Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing an office that screamed power.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the space, showing off the early-night cityscape like it was some damn futuristic postcard. The skyline glittered, lights flickering like dying stars, and the slow-moving traffic below looked almost peaceful—like the chaos of the city had been muted just for this view.

Inside, the office was pure, cutthroat elegance. Sleek black marble floors, deep mahogany walls, and recessed lighting that cast a golden glow, making the space look like something out of a CEO's wet dream. A massive, obsidian desk stood near the window, its glossy surface reflecting the skyline like a mirror.

But more importantly, behind that desk sat the reason they were here.

Ms. Callista Nova!

The boss of NovaCast Entertainment. Or at least, she had been—before the Parker storm blew through the industry, tearing down NovaCast and its competitors like they were made of damn paper mâché. The agency barely had time to enjoy its peak before it was sent crashing down, and now here they were, standing in the aftermath.

And Ms. Callista?

She was a fucking sight.

A woman carved from sin, draped in power like it was custom couture.

Her body was the kind men signed contracts in blood for. Long, toned legs crossed at the knee, encased in sheer, jet-black stockings that clung like a second skin. A tight pencil skirt hugged her hips, the slit riding just high enough to tease, but not enough to give away the whole show. Her silk blouse, pure criminal-level temptation, was unbuttoned just so—offering a hint of cleavage, a whisper of danger.

And that face? Sharp. Cold. Devastating. Full lips painted a deep red, like she'd just finished sipping expensive wine—or someone's soul.

She stood as they entered, moving like a damn panther in heels, and gestured toward a separate sitting area off to the side—a power move, keeping them out of her personal space but still on her turf.

"Ms. Reed. Ms. Blanchett." Her voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable. "Please, have a seat."

They did, sinking into the obscenely comfortable chairs like they had just been swallowed by luxury itself.

Cassidy, however, was laser-focused.

She didn't just see Callista—she saw through her.

Thirty-something. Mid-thirties, probably. Had clawed her way up from nothing and built this empire with her bare hands, only to watch it collapse under the weight of old money assholes stacking the deck against her. But give her the right opportunity? She'd be a fucking menace.

She'd give those rich bastards sleepless nights.

Because unlike them, Callista wasn't born into money. She wasn't sipping champagne out of granddaddy's trust fund. She had fought, bled, and hustled her way to the top. And Cassidy?

Cassidy respected the hell out of that.

Not that she gave a fuck about where people got their money. In this dog-eat-dog world, everyone was dirty. She wasn't gonna act like some moral saint when her own methods were highly questionable at best.

But Callista's story?

Yeah, Cassidy knew it. And yeah, she trusted her sources to believe the Callista's story she got from them was right.

Because when you had access to the Ether Community, a network of supernatural beings who could dig up dirt on any mortal's past like it was their damn hobby, getting the real story wasn't an issue.

But the more she read and the more she dug, the more it hit her—Callista was like them (Cassidy, Ava, Claire and Alina). Same hunger. Same claw-your-way-up mentality. Same fuck-the-system energy. The only difference?

Cassidy, Ava, and their crew had a goddamn billionaire backing them now. But take that advantage and shove it to her? Yeah… Callista would be just as much of a menace or even more.

Given the right opportunity, the right fuel for the fire, she'd be a nightmare for old money assholes. A force to be reckoned with. The kind that didn't just play the game—she rewrote the rules.

And after reading enough, Cassidy had come to a single conclusion.

She didn't give a shit how Callista raised her funds.

What she cared about?

Loyalty.

That was the real deciding factor.

Because Cassidy wasn't about to go looking for a new boss after buying this damn agency. Not when it already had a woman like Callista Nova running it. No, all this company needed was money. And Cassidy? She was the fucking gateway to that.

But the price?

Loyalty.

And that was the real question.

Was Ms. Callista worthy of it?

So it was about time to discuss some real shit now.

Parker had told her to find someone worthy to run the agency after they took it over. Not just anyone with a fancy résumé and good PR skills. A real one. Someone who had that ride-or-die energy when it came to this business. And Callista? Yeah, she checked all those boxes.

Cassidy knew damn well that even if she combed through the entire market, the best she could find would either be on Callista's level or maybe, at most, 1 to 2% better and most worked for old money. And yeah, that percentage wasn't small, but it also wasn't big enough to matter.

Because here's the thing—Cassidy wasn't ever gonna find someone like Callista.

Not with the way this woman valued the agency. She built it. She bled for it. And if push came to shove, Cassidy would bet good money that Callista would burn the whole fucking city before she let anyone try take it away from her again after it regains footing with a new boss and more chances go beat the old hierarchy.

Yeah, although the agency would legally belong to Parker. But in spirit? It was Callista's legacy. Given the right conditions—hell, even under the worst conditions—she'd still drag it kicking and screaming to the top. No excuses. No mercy.

And that? That's what the other candidates didn't have.

It wasn't like Cassidy was betting the house on loyalty alone. Hell no. She cared about skill, experience, and all that corporate bullshit. But if one candidate gave her a 70% guarantee that the agency would survive and another had a slightly better skillset but only a 50% guarantee?

Yeah. She'd gladly overlook that extra 1 or 2% and go with the one who wouldn't fold under pressure.

Of course, there were other variables—things she still had to look into before finalizing this deal. But for now?

It was time to start throwing money around like it meant nothing.