Chapter 1

Three years ago, the day my dad jumped to his death, I knelt in the pouring rain, begging my ex-wife, Amanda.

She was the only one who could prove my dad hadn't cooked the books.

She refused.

The next day, my dad leaped from the rooftop.

His dying wish was for me not to blame Amanda.

So I truly didn't blame her.

Instead, I spent three years leaving this city behind, building a fortune from scratch, and becoming a billionaire.

Three years later, we crossed paths at a high-profile charity gala.

With tears brimming in her red-rimmed eyes, Amanda asked me, "Silas, do you still hate me?"

I raised my glass, offered a faint smile, and said nothing.

Hate? Of course I hated her.

And because of that hatred, I came back to make every single one of them pay.

Three years. Seeing Amanda again, she was just as stunning and polished as ever.

Yet beneath her flawless makeup, I could see the exhaustion and hesitation in her eyes.

I looked past her.

A tall man in a tailored designer suit walked up quickly. With an air of absolute possession, he slid an arm around her waist.

It was her assistant, Luke.

"Amanda, who are you talking to?"

Luke's gaze fell on me, dripping with condescension. "And this is?"

Amanda stiffened, her voice dry. "He's... Silas."

"Silas?"

Luke arched an eyebrow in mock surprise, then smirked. "Oh, right! The Vance heir whose family went belly-up three years ago. Surprised you managed to snag an invite to an event like this. Life sure is unpredictable, huh?"

Every word was a needle jabbed into my old wounds.

Amanda's face drained of color. She tried to push his hand away. "Shut up, Luke!"

"Did I say something wrong?"

Luke didn't let go; he pulled her closer and whispered loud enough for me to hear, "Remember who you are, Boss. Mingling with someone like him only drags down your status."

Watching their intimacy, the ashes of my dead heart stirred with a faint gust of bitter dust.

I ignored Luke's taunt and looked Amanda dead in the eye.

"Long time no see, Ms. Cross."

That formal title carved a chasm between us.

Amanda's eyes reddened. Her lips parted, but not a single word came out.

I turned on my heel, grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and walked toward the host of the gala—Chairman Hastings of Hastings Group.

"Mr. Hastings," I said, raising my glass. "Thank you for the invitation."

When Hastings saw me, a broad grin spread across his face. "Mr. Vance, you're far too humble! Our project would never have gotten off the ground without Phoenix Capital's backing!"

At the words "Phoenix Capital," Amanda and Luke froze completely.

I could feel their stunned, disbelieving stares burning into my back like spotlights.

Yes. I was no longer the stray dog begging in the rain.

The day after my dad jumped, I took the last remaining connections he left me and walked away.

Three years. Over a thousand days and nights clawing my way back from hell.

I built Phoenix Capital for one purpose: to show everyone who ever trampled on the Vance name.

A phoenix only rises from the flames.