Sloane leaned her back against the heavy oak door.
She let out a long, slow breath. The air left her lungs in a rush of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her fingertips tingle.
Outside, muffled, angry thumping vibrated against the thick wood.
"Open this door, Sloane!" Axel's voice was distorted by the oak, but the raw fury was unmistakable.
Sloane rolled her eyes.
She pushed off the door and walked away, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. She headed straight toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the sprawling city skyline.
She peered through the gaps in the expensive blinds, looking down at the street level far below, watching the tiny cars move like ants.
The thumping on the door stopped.
Sloane walked over to the kitchen island and picked up her tablet. She tapped the screen, bringing up the live feed from the hallway security camera.
On the grainy screen, Axel was standing in the corridor, his face twisted in rage.
He turned away from her door and marched toward the tall passerby standing near the elevator. Axel pointed a demanding finger at the crystal stiletto lying on the carpet.
Even without audio, Sloane could tell Axel was aggressively ordering the stranger to hand him the shoe.
The tall passerby slowly bent down.
He picked up the glittering crystal heel. He held it in his large hand, weighing it for a second, his posture completely relaxed.
Then, instead of handing it over, the passerby casually tossed it directly at Axel's face.
The sharp heel smacked Axel right in the center of his forehead.
Axel yelped, his hands flying up to cover his face. He tripped backward over his own expensive leather shoes.
He landed hard on his rear end, right in front of the closed elevator doors, his legs splayed out in a pathetic, undignified V-shape.
Sloane burst into uncontrollable laughter.
The sound echoed in the empty penthouse. She clutched her stomach, her shoulders shaking as she watched the billionaire CEO sitting on the floor like a scolded child.
She quickly hit the record button on the security app.
She captured the exact moment Axel rubbed his red forehead, looking up at the stranger with an expression of pure, helpless shock.
The passerby didn't even look back. He simply stepped into the open elevator, the metal doors sliding shut before Axel could even formulate a yell.
Sloane paused the video.
She dragged her finger across the timeline and took a high-resolution screenshot of Axel looking utterly pathetic on the carpet.
She picked up her phone from the kitchen counter.
She opened the Twitter app. The notification bell was currently sitting at 99+, filled with thousands of hate mentions from Axel's rabid fanbase, calling her a stalker and a psycho.
Sloane ignored all of it.
She tapped the compose button and attached the humiliating screenshot of Axel.
Her thumbs flew across the digital keyboard.
"Trash took itself out. Next time, duck."
She hit post.
She tossed the phone onto the plush leather sofa without waiting to see the reaction.
Sloane walked to the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. She pulled the handle, the cold air washing over her face. She spotted a cardboard box on the middle shelf.
She pulled out a leftover slice of thick, greasy pepperoni pizza.
She didn't bother heating it up. She took a massive bite, the cold cheese and spicy meat hitting her tastebuds. She groaned in pleasure. The original host had starved herself for months to maintain a fragile, waif-like figure for Axel.
Sloane chewed aggressively, swallowing the heavy carbs with delight.
On the sofa, her phone began to vibrate.
It wasn't a gentle buzz. It was a violent, continuous vibration, the device rattling aggressively against the expensive leather.
Sloane walked over slowly, taking another bite of pizza.
She glanced down at the glowing screen.
The notification banner was a waterfall. Retweets, likes, and shocked comments were pouring in by the thousands every second. The algorithm had already caught the engagement spike.
An incoming call popped up, taking over the screen.
It was her talent manager. The contact photo showed a stressed-looking woman in a headset.
Sloane swiped the red button to decline the call. She didn't care about industry politics, and she certainly didn't care about her manager's incoming panic attack.
She tapped the screen again, navigating to the settings, and blocked her manager's number entirely.
Peace and quiet restored.
She opened Twitter again. Her post had already hit the number one spot on the trending page.
Users were losing their minds. They were zooming in on Axel's face, creating memes comparing him to a sad toddler who dropped his ice cream. The hashtag AxelPriceFloored was climbing the charts.
Sloane scrolled down, her lips curving into a genuine smile.
She liked three of the most brutal, mocking memes, her official account adding massive fuel to the viral fire.
A surge of triumphant energy coursed through her. This called for a celebration. She needed to fill the silence, to replace the ghost of his pathetic whining with something powerful.
She walked over to the entertainment console and turned on her Bluetooth speaker.
She cranked the volume to the max, blasting heavy, distorted rock music through the apartment to drown out any remaining noise from the outside world.
Sloane collapsed onto the couch, crossing her bare legs.
She gazed up at the high ceiling, chewing the last piece of Italian sausage, a broad smile on her face, by which time her number of fans had soared to millions.
