Eric's POV
I walked into the office building at sharp 9 a.m., black on black. Rolled-up sleeves, no tie, top buttons undone—just enough to tease the gold chain on my chest. Hair slicked back, frown fixed like armor.
My steps echoed against marble as I made for the elevator, ignoring greetings like they were background noise. People knew to clear out when I was coming. I didn't need to bark. My presence alone did the work.
But this girl—she didn't get the memo. She slipped in just before the doors shut. Blonde, bright-eyed. New. Definitely didn't know who I was.
She got off with me on the fifth floor, and when I passed reception, I heard the whisper.
"That's him."
She froze. Eyes wide. Face drained. Realization hit her like a slap.
Welcome to the jungle, sweetheart.
Jude stood by my office door, coffee in hand. He wasn't the coffee guy, but I figured this was his peace offering. After the way I chewed him out last night, he owed me a few.
I took the cup without a word, gesturing for him to sit. He sat fast. I could tell he'd been there early, probably since 7 a.m., rehearsing his apology speech. Idiot. But loyal. That counted for something.
I leaned back in my chair, legs spread, one hand swirling the coffee. "So tell me, Jude… what can we do to ravage the situation now?"
His throat bobbed. "To be honest, Sir, I think you might've watched an old clip. She hasn't said anything about you in about two weeks. And even when she did, it was mild."
"That's the problem," I said coolly. "The fact that she even dared to mess with me. Whether it's over now doesn't matter. She built her momentum using me."
He looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew better.
"She's become a public figure in her own right, Sir. People might see it as you punching down."
I leaned forward, voice low. "Jude, before she became anything, I was. Doesn't matter how hot she is right now—I'm the one with the money. The reach. The legacy. And that gives me options."
He nodded slowly. "So what do you want to do?"
"I don't want to block her little interviews or kill her brand deals. That's bush-league. I want to drain everything she's built. Every cent."
He swallowed hard. "We could go legal. Defamation. Harassment. Internet bullying. I'll have to check with Leah to refine the language."
"Do that. Now."
He stood. "Yes, Sir. I'll update you by noon."
I gave him a nod, and he walked out.
I took another sip. Bitter. Perfect.
She really thought she could rise off my name? Drag me online like I'm some free content generator? Cute. But now, the game was mine to play.
And God help me, something about her voice in that video—it clung to me. Her laughter. Her little smirks. The way she said my name like it was venom wrapped in velvet. I'd seen thirst-trap YouTubers. Wannabes with ring lights and clickbait captions. But her? She had bite. She had no business being that intoxicating and that insulting at the same damn time.
I hit play again. Her smile lit the screen, and even now, as I plotted, I found myself watching more than listening.
This was war.
And I wasn't just going to win. I was going to enjoy every damn step of it.
Nala's POV
I hadn't checked my emails in two days. Between filming new content, prepping my "Nostalgia Night" livestream, and avoiding my mom's well-meaning lectures, I'd buried my head in my bubble.
Big mistake.
There it was. Nestled between a YouTube monetization update and a spammy brand deal request: Ross & Associates v. Nala Murphey.
I clicked. And the world as I knew it tilted.
"Dear Ms. Murphey, this email serves as formal notice of a defamation lawsuit filed against you by Mr. Eric Ross. The case will be heard in court on…"
I didn't even see the date. My vision blurred. My lungs constricted.
He sued me.
This wasn't a prank. It wasn't a stunt. This was real.
My phone buzzed—Jasmine, my best friend and sometimes editor. I answered in a whisper.
"Girl, I just saw it. He's suing you? Eric freaking Ross?"
"I—I don't understand," I said, trying not to cry. "It's been weeks. Why now?"
"I told you that last video went too hard."
"But it was honest. I didn't lie. It was public information!"
"Yeah, but you called him 'emotionally constipated and morally bankrupt with the smile of a well-fed demon.' That might've crossed the line."
I dropped onto the bed, cold all over. "I'm ruined."
"No, you're not. You need a lawyer, stat. Preferably one with experience suing billionaires back."
I laughed. Weakly. Bitterly. "With what money, Jaz?"
There was silence. Then: "I'll help you raise some. Start a GoFundMe. We'll call it The Eric Ross Survival Fund. People love an underdog."
"God," I muttered. "What if I have to see him?"
"You will see him," she said. "It's a court case, Nala. And I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"When you do, don't let that smug bastard see you sweat."
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Eric's POV
Leah briefed me with surgical precision—screenshots of her channel, timestamps, transcriptions of the worst moments. She'd called me a walking red flag and A mascot for toxic masculinity." Accurate? Maybe. But she didn't get to say it. Not without consequence.
The court date was set. She was summoned. And I wanted front-row seats to her first look of regret.
I didn't care about the money. I could spend $700K in a weekend and forget about it. This wasn't about cash. It was about control. About setting a tone.
If you come for me, you better never miss.
Nala's POV
The courtroom was colder than I expected. Not in temperature. In atmosphere.
My heart galloped in my chest as I walked in, flanked by my lawyer—Daniel Green. He was nice enough. Small firm. Reasonably priced. Said he believed in justice for creatives. But he didn't look like he believed we could win.
I wore the safest outfit I owned: a navy blue blazer, matching slacks, low heels. Hair pulled back. No lashes. No gloss. Just enough powder to hide the panic.
People stared. Press was kept outside, but I felt the heat of curiosity.
Then I saw him.
Eric Ross.
Sitting at his table in a charcoal suit, legs crossed, one arm stretched lazily on the bench behind him like he owned the air we were breathing. His eyes lifted—and landed right on me.
Dark. Sharp. Knowing.
His mouth didn't move, but somehow, he smirked.
And that's when I realized… I wasn't just in court. I was in his game now.
I straightened my shoulders. Walked to my table. Sat down.
But even as I looked away, I could feel his eyes on me.
He was watching. Studying.
And worst of all… smiling.