanessa leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly. A thin, strained smile touched her lips. “What would you have me do, Lisa? I’m sure they upset him. You know we just spoke about the divorce. Sam isn’t a violent man.”

Lisa’s glare sharpened, frustration boiling over into venom. “If you believe in him so much, why leave him?” Her words stung, cutting deep into nerves already raw with tension. “I don’t even know what’s wrong with you. You deserve better, Vanessa.”

Vanessa’s jaw clenched. Heat rose in her chest, a rush of anger and frustration mingling with fear. Every word Lisa spoke dug a little deeper, yet beneath the sting, a spark of resolve began to ignite. She wouldn’t let this go. She couldn’t.

“Hey, language—I’m still your boss,” she said, voice tight, trying to assert control she didn’t entirely feel.

Lisa laughed slowly, the sound sharp, biting. “Sorry, boss. At least you lied about the baby. Good thing you got that loser off your neck—he could’ve come back with a paternity suit if he could ever afford a lawyer.” Her laughter rang cruel, mocking.

Vanessa pressed her hands briefly to her chest, shaking slightly—not with weakness, but from the intensity of emotions coursing through her. Rage, fear, helplessness—they collided in a tight, raw knot. Yet underneath it all, a thread of determination began to steady her. She would act. She would take control.

“You know… I think you’re right,” she muttered under her breath, voice tight with restrained fury. “I shouldn’t let this slide. Being assaulted… my mother… I need to do something. Show everyone I’m the boss.”

Her mind replayed the chaos again and again: her mother groaning, paramedics’ tense movements, the silent panic etched on everyone’s faces. Each memory sent a surge of heat through her veins, a mix of protectiveness, fear, and anger that threatened to spill over. Her hands shook—not from weakness, but from the raw force of emotion demanding release.

With a deep, measured breath, Vanessa picked up her phone, fingers hovering uncertainly, trembling slightly. She needed answers. She needed accountability. Why risk her mother’s life? Why act so recklessly?

Her thoughts spun in a whirl of fear, frustration, and anticipation, but beneath it all, a steadying thread of clarity anchored her. She would not be paralyzed. She would not allow fear to control her. She needed control. She needed answers.

The phone rang, each tone hammering through the quiet office like a countdown. Her thumb hovered, hesitating for a split second, then pressed the button. Click—the line connected, and the tense silence of the office pressed around her, heavy and expectant.