They Chose The Actress I Chose My Billions

I was forged in conflict. I learned to fight and scratch for everything I wanted, even at five, when I threw a tantrum demanding my parents get a vasectomy so they could only have me.

When I was eight, my father, George Ashworth, tried to sneak his illegitimate son into the house while my mother was in Europe opening our new division. He wanted to play the “family” card, hoping I’d accept the half-brother he’d kept secret.

I didn’t. I tossed the recorded evidence right onto my mother’s desk. She flew back that same night and filed for divorce.

As the defaulting, at-fault party, George was forced into a settlement that left him bankrupt and entirely outside the company.

Growing up, I only sharpened that edge, living by the creed of profit above all. I never bent the knee for sentiment.

On the day Ashworth Global was set to ring the NASDAQ bell, my entire inner circle—my executive partner, my fiancé, and my corporate image endorser—pulled a collective vanishing act.

A B-list actress named Skylar Bloom had posted a tearful photo of a cut finger in the Maldives. In a synchronized display of heroic idiocy, the three of them—Rhys, Cameron, and Leo—commandeered my private jet and flew off to be her knights in shining armor.

I was left alone, facing a sea of media flashbulbs, becoming the city’s joke.

Afterward, my business partner, Rhys Kincaid, had the nerve to be righteous. “Skylar was bleeding alone in a foreign country. What if she got tetanus? Can’t you be less cold-blooded for once?”

My fiancé, Cameron Wilde, frowned with practiced annoyance. “It’s just an IPO, Sloane. We’ll have a dozen more opportunities. I’ll be there next time.”

And Leo Maxwell, my childhood friend and company endorser, offered his fake condolences. “I told my agent to cut your endorsement fee by twenty percent and I’ll throw in a free campaign. Girls should smile more; that’s how happiness finds you.”

I looked at the three fools in front of me, calmly closing the folder that contained the company’s controlling documents. “I am notifying you as the sole proprietary holder of Ashworth Global,” I said, my voice dangerously even.

“You’re finished.”

“Since you love caring for the helpless so much, you can rot in the gutter with her, you pathetic rats!”

1

Across the vast mahogany table, the three men sat, their posture relaxed, almost dismissive.

Rhys Kincaid was tossing the Montblanc pen I’d gifted him from hand to hand, his expression bored.

Cameron Wilde was hunched over his phone, texting someone with a gentle smile that had never once been aimed at me.

Leo Maxwell was busy checking his hair on the reflective screen. The A-list celebrity could never go a moment without worrying about his flawless face.

They hadn’t grasped the severity of the situation.

In their minds, I, Sloane Ashworth, was a hard ass, but one they could always tame. They assumed that if they acted as a united front, I would cave—because that’s how it had always been for the past twenty-something years.

Rhys finally tired of his pen-twirling and tossed the expensive instrument onto the table. “Sloane, that’s enough.”

“We simply borrowed your plane to pick up a friend. Did you really have to throw this massive fit and ban us from the celebration party?”

Cameron put his phone down and looked up, his brow furrowed, clearly thinking I was being utterly unreasonable.

“He’s right, Cleo. Skylar was alone and terrified. We are her friends; of course, we had to help. As the head of Ashworth, shouldn’t you have a little more—perspective?”

Leo scoffed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the other two. “I think Sloane is just jealous. Jealous that we care about Skylar so much.”

“Seriously, we’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and you’re still getting petty? It’s a bad look, Ashworth.”

The three of them, in perfect harmony, dismissed an egregious corporate betrayal as nothing more than a woman’s fit of jealousy and small-mindedness.

Their arrogance was comical.

One was my executive partner, holding a ten percent equity stake.

One was my fiancé, linking our families in a massive financial merger.

And the last was the face of the company, who was not only paid a fortune but enjoyed the best resources my empire could offer.

They benefited from my success, yet at the most critical moment, they had stabbed me in the back for the sake of their untouchable muse, Skylar Bloom.

I pressed the internal line button. “Send the heads of Legal, Finance, and Security in.”

The men froze, clearly realizing I wasn’t going to accept their apologies this time.

Rhys frowned. “Why call them? This is an internal matter, we can handle it—”

I ignored him. I pulled three prepared documents from my drawer, laying them out on the table.

I had drafted these myself, under the blazing lights of the world’s media on that infamous day, staring at the empty chairs reserved for my partner, my fiancé, and my endorser. I knew then that these three fools, blinded by lust and ego, were no longer fit to stand beside me.

“It is an internal matter, indeed.”

I flipped open the first document and slid it to Rhys.

“Rhys Kincaid, this is a Notice of Partnership Termination.”

“Given your unexcused absence at the critical moment of the company’s IPO launch, you have severely breached the partnership agreement, causing substantial reputational damage and stock fluctuation.”

“Per the terms, Ashworth Global is exercising its right to compulsorily buy back all of your shares at a non-negotiable floor price, and you are liable for all resulting damages.”

Rhys shot to his feet, his face ashen. “Sloane, are you insane? You’re kicking me out?”

I didn’t look at him, turning to toss the second document at Cameron.

“Cameron Wilde, this is a Rescission of Engagement and a Termination Letter for all current Ashworth-Wilde joint projects.”

“Your actions severely damaged my personal reputation, which directly harmed Ashworth Global’s image. Our families’ merger is void, effective immediately.”

“Furthermore, all of the Wilde family’s construction projects currently underway under Ashworth funding are to be suspended and liquidated immediately.”

Cameron’s pupils contracted; his controlled composure shattered.

“Sloane, that’s a billion-dollar project! You’re playing with our livelihoods over a petty squabble!”

Finally, I looked at the stunned Leo Maxwell, and I slapped the legal notice onto his expensive, perfectly sculpted face.

“Leo Maxwell, this is a Contract Termination and Damages Claim.”

“As a brand endorser, you vanished without cause on the day of a major brand event, and your social media conduct has since created a negative public narrative. You are in breach.”

“The penalty for this breach is three hundred million dollars, payable into the corporate account within three business days.”

A deathly silence fell over the office. The three men stared at me in stunned disbelief.

After a long moment, Leo spoke, his voice trembling.

“Sloane, you… you have to be kidding. All this, for something so minor?”

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my hands over my chest, my gaze flat. “Minor?”

“You stole my private jet, causing me to miss the final roadshow, which is minor?”

“You made me ring the bell alone in front of the world’s media, turning me into a joke, which is minor?”

“You illegally charged the cost of private charters, luxury hotels, and a private medical team for Skylar to the company’s expense account, which is minor?”

I stood, leaning my hands on the desk, my physical presence looming over them.

“I apologize. I was not born with a sense of humor for your petty crimes.”

“Since you deem this a ‘minor’ issue, I’m going to show you what a major problem looks like.”

“Security. Escort them out.”

2

The three men were still shouting as security ushered them out.

Rhys pointed his finger at me, calling me cold-blooded and promising I’d die alone.

Cameron, face dark with fury, threatened to call my father to discipline me.

Leo screamed that he would expose my villainy and let his millions of fans tear me apart online.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the chaotic scene as the paparazzi swarmed them downstairs. I had never felt such perfect, serene satisfaction.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Rhys.

“Sloane, don’t be so cruel.”

“Skylar really did cut her finger; it was an emergency, and we were worried about tetanus. Can’t you show a little human compassion?”

Attached was a photo.

In the picture, Skylar was lying on a first-class seat, her hand wrapped in thick, dramatic bandages. She looked fragile and pitiful, a tear tracked down her cheek. The three men hovered around her, their faces etched with genuine concern.

I zoomed in on the photo.

Hmm. That bandage was so thick, you’d think she’d lost a limb.

Compassion? My compassion had expired years ago.

I typed a reply, utterly nonchalant:

“Oh, honey. If the situation was so ‘emergency’ and the fear of tetanus so high, it must be an infection with a severe, highly contagious, unknown foreign pathogen! I’d be happy to help you all!”

After hitting send, I immediately dialed the city’s Centers for Disease Control (CDC) and Customs and Border Protection (CBP).

“Hello, I’d like to file an anonymous tip.”

“A private jet, recently arrived from the Maldives, is attempting to smuggle passengers without proper health declarations. There is one passenger with a suspected high-pathogenicity infectious disease and a severe open wound.”

“Yes, and three others are close contacts.”

“This plane not only failed to file its health manifesto, but it actively tried to bypass customs. For the safety of our city, I urge you to handle this with the utmost urgency.”

I hung up and sent one final message to Rhys:

“Since you all stressed how serious it was, I’ve done you a favor and called the most professional medical isolation team to ensure your life safety.”

“No need to thank me. It’s my last act of mercy as your former partner.”

Half an hour later, the internet exploded.

#LeoMaxwellAndCoDetainedAtAirport #SuspectedUnknownForeignVirus #PrivateJetQuarantinedAndFumigated

In the video, Skylar was being forcefully escorted onto a negative-pressure ambulance by agents in full hazmat gear.

She was terrified, her face pale. In her struggle, the thick gauze fell loose, exposing the wound.

It was a scratch less than a centimeter long, and it was—already scabbed over.

The CBP agents on-site paused, their expressions turning from professional vigilance to utter fury.

“This is the high-pathogenicity wound you claimed?”

“This is the life-threatening tetanus?”

Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were also forcibly loaded into a separate quarantine vehicle.

They frantically tried to explain it was just a scratch, a minor cut, that they were rushing and didn’t file the paperwork.

But in the face of strict federal regulations, every excuse sounded like a lie.

“Failure to comply with health declarations and falsifying documentation. Suspected obstruction of federal health inspection laws. You will be held for mandatory observation and transferred to police custody immediately.”

Watching their miserable faces on the live feed, I smiled.

I said I was a serious person. Since they claimed the situation was grave, I handled it by the gravest standards.

Enjoy the ride.

3

Between mandatory quarantine and administrative detention, they would be locked up for at least two weeks.

Two weeks was plenty of time for me to clean house.

First, I convened an emergency board meeting. Using my absolute majority controlling stake, I unanimously passed a resolution to remove Rhys Kincaid from his position as Executive Director.

I didn’t stop there. I fired all the cronies Rhys had installed, citing incompetence and unmet performance metrics.

For the few who tried to fight back, I had the accounting department drop their files of fake expense reports.

“You can walk out with dignity, or you can let me call the police for corporate fraud. Choose.”

Watching them scurry out, clutching their cardboard boxes, the toxic atmosphere at Ashworth Global immediately cleared.

Next was Cameron. The projects between the Wildes and Ashworth were vast and complex.

In the past, I would have deferred to family ties and tolerated his incompetence. But now, with the gloves off, I was going to cut deep.

I ordered Legal to issue a demand letter, citing Cameron’s unilateral breach of the engagement and partnership agreement. I then froze the capital accounts for every joint construction project.

The Wilde family had a massive, multi-billion-dollar development underway. The sudden, complete halt of capital bled their project dry.

Robert Wilde, Cameron’s father and my former prospective father-in-law, called me, his voice shaking with rage.

“Sloane, you’re shooting yourself in the foot! The project stops, and Ashworth loses money too!”

My tone was calm. “Mr. Wilde, you’re mistaken.”

“Ashworth only provided the financing; the Wilde family handled the operations. Now, thanks to your heir’s criminal misconduct, the Wilde family’s reputation is in ruins. I have the right to stop funding to protect Ashworth’s assets.”

“As for the losses, the contract is clear: the defaulting party—that’s you—is fully liable. You’ll be filling a multi-billion-dollar hole.”

I heard the sound of glass shattering on the other end, followed by Robert Wilde’s roar.

“Fine! Fine, Sloane! You’re ruthless, but you’ll pay for this! Just you wait!”

I hung up and instantly blocked his number. Wait? I never wait for my enemies.

Finally, Leo Maxwell. As a top-tier celebrity, his commercial value relied entirely on his pristine image.

Now, he was facing not just federal charges for obstructing health inspections, but a storm of public outrage.

I had the PR department release a single, cold, and concise statement:

[In light of the egregious violation of law and social conduct by the artist Leo Maxwell, Ashworth Global has terminated all affiliations, effective immediately, and reserves the right to pursue full damages for breach of contract.]

This move was a scalpel to his jugular. Major brands followed my lead, cutting ties left and right.

Leo’s agent called, sobbing and begging, claiming Leo was merely trying to be loyal, that it was a moment of poor judgment.

“Loyalty?”

I looked down at the flight manifest on my desk. They had forged my signature to authorize the private jet’s flight.

“Falsifying documents and stealing a private jet. That isn’t ‘loyalty.’”

“That’s grand larceny.”

“Tell Leo I require the full three hundred million dollars in breach penalties. If a penny is missing, I will move for forced execution and seize every single asset he owns.”

“Additionally, I’m forwarding the evidence of the forged flight authorization to the Economic Crimes Unit to pursue criminal charges for the forgery of corporate documents.”

“He can beg his dear Skylar Bloom to save him now.”

Having cleaned up the mess, I felt a lightness I hadn’t realized I was missing.

Childhood friends, fiancés, partners—they could all go to hell.

If you don’t want to share the cake, you get to rot in the gutter with the rats.

4

Two weeks later, the three men were released.

The first thing they did wasn’t to apologize or mitigate the damage.

It was to host a massive, nationally televised press conference.

The event was titled: “Exposing the Bullying Tactics of the Cold-Blooded Capitalist, Sloane Ashworth.”

The venue was the city’s most luxurious hotel—the same one Skylar was staying at.

Hundreds of media outlets were present, flashbulbs blazing.

Skylar, clad in a pristine white dress, looked devastatingly vulnerable, her face deliberately pale and bare of makeup.

She sat at the center, flanked by Rhys on the left and Cameron on the right, with Leo standing stoically behind her. They were a united front of victims.

Skylar cried for three full minutes before she managed to speak.

“I apologize to the public, and most of all, to Ms. Ashworth.”

“I know Ms. Ashworth has always disliked me, feeling I wasn’t worthy of being friends with Rhys and Cameron. I understand that.”

“But I never, ever intended to take anything from her.”

“That day, I was so scared. My finger was bleeding heavily, and I thought I might die…”

She held up the hand with the tiny scratch—now barely a faded pink line—for the cameras.

“It was only because Rhys and the others were so worried about me that they took Ms. Ashworth’s plane in the heat of the moment.”

“We are willing to pay for the jet fuel, and we are willing to apologize.”

“But Ms. Ashworth… why such cruelty?”

“Why call the federal agents on us? Why let the CDC drag us away like we were diseased criminals?”

She wept, her body shaking delicately.

Rhys immediately put his arm around her, glaring at the cameras.

“Sloane Ashworth is a psychopath. This is nothing but a vicious character assassination.”

“She is using her power and wealth to systematically crush us out of spite and jealousy.”

“She is even trying to throw me out of the company I helped build from the ground up just to force me to surrender.”

Cameron took the microphone, his expression grim.

“My engagement to Sloane was always a corporate tragedy arranged by our families.”

“She fundamentally misunderstands love. All she sees is profit, control, and winning.”

“A woman like that is terrifying. I am thankful I didn’t marry her.”

Leo Maxwell, the actor, delivered a heartfelt monologue to the lens.

“In this whole cynical industry, only Skylar is pure and innocent.”

“Sloane, with her stench of money and cold ambition, isn’t worthy of cleaning Skylar’s shoes.”

“She can blacklist me; I don’t care. If it means protecting Skylar, I will quit Hollywood forever!”

The statements set off a firestorm online.

#JusticeForSkylar #SloaneAshworthIsAVillain #ColdBloodedBillionaire

The hashtags dominated social media. Misled netizens swarmed Ashworth Global’s official accounts with hateful comments.

Someone even Photoshopped my obituary and sent it to the front desk.

The company stock began to flutter nervously. The old-guard board members, the vultures who feared instability, called me one after another, demanding answers.

“Ms. Ashworth, is this how you manage a crisis? You’ve turned the company into a circus!”

“If you cannot quell this public outrage, we will be forced to activate the impeachment proceedings.”

I watched the four of them on the live stream, noting the frantic stock ticker on my desktop.

I wasn’t worried. Instead, I poured my assistant a cup of tea. “Patience.”

“Let them play their part a little longer.”

“The audience isn’t big enough yet. The backlash isn’t intense enough.”

“The moment the entire internet is howling my name is the perfect moment to drop the net.”

I was waiting for a file, one that would guarantee their complete, irreversible ruin.

5

The press conference reached its dramatic peak.

Encouraged by the three men, Skylar pulled out her phone.

“To prove how vindictive Ms. Ashworth is, I have an audio recording here.”

“It’s what she said to me after I accidentally spilled some wine on her shoe at a gala a few months ago.”

She hit play. My voice, cold and measured, cut through the silence.

“You think you can just walk away? That shoe is a custom-made Chanel slingback worth eighty-eight thousand dollars. Pay for it, then disappear. Don’t try to play the damsel with me; I don’t fall for it.”

The room erupted in gasps. The reporters murmured: “No way, that’s so arrogant!”

“Over a pair of shoes?”

“Is this the face of modern capitalism?”

Skylar cried harder. “Ms. Ashworth has always looked down on me, seeing me as nothing more than a poor girl…”

Rhys, Cameron, and Leo looked indignant, as if I were the villain in a Greek tragedy.

Just then, the massive screen behind them, which was displaying Skylar’s tearful photo, suddenly flashed.

It went black, and a line of stark white text appeared:

[EVIDENCE DISCLOSURE: THE CASE OF ASHWORTH GLOBAL PRIVATE JET THEFT & CORPORATE FUND MISAPPROPRIATION]

The audience was stunned. Then, a high-definition video began to play.

The setting was Rhys Kincaid’s lavish office.

The timestamp was two hours before the private jet’s takeoff.

In the frame, Rhys, Cameron, and Leo were gathered, smoking and laughing.

There was no urgency, no concern, only calculated glee.

Rhys exhaled a plume of smoke, chuckling. “Skylar is so dramatic. Cuts her finger and posts it online.”

Cameron carelessly played with a lighter. “She wants attention. And frankly, I’m sick of Sloane the Ice Queen. All she talks about is the IPO. No romance, no fun.”

Leo had his feet propped up on the desk. “Hey, Sloane’s new jet is sweet. I haven’t flown on it yet. Why don’t we take that one to pick up Skylar?”

“Might as well grab a quick week in the Maldives. Sloane is too busy to notice.”

Rhys hesitated. “The plane is Sloane’s personal asset. We don’t have the authorization.”

Cameron sneered. “What are you afraid of? The three of us can’t handle one Sloane Ashworth?”

“We’ll just claim it was a rescue mission. Even if she finds out, is she going to burn us over something so trivial? She needs us.”

Leo roared with laughter. “Exactly! Sloane is a pathetic, unloved creature. Just give her a little sweet talk, and she’ll open her wallet. This is a lesson for her, making her realize who she really needs to beg.”

Rhys ultimately gave the final nod. “Fine. Let’s go. There’s twenty million in the corporate account for ‘miscellaneous overseas promotion.’ We’ll use that to charter Skylar a private island for a few days. We can always cook the books later.”

The video footage was crystal clear, the audio sharp.

Every word, every casual laugh, landed like a brutal slap on the faces of the four people on stage and the hundreds in the audience.

The reporters who had just been denouncing me now stared, jaws slackened in total shock.

Immediately, the screen shifted to Skylar Bloom’s private text messages.

The timestamp was one hour before takeoff. She texted Rhys: “Babe, my finger hurts so bad. Hurry! Is Sloane’s new jet super comfy? I really want to try it…”

Attached was a deliberately zoomed-in photo of the tiny cut, with the caption: “It would be so perfect to recover on the beach in the Maldives.”

Rhys instantly replied: “Wait for us, darling. Picking you up now. Consider this a vacation.”

Skylar sent a shy emoji: “Won’t that be too much trouble for Ms. Ashworth?”

Rhys: “Forget that ice maiden. With us around, nobody can touch you.”

This exchange confirmed Skylar was an active participant in the manipulation.

The livestream chat went silent, then exploded with a flood of new comments.

[WHAT IS THIS PLOT TWIST?!]

[It was never a rescue; it was a vacation plot?!]

[Misappropriation of funds? Falsifying books? These are federal crimes!]

[These men are disgusting. Mooches who think they’re entitled!]

[Where are the Skylar fans now? This is your innocent goddess?]

On the stage, the four faces turned bone-white.

Rhys tried to lunge for the power cable, but it was useless.

Cameron’s water glass slipped from his numb fingers and shattered on the floor.

Leo instinctively shielded his face, trying to escape the cameras.

Skylar was too terrified to even cry, frozen in place.

And it wasn’t over. The screen rotated again, showing pages of official, red-stamped financial audit reports. Every single transaction was flagged for criminal misconduct.

Rhys’s fictitious overseas promotion funds were clearly traced to Skylar’s island resort bill.

The money Cameron diverted from the Ashworth-Wilde joint projects was used to plug holes in his father’s books.

Leo’s chat logs, detailing his insider trading and the sale of confidential company data, were displayed with dates and content.

Finally, the screen cut to a live feed from the city’s FBI Economic Crimes Division.

The Division Chief addressed the camera gravely. “We have formally launched an investigation into Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, and Leo Maxwell on charges of embezzlement and corporate fund misappropriation. Skylar Bloom, as a co-conspirator, is also under investigation.”

“Preliminary findings confirm the total misappropriated funds exceed five hundred and thirty million dollars. Evidence has been secured. We will be taking all four individuals into custody immediately.”

As the feed ended, the doors to the banquet hall burst open.

A team of police officers marched in. The lead officer strode onto the stage and displayed the warrants.

“Rhys Kincaid, Cameron Wilde, Leo Maxwell, and Skylar Bloom. You are under arrest for severe economic crimes. You are now being taken into criminal custody.”

Rhys’s knees buckled; he collapsed onto the carpet.

Cameron tried to argue. “I’m the heir to the Wilde fortune! You can’t arrest me! I need my lawyer!”

Leo immediately tried to deflect. “This isn’t my fault! Rhys made me do it! I’m just an artist; I don’t understand any of this!”

Skylar shrieked, clutching the table leg. “I’m innocent! They gave me the money! I didn’t know! I’m the victim here!”

The four allies, moments ago a picture of devoted friendship, immediately tore each other apart under the weight of the law.

No one believed their tears now.

Reporters shoved their lenses right into their faces, documenting every miserable moment.

Watching them being led out and loaded into the police vehicles, I finally felt the tension leave my body.

However, just as the police motorcade began to pull away, my phone rang.

It was an unknown number.

I answered. A voice, distorted by a scrambler, came through the line. “Sloane Ashworth, well done.”

“You’ve neutralized these pawns, which saves me a lot of trouble.”

“Those three fools were only ever useful for wasting company resources and stuffing Skylar’s pockets. They were useless to my real plan. You’ve cleared the deadwood for me, saving me the trouble of doing it myself.”

He gave a cold, sinister chuckle. “But do you think you’ve won?”

“Check the wire transfer log for the Ashworth Global overseas account. That five billion—is it still there?”

I shot to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest.

The overseas account?

That was Ashworth’s core capital, the massive reserve for our European expansion—the final lifeline my mother had left me.

I immediately logged into the bank system.

The screen displayed an unbearable truth. BALANCE: 0.

“What did you do? Who are you?” I demanded into the phone.

The voice chuckled again. “Who I am is irrelevant. What matters, Sloane, is this: Welcome to the real Hell Mode.”

The line went dead. I stared at the dark screen, my hands ice cold.