u/Pretty-Grimli-0057

Clara Hayes was the hottest actress in film, the muse every director dreamed of working with.

Until the moment she boarded a plane to accept her Best Actress award.

Explicit photos of her flooded every major platform and went viral.

By the time she landed, Clara had gone from a universally praised actress to a public pariah everyone wanted to tear apart.

She stared at the notice on her phone saying her Best Actress award had been revoked.

Then she looked up and saw hundreds, thousands, of n@k#ed photos of herself.

"Shameless! Get out of the industry!"

"You slept your way up with this kind of trash and still think you deserve an award? You make the audience sick!"

Clara was shoved into a car by her agent, her whole body shaking beyond her control.

Those photos. Her husband, Adrian Blackwood, had clearly told her he had taken care of all of them.

How could this happen?

She rushed home. The instant her hands closed around the study door handle, the conversation inside froze her in place.

"Mr. Blackwood, is this move a little too harsh to use on Clara? She worked for so many years. This one blow is enough to wipe out everything she has built. She may never get another role again."

Adrian's voice was calm and indifferent, as if he were discussing something that had nothing to do with him.

"This Best Actress award belongs to Stella. For Stella's future career, what does it matter if Clara is sacrificed this once?"

Clara's back pressed hard against the wall. A bone-deep chill spread through her entire body.

"Mr. Blackwood always sees further than the rest of us. Only three moves, and you had Clara completely in the palm of your hand."

Adrian's subordinate flattered him.

"First, when she had just entered the industry, you had the agency trick her into signing a double contract."

"Second, you used the fifty million breach penalty to force her to take off her clothes and shoot those explicit photos."

"And third, Mr. Blackwood swept in like a hero saving the beauty. Of course Clara threw herself into your arms. Loyal, obedient, working herself half to death to become the most profitable artist in your company."

"More obedient than a dog, and you did not even have to share her pay with her."

Laughter burst out inside the room. Outside the door, Clara had already shattered.

She could still feel the warmth and safety from that day, when Adrian had wrapped his suit jacket around her n@k#ed body.

He had covered her eyes and blocked out every filthy thing.

"Do not look. This is not your fault."

"Cry if you need to. I am here with you. I will destroy every one of these photos, and I promise not one of these people will dare tell anyone what happened today."

In all the vears after. Adrian had never brouaht it up again.

Chapter 1

​

At my boyfriend Patrick's proposal dinner, his childhood best friend, Becky, took the engagement ring and slipped it onto her own finger.

​

In front of everyone.

​

She raised her hand beneath the chandelier, and the diamond caught the light.

​

"Oh my God, Edward," she said, laughing softly.

​

"Look. It's perfect. Like it was made just for me."

​

Then she turned to me.

​

The little smile on her face said everything.

​

The private dining room went silent.

​

Someone froze with a champagne flute halfway to their mouth.

​

Someone else stared at Patrick like they were waiting for him to fix it.

​

Everyone was waiting for me to break.

​

To cry.

​

To make a scene.

​

To run out looking like the humiliated girlfriend who had just lost the man she loved in front of a room full of people.

​

After all, that was what I had done for six years.

​

I had swallowed every insult.

​

Made room for every excuse.

​

Stepped aside every time Becky needed Patrick more than I did.

​

Classic Ava.

​

The perfect doormat.

​

Patrick looked at me, then at Becky.

​

For one second, I thought he might finally say the right thing.

​

Instead, he sighed.

​

"Becky's just joking," he said. "Don't make it a big deal, okay?"

​

Something inside me went cold.

​

Not cracked.

​

Not hurt.

​

Dead.

​

Then I laughed.

​

Everyone stared.

​

I walked over, took Becky's ringed hand, and placed it back into Patrick's palm.

​

"You know what?" I said. "She's right."

​

Becky's smile faltered.

​

"The ring suits her better."

​

I looked at both of them and smiled.

​

"You two are perfect for each other."

​

Patrick's face changed.

​

"Ava—"

​

"I'm out," I said. "I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

​

Then I turned and walked away.

​

I didn't look back when Patrick called my name.

​

I didn't care about the gasps behind me.

​

And I definitely didn't care when the whispers started spreading through the room.

​

None of them knew the truth.

​

I had practically gift-wrapped that proposal for the two of them.

​

The end had started three nights earlier.

​

Chicago was buried under a freak snowstorm, and the temperature had dropped to minus four.

​

I dragged my suitcase through O'Hare, fingers numb, cheeks burning from the cold.

​

Patrick had promised to pick me up.

​

He was not there.

​

I called him.

​

Straight to voicemail.

​

"Hey, it's Patrick. Leave a message."

​

I tried Uber.

​

No drivers available.

​

I tried Lyft.

​

Same thing.

​

The airport was packed with stranded travelers, wet coats, crying children, and people arguing with airline staff.

​

I stood near the pickup area for three hours, refreshing the app until my phone battery turned red.

​

Patrick never called back.

​

Later, I saw Becky's Instagram Story.

​

[When I'm sick, you're the only one who never complains about staying with me. 💕]

​

The photo showed a woman's hand hooked up to an IV.

​

Beside it was a man's hand peeling an apple.

​

No face.

​

No tag.

​

But I knew that watch.

​

A Tag Heuer.

​

I had bought it for Patrick's birthday after saving for three months, skipping lunches and cutting every unnecessary expense.

​

When I saw the photo, my first reaction was not anger.

​

It was worse.

​

I felt nothing.

​

No shock.

​

No pain.

​

Not even jealousy.

​

Just a tired, empty quiet.

​

Like I had been knocking on the same locked door for years and finally realized I no longer wanted anyone to open it.

​

It was not the first time Patrick had abandoned me for Becky.

​

On my birthday, he left before I cut the cake because Becky called him crying.

​

He did not come home that night.

​

The month before that, my team landed a major client.

​

Patrick promised to take me out to celebrate.

​

On the way to the restaurant, Becky called.

​

He pulled over, told me it was an emergency, and drove off.

​

It was raining.

​

I stood on the side of the road in heels, soaked through, hungry and shivering, waiting an hour for a ride.

​

That cold turned into pneumonia.

​

I spent several hours in the ER before the doctors put me on a week of IV antibiotics.

​

Patrick never visited.

​

Later, I found out Becky had been "emotionally overwhelmed," so he had flown with her to Santa Barbara to help her clear her head.

​

And Valentine's Day?

​

He left me alone in a candlelit restaurant for four hours while he searched the city for Becky's missing cat.

​

The waitress kept coming by.

​

"Would you like to order while you wait?"

​

I told her I was waiting for someone.

​

An hour later, she asked again.

​

Two hours later, she said gently, "Honey, maybe you should go home."

​

I should have.

​

I should have gone home long before that night.

​

But being ignored over and over does something to you.

​

At first, it hurts.

​

Then it humiliates you.

​

Then, one day, it stops hurting at all.

​

That was how I knew I was done.

​

Because on the coldest night of my life, standing in an airport with Becky's photo glowing on my screen, I did not cry.

​

I only thought:

​

Six years.

​

I had wasted six years loving a man who never once chose me first.

More exciting stories, read ahead

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I planned his empire while he planned my sister's wedding. Flowers. Venue. Vows. All for her. Luca Vitale didn't even look up from the bridal catalog when I handed him the dossier that would save his family from an FBI indictment. "Put it on the desk," he said, circling a centerpiece option. I put it on the desk. Along with every shred of dignity I had left. My sister Elena sat across from him in the dining room of the Vitale estate—our family's ancestral home in Chicago's Gold Coast, the one I'd saved from seizure by restructuring $40 million in hidden assets when I was twenty-two years old. She was trying on rings. His rings. The ones meant for me. "Babe, do you like the princess cut or the oval?" Elena held her hand up to the chandelier light. "Princess," Luca said. "Like you." I heard her giggle through the open door. The same giggle she'd used at seven to steal my toys, at fifteen to steal my friends, at twenty-one to steal my fiancé. Because Luca Vitale had been mine first. Arranged. Promised. Contracted in blood and ink between our fathers when I was seventeen—Gianna Ferretti, eldest daughter of the Ferretti family, bound to the heir of the Vitale dynasty. A merger of bloodlines and territories that would control every port, every warehouse, every shadow economy corridor from Chicago to Detroit. I'd spent four years preparing for this marriage. Learning his business. Mastering his books. Building the financial architecture that turned the Vitale family from a crumbling Midwest operation into the most powerful syndicate between the coasts. Then Elena came home from college. Blonde. Beautiful. Useless in the way men find irresistible. Luca took one look at her and forgot I existed. "The FBI file," I said from the doorway. "You need to read it tonight. Agent Callahan is building a RICO case. I've identified three vulnerabilities in our—" "Tomorrow, Gianna." He didn't look up. "We're busy." We're busy. We. Him and my sister. Busy choosing napkin colors for a wedding that should have been mine. I walked back to my office—the windowless room in the basement that Luca called "the vault" because that's where I kept his family's secrets. Every transaction. Every bribe. Every body buried in the foundation of his power. I sat in the dark and opened my laptop. The RICO case was real. Agent Callahan had flipped two of Luca's capos. In six weeks, the Vitale empire would be indicted, frozen, dismantled. I'd built the defense strategy. Forty-seven pages. Every legal counter, every financial firewall, every escape route mapped with surgical precision. Luca hadn't read a single page. He was too busy planning his wedding to my sister. I stared at the screen. At the blinking cursor. At the fortress I'd built for a man who housed me in the basement and my sister in the master suite. Then I opened a new file. Not a defense strategy. An exit strategy. My exit. I'd been the brain of the Vitale family for four years. I knew every account, every password, every skeleton in every closet. I knew which judges were bought, which cops were compromised, which federal agents had offshore accounts that would end their careers. I knew everything. And Luca Vitale—the man who couldn't be bothered to read my briefings because he was too busy choosing wedding flowers with my sister—was about to discover what happened when the woman who knew everything decided to walk out the door. I started typing. Upstairs, Elena laughed again. I kept typing. By morning, I'd have a plan. By next week, I'd have a new identity. By the end of the month, I'd be gone. And the Vitale empire—every brick I'd laid, every wall I'd reinforced, every system I'd designed—would collapse like a house of cards in a hurricane. Not because I'd destroy it. Because I'd stop saving it. And without me saving it, there was nothing left to save.

I was known as the good girl.

​

For five years we were together, no matter how many women Alex had on the side, I swallowed it all and behaved.

​

Until that day. The hotel suite had stockings and lingerie that didn't belong to me lying around.

​

He didn't look guilty about getting caught. Instead, he just smiled lazily. "Be a good girl and check us out for me, will you?"

​

His friends started placing bets on how long I'd last this time.

​

Alex rested his chin on his hand, completely indifferent. "She's a good girl. She'll come around in a couple of days."

​

Like before. Begging him not to leave with those pitiful eyes.

​

But what Alex didn't know was that girls like me—once we hit marriage age, we always end up listening to our parents.

​

So while he was busy being all pleased with himself, I found my courage and asked the handsome guy across from me at my setup blind date: "Future kids taking my last name. You good with that?"

​

...

​

The room number Alex sent—I rang the bell forever and nobody answered.

​

I dropped my hand, leaned against the wall, and shifted my bag underneath me for support.

​

My fourteen-inch laptop was digging into my shoulder hard enough to hurt.

​

Finally, after a while, the door next to me swung open.

​

Alex had nothing but a towel around his waist, bare chest still dripping water, every muscle defined.

​

He braced one hand against the doorframe, brow slightly furrowed. "Couldn't you have just come tomorrow?"

​

I clutched my bag with both hands and tilted my head up, voice small. "Sorry, sorry—project issue came up last minute, had to work late."

​

Alex pulled his hand back and headed inside. "That crap job of yours—how much can you even make in a day? Just quit already."

​

I slipped in sideways before the hotel door could close behind me.

​

That's when I noticed something off. I froze.

​

Alex had a suite—long walk from the entrance to the main room. You had to go around the corner to see the living room couch with the completely wrecked stockings and underwear scattered on the floor...

​

I knew Alex liked to play around. I knew even when I was right there with him, he never stopped seeing other women.

​

But I always thought—if I didn't see it, it'd be okay.

​

I made a point of avoiding any scene of Alex with someone else. If I didn't see it, I could keep lying to myself.

​

Like a fish. I'd always give myself seven seconds to numb the pain.

​

I looked at Alex. He'd moved to lean against the bar, watching me. No idea when.

​

He held a glass of whiskey. From the bathroom not far away, I could still hear water running.

​

His eyes weren't panicked. Weren't guilty either.

​

"You came too late." He shrugged. Voice flat.

​

I gripped my bag tighter, terrified I'd lose strength and let my laptop crash to the floor.

​

That computer cost over a thousand bucks. Almost half my monthly paycheck.

​

Before I could say anything, the bathroom door swung open.

​

A gorgeous woman with endless legs stepped out, wrapped in a loose bathrobe.

​

When she saw me, her reaction was bland. Like a third person being here was no surprise at all.

​

"Mr. Harrington—" Her voice was sticky sweet as she pressed against him, showing off plenty. "That endorsement for me..."

​

Alex shifted away slightly, taking a sip of his drink. "Talk to Jack. You can go now."

​

She beamed. "Thank you, Mr. Harrington!"

​

By the time she walked out, she was fully dressed and made up.

​

I watched her go and finally placed her—she was that up-and-coming starlet everyone was talking about lately. Tiffany.

​

She stopped at the door, gave me a once-over. Probably trying to suck up to Alex.

​

Then she turned back and laughed. "Mr. Harrington has such good taste. Even his assistant is top-tier innocent-but-sexy. Put her in entertainment and she'd kill it."

​

Alex didn't even look up. Didn't correct her either. Just sounded annoyed. "Still here?"

​

She threw her bag over her shoulder and sashayed out happily.

​

Alex changed clothes, walked over, and took my bag from me like he always did—smooth and natural, like nothing had happened.

​

One arm around my waist. "Hungry? What do you want for dinner? We'll go eat in a bit."

​

When he saw I hadn't moved, he raised an eyebrow, thinking he knew what was up.

​

He smiled lazily, fingers tracing circles on my hip. "Upset? Want something? I'll have them open another room next door—"

At my wedding, the bouquet I tossed was snatched out of the air by Rhys DeLuca's friend, Chiara.

She raised an eyebrow.

"So, what am I supposed to do with this?"

Then she turned to Rhys.

"Rhys, want to run away with an old friend?"

The groomsmen erupted, whooping and shoving Rhys toward

her.

"Kiss her!"

"Rhys, quit pretending. Didn't you pass out with your head in her lap at the bachelor party last night?"

Rhys just laughed and kicked one of them.

"Knock it off. My fiancée is standing right here."

But his ears went red.

Chiara shrugged.

"I don't mind. Except the bride looks like she's about to cry."

Only then did Rhys look at me. He reached out and tapped the tip of my nose, his tone offhand.

"Baby, it's a joke. Don't be so sensitive."

"Come on, let's get on with it."

I pushed his hand away and took the microphone from the officiant.

You want the groom, don't you?"

"Then you can have him."

Three days later, he stood outside the County Clerk's Office, his eyes red-rimmed and raw.

I didn't look back.

I planned his empire while he planned my sister's wedding. Flowers. Venue. Vows. All for her. Luca Vitale didn't even look up from the bridal catalog when I handed him the dossier that would save his family from an FBI indictment. "Put it on the desk," he said, circling a centerpiece option. I put it on the desk. Along with every shred of dignity I had left. My sister Elena sat across from him in the dining room of the Vitale estate—our family's ancestral home in Chicago's Gold Coast, the one I'd saved from seizure by restructuring $40 million in hidden assets when I was twenty-two years old. She was trying on rings. His rings. The ones meant for me. "Babe, do you like the princess cut or the oval?" Elena held her hand up to the chandelier light. "Princess," Luca said. "Like you." I heard her giggle through the open door. The same giggle she'd used at seven to steal my toys, at fifteen to steal my friends, at twenty-one to steal my fiancé. Because Luca Vitale had been mine first. Arranged. Promised. Contracted in blood and ink between our fathers when I was seventeen—Gianna Ferretti, eldest daughter of the Ferretti family, bound to the heir of the Vitale dynasty. A merger of bloodlines and territories that would control every port, every warehouse, every shadow economy corridor from Chicago to Detroit. I'd spent four years preparing for this marriage. Learning his business. Mastering his books. Building the financial architecture that turned the Vitale family from a crumbling Midwest operation into the most powerful syndicate between the coasts. Then Elena came home from college. Blonde. Beautiful. Useless in the way men find irresistible. Luca took one look at her and forgot I existed. "The FBI file," I said from the doorway. "You need to read it tonight. Agent Callahan is building a RICO case. I've identified three vulnerabilities in our—" "Tomorrow, Gianna." He didn't look up. "We're busy." We're busy. We. Him and my sister. Busy choosing napkin colors for a wedding that should have been mine. I walked back to my office—the windowless room in the basement that Luca called "the vault" because that's where I kept his family's secrets. Every transaction. Every bribe. Every body buried in the foundation of his power. I sat in the dark and opened my laptop. The RICO case was real. Agent Callahan had flipped two of Luca's capos. In six weeks, the Vitale empire would be indicted, frozen, dismantled. I'd built the defense strategy. Forty-seven pages. Every legal counter, every financial firewall, every escape route mapped with surgical precision. Luca hadn't read a single page. He was too busy planning his wedding to my sister. I stared at the screen. At the blinking cursor. At the fortress I'd built for a man who housed me in the basement and my sister in the master suite. Then I opened a new file. Not a defense strategy. An exit strategy. My exit. I'd been the brain of the Vitale family for four years. I knew every account, every password, every skeleton in every closet. I knew which judges were bought, which cops were compromised, which federal agents had offshore accounts that would end their careers. I knew everything. And Luca Vitale—the man who couldn't be bothered to read my briefings because he was too busy choosing wedding flowers with my sister—was about to discover what happened when the woman who knew everything decided to walk out the door. I started typing. Upstairs, Elena laughed again. I kept typing. By morning, I'd have a plan. By next week, I'd have a new identity. By the end of the month, I'd be gone. And the Vitale empire—every brick I'd laid, every wall I'd reinforced, every system I'd designed—would collapse like a house of cards in a hurricane. Not because I'd destroy it. Because I'd stop saving it. And without me saving it, there was nothing left to save.

I planned his empire while he planned my sister's wedding. Flowers. Venue. Vows. All for her. Luca Vitale didn't even look up from the bridal catalog when I handed him the dossier that would save his family from an FBI indictment. "Put it on the desk," he said, circling a centerpiece option. I put it on the desk. Along with every shred of dignity I had left. My sister Elena sat across from him in the dining room of the Vitale estate—our family's ancestral home in Chicago's Gold Coast, the one I'd saved from seizure by restructuring $40 million in hidden assets when I was twenty-two years old. She was trying on rings. His rings. The ones meant for me. "Babe, do you like the princess cut or the oval?" Elena held her hand up to the chandelier light. "Princess," Luca said. "Like you." I heard her giggle through the open door. The same giggle she'd used at seven to steal my toys, at fifteen to steal my friends, at twenty-one to steal my fiancé. Because Luca Vitale had been mine first. Arranged. Promised. Contracted in blood and ink between our fathers when I was seventeen—Gianna Ferretti, eldest daughter of the Ferretti family, bound to the heir of the Vitale dynasty. A merger of bloodlines and territories that would control every port, every warehouse, every shadow economy corridor from Chicago to Detroit. I'd spent four years preparing for this marriage. Learning his business. Mastering his books. Building the financial architecture that turned the Vitale family from a crumbling Midwest operation into the most powerful syndicate between the coasts. Then Elena came home from college. Blonde. Beautiful. Useless in the way men find irresistible. Luca took one look at her and forgot I existed. "The FBI file," I said from the doorway. "You need to read it tonight. Agent Callahan is building a RICO case. I've identified three vulnerabilities in our—" "Tomorrow, Gianna." He didn't look up. "We're busy." We're busy. We. Him and my sister. Busy choosing napkin colors for a wedding that should have been mine. I walked back to my office—the windowless room in the basement that Luca called "the vault" because that's where I kept his family's secrets. Every transaction. Every bribe. Every body buried in the foundation of his power. I sat in the dark and opened my laptop. The RICO case was real. Agent Callahan had flipped two of Luca's capos. In six weeks, the Vitale empire would be indicted, frozen, dismantled. I'd built the defense strategy. Forty-seven pages. Every legal counter, every financial firewall, every escape route mapped with surgical precision. Luca hadn't read a single page. He was too busy planning his wedding to my sister. I stared at the screen. At the blinking cursor. At the fortress I'd built for a man who housed me in the basement and my sister in the master suite. Then I opened a new file. Not a defense strategy. An exit strategy. My exit. I'd been the brain of the Vitale family for four years. I knew every account, every password, every skeleton in every closet. I knew which judges were bought, which cops were compromised, which federal agents had offshore accounts that would end their careers. I knew everything. And Luca Vitale—the man who couldn't be bothered to read my briefings because he was too busy choosing wedding flowers with my sister—was about to discover what happened when the woman who knew everything decided to walk out the door. I started typing. Upstairs, Elena laughed again. I kept typing. By morning, I'd have a plan. By next week, I'd have a new identity. By the end of the month, I'd be gone. And the Vitale empire—every brick I'd laid, every wall I'd reinforced, every system I'd designed—would collapse like a house of cards in a hurricane. Not because I'd destroy it. Because I'd stop saving it. And without me saving it, there was nothing left to save.

At my wedding, the bouquet I tossed was snatched out of the air by Rhys DeLuca's friend, Chiara.

She raised an eyebrow.

"So, what am I supposed to do with this?"

Then she turned to Rhys.

"Rhys, want to run away with an old friend?"

The groomsmen erupted, whooping and shoving Rhys toward

her.

"Kiss her!"

"Rhys, quit pretending. Didn't you pass out with your head in her lap at the bachelor party last night?"

Rhys just laughed and kicked one of them.

"Knock it off. My fiancée is standing right here."

But his ears went red.

Chiara shrugged.

"I don't mind. Except the bride looks like she's about to cry."

Only then did Rhys look at me. He reached out and tapped the tip of my nose, his tone offhand.

"Baby, it's a joke. Don't be so sensitive."

"Come on, let's get on with it."

I pushed his hand away and took the microphone from the officiant.

You want the groom, don't you?"

"Then you can have him."

Three days later, he stood outside the County Clerk's Office, his eyes red-rimmed and raw.

I didn't look back.

Nine months pregnant, standing in my own nursery, I watched my husband kiss another woman on the baby monitor screen-in the guest room right above me.

My hand froze on the crib railing. The pink mobile I'd just hung swayed gently, tiny elephants spinning in a circle, oblivious. On the monitor, Dr. Nathan Cross-my husband of three years, chief of neurosurgery, the man who'd held my hair back through seven months of morning sickness-had his arms wrapped around a woman I'd never seen. Blonde. Thin. Not nine months pregnant.

She pulled back from the kiss and said something I couldn't hear. But I could read her lips perfectly.

Tell her tonight."

My contractions had started twenty minutes ago. Mild, irregular, but real. My first baby was coming, and my husband was upstairs with another woman while forty guests were about to arrive for my baby shower.

I gripped the crib rail until my knuckles turned white.

The contraction passed. I breathed.

Think, Olivia. Think.

My phone buzzed. My mother's text: Arriving in 10 min

with the cake! So excited!!!

Then another buzz. My best friend Harper: Parking now. You need anything?

And then a third notification that made my blood turn

to ice. An email. From Mount Sinai Hospital's HR

department, addressed to me by mistake-or maybe not by mistake.

Re: Parental Leave Request - Dr. Nathan Cross

Requesting 2 weeks paternity leave beginning March

15 for the birth of his child with Dr. Elena Voss.

March 15. That was three weeks from now. I was due

in two.

He had another baby coming.

I read it again. And again. The words didn't change. His

child with Dr. Elena Voss. Not his child with Olivia

Cross, his actual wife. A different child. A different

woman. Three weeks after mine.

The nursery blurred. I blinked hard, forcing the tears

back. I would not cry. Not now. Not with forty people

about to walk through my front door to celebrate a life

built on lies.

“Let’s get a divorce. She’s pregnant, and she deserves a place in my life.”

He once swore to protect Claire forever, but the moment his first love returned, that promise evaporated. For three years, Claire dimmed her own light, playing the part of the perfect, submissive wife.

But when he handed her the divorce papers to make room for his pregnant mistress, Claire stopped hiding.

The woman he had dismissed as ordinary was actually a legendary healer, a racing prodigy, and a genius designer. Stripped of her wedding ring, Claire reclaimed her crown—and left him in the dust.

NOVEL

📚His Trophy Wife, The Apex Predator

🌟📗CHAPTER 1

"Sign it, Jett. Let us not make this uglier than it needs to be."

Arthur's voice bounced off the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse.

Outside, the lights of Central Park blurred into a smear of gold and black.

Inside, the air was thick and suffocating.

Jett stood perfectly still by the marble island.

Her chest barely moved as she took in a slow, measured breath.

The scent hit the back of her throat instantly.

It was a heavy, cloying mix of white jasmine and synthetic vanilla.

Serena's custom perfume.

Arthur had not even bothered to shower before coming home to end their three-year marriage.

He tossed a thick manila envelope onto the cold marble.

The heavy paper slid across the smooth surface and stopped inches from Jett's fingers.

"I have a board meeting at eight tomorrow," Arthur said, his tone flat and exhausted.

He ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing up the front strands.

It was his tell. He only did that when he was trying to force a sense of control he did not actually have.

"Just read it, sign the last page, and my assistant will handle the logistics."

Jett looked down at the envelope.

Her stomach hollowed out, leaving a cold, empty space behind her ribs.

She reached out and flipped the metal clasp open.

She pulled the thick stack of legal documents free.

Her eyes scanned the dense paragraphs, skipping the standard legal jargon and zeroing in on the clauses that mattered.

Her gaze stopped on page four.

The box next to the 'Complete Forfeiture of Marital Assets' clause was checked.

A stark, black 'X' printed in heavy ink.

Arthur was demanding she leave with nothing.

"Five million dollars," Arthur announced, his chin jutting out as he leaned his weight against the edge of the counter.

"It is a generous severance. Consider it compensation for your time, and a strict non-disclosure fee."

He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do not try to drag this out in the media, Jett. You know how the Vanderbilt family deals with leeches."

Jett stared at the number printed on the page.

Five million.

A harsh, dry sound scraped its way up her throat.

It was a laugh, devoid of any actual humor.

The sound made Arthur's jaw tighten.

"Is something funny?" he snapped, the veins in his neck beginning to pulse against his collar.

Jett picked up the heavy, custom-engraved fountain pen resting near the fruit bowl.

She rolled the cool metal between her thumb and index finger.

"You were at the Wall Street gala last night," Jett said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerously calm pitch.

"You had your hand on Serena's lower back the entire evening. The paparazzi photos are already trending on three different gossip blogs."

Arthur's face flushed a dull, angry red.

"Serena is moving into this apartment next week," he stated, abandoning any pretense of guilt.

"The family needs an heir with a proper pedigree. A Sinclair. Not someone we picked up from a middle-class suburb to fix a temporary PR crisis."

Jett stopped rolling the pen.

Her fingers tightened around the metal casing until her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white.

She dropped the pen.

It hit the marble with a sharp, final clack.

"I am not signing this," Jett said.

She pushed the papers back across the island.

Arthur pushed himself off the counter, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and rising fury.

"Excuse me?"

"I agree to the divorce," Jett said, smoothing the front of her silk blouse with both hands, demanding perfect symmetry from her clothing.

"But I am taking my four percent original equity in the Vanderbilt Group with me."

The room fell dead silent for exactly three seconds.

Then, Arthur threw his head back and let out a loud, mocking bark of laughter.

"Your equity?" he sneered, slamming his palms flat on the marble.

"Are you delusional? You came into this marriage with a leased Honda and a closet full of off-the-rack suits! You own absolutely nothing!"

Jett did not blink.

She calmly reached into her black leather handbag resting on the stool beside her.

Her fingers bypassed her wallet and pulled out a single, heavily encrypted paper document printed on watermarked security paper.

She placed it on the island and slid it toward him.

"Read the holding signature at the bottom," Jett instructed, her tone freezing the air between them.

Arthur snatched the paper up, a sneer still twisting his lips.

His eyes darted to the bottom of the page.

His breath hitched.

The sneer vanished, replaced by a sudden, violent pale color draining the blood from his cheeks.

The name of the offshore venture capital firm printed on the document was a ghost that haunted the Vanderbilt boardroom.

Dark Web Ventures.

"What is this?" Arthur whispered, his voice cracking.

His eyes darted back and forth across the text, his brain frantically trying to process the legal seals and the multi-layered trust structures.

The math was flawless. The legal standing was bulletproof.

"You forged this," Arthur accused, his voice rising to a frantic shout.

He crumpled the edge of the paper in his fist.

"You forged financial documents to extort my family!"

"Three years ago, your grandfather's short-selling crisis nearly bankrupted the entire group," Jett said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"A mysterious offshore fund injected a massive bailout to save your pathetic legacy. Did you really think that money fell from the sky, Arthur?"

Arthur's chest heaved.

He stared at the woman he thought he had controlled for three years.

He refused to believe it. His bias, his deeply ingrained arrogance, simply would not allow his brain to accept that his trophy wife was the apex predator of Wall Street.

"I will have the family's legal team freeze every single bank account attached to your name!" Arthur roared, slamming his fist onto the island.

"You will not see a single dime! I will bury you!"

Jett turned her back on him.

She walked away from the kitchen and headed straight for the master bedroom's walk-in closet.

Her heart beat in a slow, steady, predatory rhythm.

She ignored his shouting from the living room.

She opened her personal safe, retrieved a few core encrypted drives, and dropped them into a black Birkin bag.

She walked back out into the living room, the heavy bag swinging by her side.

"Prepare for a multi-billion dollar lawsuit, Arthur," Jett warned, her eyes locking onto his.

Arthur lunged forward.

He reached out, his large hand aiming to grab her shoulder and physically stop her from leaving with the drives.

Jett did not flinch.

She swung the heavy Birkin bag up in a swift, brutal arc.

The solid brass hardware of the bag slammed hard into Arthur's forearm.

He let out a sharp gasp of pain and stumbled backward, clutching his arm.

Jett stepped into his space, her eyes burning with a cold, oppressive weight that forced him to take another step back.

She turned and pushed the heavy front door of the penthouse open.

She stepped into the private elevator without looking back.

The polished steel doors began to slide shut, cutting off the sight of Arthur's red, furious face.

The moment the doors sealed shut, the silence of the elevator wrapped around her.

Jett reached into her coat pocket.

She pulled out a heavy, matte-black encrypted phone.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

It was time to wake up the monsters on Wall Street.

🌟📗CHAPTER 2

The elevator doors opened to the underground parking garage.

Jett stepped out into the damp, chilly air of the Manhattan night.

A light rain was falling outside the garage exit, slicking the pavement into a dark mirror.

Before she could take five steps, a massive, armored black Maybach rolled silently out of the shadows.

It stopped exactly two feet in front of her.

The driver, a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit, immediately stepped out.

He snapped open a large black umbrella, shielding Jett from the drizzle, and pulled the heavy rear door open with a respectful nod.

Jett slid into the cavernous back seat.

The leather was warm, a sharp contrast to the coldness spreading through her chest.

She placed the black Birkin on the seat beside her.

She opened the hidden compartment beneath the armrest, revealing a biometric safe.

She pressed her thumb to the scanner, placed the offshore trust documents inside, and locked it with a heavy mechanical click.

She opened her encrypted phone.

Rows of green data cascaded down the screen.

She was already tracking the real-time fluctuations of Arthur's personal asset portfolio.

Across town, high above Fifth Avenue, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Arthur shoved the heavy oak door of Serena's luxury flat open.

He stormed into the living room, his chest heaving, his tie ripped loose from his collar.

He marched straight to the crystal decanter on the bar cart and poured a massive measure of amber whiskey into a glass.

Serena emerged from the hallway.

She was wearing a sheer silk robe that clung to her curves, her blonde hair falling perfectly over her shoulders.

She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her warmth against his tense back.

"Did she sign it?" Serena asked, her voice a soft, practiced purr.

Arthur gripped the edge of the bar cart.

"She refused," he ground out through clenched teeth.

He swallowed half the whiskey in one burning gulp.

"She is demanding four percent of the original equity. She actually had the nerve to slide some forged offshore trust document in my face."

Serena's hands froze on his waist.

Her fingers subconsciously moved up to touch the heavy diamond pendant resting on her collarbone.

A sharp, ugly spike of jealousy twisted in her gut, quickly masked by a wave of cold calculation.

"An offshore account?" Serena murmured, stepping around him to look into his face.

She pitched her voice to sound innocent and concerned.

"Arthur, how could someone from her background possibly manage an offshore trust? That makes no sense."

Arthur frowned, the alcohol rushing to his head.

He thought back to the name on the document.

"Dark Web Ventures," he muttered, rubbing his temples.

"She claimed she was the one who bailed out the group three years ago. It is absolute insanity."

Serena's eyes widened in mock horror.

"Arthur... you do not think she found a loophole in the group's accounting, do you?"

She placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

"What if she has been embezzling family funds for years and hiding them in dummy corporations?"

Arthur's breath hitched.

His bias latched onto the idea instantly. It was the only explanation that protected his ego.

"She is stealing from us," Arthur hissed, his face turning a dark, ugly red.

"We cannot let her walk away with dirty money and ruin the Vanderbilt reputation," Serena urged, her thumb stroking his jaw.

"You need to freeze her out. Cut her off from everyone."

Arthur nodded sharply. "I will call the legal team first thing in the morning."

"Let me go freshen up," Serena said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

She turned and walked into her massive, soundproofed walk-in closet, shutting the heavy door behind her. She didn't stop there. Serena was far too meticulous to leave her survival to chance. She walked past the rows of designer gowns, her hand trailing over the silk, until she reached the back wall. She pressed her thumb to a hidden biometric scanner. A secondary, reinforced door clicked open, revealing her private jewelry vault. She stepped inside, the thick steel sealing her in a perfect, acoustic vacuum. Only then did the soft, loving expression vanish from her face.

She pulled her phone from her robe pocket and dialed a number.

It rang twice before a woman answered.

"Serena? It is midnight. What is going on?" the voice groaned.

"Wake up, Chloe. I have a massive tip regarding the Vanderbilt Group," Serena said, her voice dropping into the casual, venomous drawl of an Upper East Side socialite.

On the other end, the Wall Street hedge fund manager suddenly sounded very awake.

"I am listening."

Serena touched her diamond pendant again.

"Jett Whitfield is being investigated by the family. Her funds are dirty. Massive international money laundering."

"Are you serious?" Chloe gasped, smelling blood in the water.

"Remember that solo trip she took to Eastern Europe right before the wedding?" Serena lied smoothly, inventing the narrative on the spot.

"She was setting up the shell accounts. The family is about to dump her."

"This is going to crash their stock tomorrow," Chloe said, her voice vibrating with greedy excitement. "I am shorting them at the bell. The whole street will know by dawn."

Serena smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

"Have fun, darling."

She hung up.

Back in the Maybach, the tires hissed against the wet asphalt.

Jett's tablet chimed with a high-priority alert.

She tapped the screen.

It was an anonymous post on a highly restricted Wall Street internal forum.

The headline screamed about a Vanderbilt spouse involved in an Eastern European money laundering syndicate.

Jett's eyes scanned the text.

She recognized the sloppy, dramatic phrasing instantly.

Serena's PR playbook was painfully predictable.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, noticing the sudden drop in the cabin's air pressure.

"Do we need to retaliate, ma'am?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

Jett let out a short, freezing laugh.

"No," Jett said, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the leather armrest.

"This kind of cheap rumor is exactly what I need to build a massive short squeeze."

She opened her encrypted messaging app.

She scrolled down to a contact saved simply as 'Lord'.

She typed a single sentence.

Initiate Plan B.

She hit send.

Three seconds later, the screen showed 'Read'.

A moment after that, a single emoji popped up on her screen.

A black chess knight.

🌟📗CHAPTER 3

The next morning, the air in Manhattan was crisp and biting.

Jett stepped out of her car, wearing a perfectly tailored black smoking suit.

She walked up the stone steps of the most exclusive, hidden private cigar club in the city.

There was no sign on the door, only a heavy brass knocker.

Jett pushed the door open and approached the mahogany front desk.

The concierge, an older man with a stiff posture, looked up, ready to ask for a reservation.

Jett did not speak.

She reached into her pocket and placed a solid metal black gold card onto the desk.

The concierge's eyes dropped to the card.

His posture instantly became deferential.

"Right this way, ma'am. He is waiting for you in the VIP lounge."

Jett followed him down a dimly lit hallway.

He pushed open a set of heavy oak doors.

The rich, heavy scent of Cuban cigars and aged leather washed over her.

Sitting in a high-backed leather chair by the fireplace was Lord Harrison.

The Wall Street titan had silver hair and eyes that missed absolutely nothing.

He raised a crystal glass of scotch toward her, a slow smile spreading across his weathered face.

"Jett," he rumbled, his voice like gravel.

Jett sat down on the leather sofa opposite him.

She did not bother with pleasantries.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a thick file containing the Vanderbilt Group's internal financial report, and tossed it onto the low table between them.

Harrison set his drink down.

He picked up the file, flipped it open, and adjusted his reading glasses.

His eyes scanned the highlighted sections-the fatal liquidity flaws Jett had mapped out.

A look of deep appreciation settled on his features.

"I am officially exiting the Vanderbilt Group," Jett stated, her voice calm and absolute.

Harrison closed the file.

The smile faded from his face.

He knew exactly what this meant.

"This is going to trigger a massive earthquake downtown," Harrison said, leaning forward. "Why now?"

"Arthur's infidelity," Jett said simply. "And his profound stupidity."

Harrison's face darkened.

He grabbed his silver-tipped cane and struck the heavy wooden floor with a loud, violent thud.

"The boy is a blind fool," Harrison spat, genuine anger tightening his chest.

"My consortium's doors are wide open for you, Jett. Bring your capital. We will crush them together."

"I appreciate the offer," Jett replied, adjusting the cuffs of her suit jacket.

"But I need to win this billion-dollar divorce suit first. I have to clean the equity."

Harrison nodded slowly, swirling the remaining scotch in his glass.

"I saw the garbage floating around the forums this morning. Money laundering? Eastern Europe?"

"Serena Sinclair's handiwork," Jett said, a cold smirk touching her lips. "I plan to use it to wash the shares."

Harrison picked up his phone.

He dialed a number, his thumb pressing hard on the screen.

"Get me the editors at the Journal and the Times," Harrison barked into the receiver.

"Tell them if they print a single word of that unverified gossip about Jett Whitfield, I will pull every advertising dollar my funds control."

He hung up and tossed the phone onto the sofa.

"Consider the mainstream media suppressed," he said.

"Thank you," Jett said. "You will have priority investment rights on my next venture."

Harrison chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders.

He leaned back and swirled his drink again.

"After the dust settles on this war, Jett, you will need a fortress, not just a fund," Harrison said, his tone shifting into something deeply solemn. He leaned forward, the ice clinking in his glass. "My grandson is returning from London to take over the European division next month. He understands loyalty in a way the Vanderbilts never could. I want you to consider a strategic partnership with him. Not a marriage of convenience, but an alliance of apex predators."

Jett offered a tired, but genuine smile, appreciating the old man's tactical mind.

"I am currently immune to the concept of partnering my assets with anyone's legacy, Harrison. I fight alone for now."

Harrison did not push it.

Instead, he reached into his inner breast pocket.

He pulled out a sleek, matte-black business card.

There was no name on it. Only a string of encrypted numbers.

He slid it across the table toward her.

"If you are going to war with the Vanderbilts, you need the apex predator of litigation," Harrison warned, his voice dropping an octave.

"This man is extremely dangerous. But he has never lost a case."

Jett picked up the card.

The cardstock was heavy, cold to the touch.

She slipped it into the inner pocket of her jacket.

Jett stood up. She smoothed the front of her jacket, her eyes turning into chips of dark ice.

"I need to go meet this lawyer of yours," Jett said, her voice devoid of any warmth.

Harrison watched her walk out of the room. The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut, Harrison pressed a button on his desk console.

"Get my private investigator on the line," Harrison ordered his assistant. "I want every piece of dirt on Arthur Vanderbilt dug up by midnight."

Meanwhile, Jett walked down the dimly lit hallway and exited the club. The cold Manhattan wind immediately bit into her cheeks. As she descended the stone steps, a man in a nondescript gray suit stepped out from the shadow of a streetlamp, blocking her path to the waiting Maybach.

"Ms. Whitfield," the man said, his voice flat and rehearsed. He thrust a thick legal envelope toward her chest. "You have been served."

Jett didn't flinch. She slowly reached out and took the envelope, tearing it open under the amber glow of the streetlights. It was a legal subpoena from the Vanderbilt family's legal department, warning of an impending asset freeze. Old Richard was getting desperate. She crumpled the edge of the paper, her eyes narrowing as she stepped into the warmth of her car.

Chapter 1: Killed by Her Own Sister and Her New Husband

Tonight was Taylor Foster and Ethan Vance’s wedding night.

By the time she finished seeing the last guests out and came back, she opened the door to their bridal suite—and froze.

On her bed.

Her own sister and her brand-new husband tangled together like they belonged there.

WTF?!

Her fingers shook around the doorknob so hard she could barely hold on. Her heart felt like someone had taken a blade to it and carved it into ten thousand pieces…

But when they saw her, they didn’t panic. Not even a little. They kept going, shameless, and even used their mouths like weapons, stabbing on purpose.

“Baby, do you love me or do you love my sister?”

“Of course I love you. That slut? Even looking at her one more second makes me sick.”

Taylor didn’t need to ask anything else. In that instant, she understood exactly what this was.

All these years fighting her way through the business world had never made Taylor gentle. If it had, no one would’ve branded her the Ice Queen of Business.

If it were anyone else betraying her, she wouldn’t let it end like this.

But them…

She still couldn’t bring herself to use the ruthless tricks she used in the boardroom on them.

Taylor squeezed her eyes shut, then snarled at them, “Get out!”

Her mercy should’ve meant she still had a way out.

Instead, it bought her a fall she’d never climb back from.

Sienna Foster climbed off the bed and walked toward Taylor step by step, wearing a seductive smile. Her voice came out soft, almost dreamy.

“Sis, don’t get mad yet. Listen to me.

“Ethan and I? We knew each other before you did. Getting close to you, dating you… even marrying you. I told him to do all of it. You get what I’m saying, right?

“Oh, and there’s one more thing. I think it’s time you finally hear the truth. A year ago, when you got drunk and some unknown man slept with you? That wasn’t an accident. I arranged all of it.”

“Sienna!” Taylor clutched her chest so tightly it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She stared at her own sister with raw grief. “I’m your sister. Your only family. And you—”

Sienna looked back at her and let out a cold laugh. “Sister? Ha. That’s right. You are my real sister. My only family. That’s why I’ve always had to live in your shadow.

“Do you know what it feels like to be compared to you every day?

“They always said that without you, I’m nothing!

“Even the man I like—I have to sneak around just to be with him, because you exist!

“And whose fault is that? Yours, my dear sister!”

“You…” Taylor trembled all over, staring at the hatred pouring out of her. “Mom and Dad died early. I treated you like my whole life. I never wanted you to carry even a little pressure.

“I’ve been pushing myself almost every day. Even after my heart problem and the surgery a year ago, I never truly rested, because I wanted to give you the best life. But I never imagined you’d hate me for it!?”

“For me?” Sienna scoffed. “Don’t make yourself sound so noble. You did it for yourself!

“Right now, who in business doesn’t know the name Taylor, CEO of Foster Group?”

After she said that, she widened the distance between them, walked back to Ethan, and then seemed to remember something. She laughed softly.

“Do you know why your heart suddenly started failing a year ago? It wasn’t because you worked overtime for years.

“It was because Ethan and I put a little something into your food every day. Just enough to cause heart problems.

“And when Ethan operated on you, he tampered with that surgery too. We thought you’d die right on the table. Who knew you were so hard to kill and actually lived.

“It forced me to wait another year. But now it’s time to end all of this.”

“You… you…”

A metallic sweetness surged up her throat.

Taylor spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the floor.

Seeing it, Sienna put on a face full of worry. “Oh, Ethan—Sis is coughing up blood. Her heart problem isn’t flaring up again, is it?”

Ethan, the doctor, smiled even more viciously than Sienna. “Maybe. Go get my scalpel. She needs surgery as soon as possible.”

The moment Taylor realized what he was about to do to her, she forced herself to cling to her last breath and tried to get up.

But how could she possibly get away?

She had barely turned before Ethan grabbed her.

He tied her spread-eagle on the bed they’d just used, then used the scalpel to cut open the skin over her chest.

“AHHH!!!”

The pain almost snapped her life in half on the spot. “Sienna, Ethan—if I become a ghost, I won’t let you go. I curse you both. I curse you to die horribly!”

The louder she screamed, the happier they became.

Ethan said, “The one dying horribly right now looks like you.”

Sienna said, “Don’t worry, Sis. I’ll keep Foster Group safe. I’ll take good care of Ethan too. You can go underground and keep Mom and Dad company.”

…

Taylor woke up in pain, like her whole body had been run over.

Pain?

Wasn’t she dead?

So why could she still feel pain?

And this room—why was it so familiar? Like the place from a year ago, the night she got drunk and lost her purity.

Yes. This was it.

Even the time on the wall clock was exactly the same as it had been a year ago.

She’d been reborn!?

After being butchered by her own sister and her husband, Taylor had been thrown back to a year earlier. Even facing the nightmare of losing her purity, she should’ve been happy.

Compared to getting a second life, that loss weighed a little less.

But…

When Taylor turned her head and saw the person lying beside her—her business arch-nemesis—she couldn’t feel happy at all.

She wanted to tear him into pieces right then and there.

So the one who’d teamed up with Sienna, the one who’d destroyed her purity… was him?!

Chapter 2: Reborn in My Arch-Nemesis’s Bed

In her past life, when she woke up, the room had already been emptied down to just her. Afterward, she’d hired people to investigate for a long time, and still couldn’t find the monster who’d stolen her innocence. Even if she wanted revenge, she hadn’t even known who to hunt.

But now…

Had she woken up too early, and he hadn’t had time to slip away?

Ha.

Heaven had let her live again—and this time, it had handed her the real culprit.

A chance like that?

She wasn’t going to waste it.

She hadn’t even started yet when the man’s tightly shut eyes snapped open.

Those ink-dark eyes looked like a bottomless pool. He didn’t blink once as he stared at her, the corner of his thin lips lifting in a lazy curve. “Satisfied with last night?”

“…"

Provocation. Barefaced, shameless provocation.

With a cold laugh, Taylor didn’t waste a single word. She swung her fist at him. “Harrison Cole, you’re asking to die!”

Harrison dodged easily. Then, with a flip, he had her pinned beneath him, fingers clamping her chin as his gaze turned wicked. “That much fire first thing in the morning? Looks like last night didn’t satisfy you. Want to add some morning exercise?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Taylor gritted out. “Harrison, touch me one more time and I’ll kill you!”

Harrison arched a brow, about to say something—

The door opened.

“Sis, my brother-in-law and I have been looking for you all night. We called and you didn’t pick up—we were terrified. Are you…”

The second Sienna saw Harrison, her voice cut off.

A flicker of shock flashed across her eyes—gone in an instant. Then she put on a disappointed face and stared at Taylor. “Sis, how could you do something this awful to my brother-in-law?

“He loves you so much. Last night, trying to find you, he almost got into a car accident.

“He worried about you all night, and I never thought you’d hurt him like this. How could you!?”

This scene—aside from the addition of Harrison—was almost identical to her past life.

Even the lines were basically the same.

If she remembered right, Ethan’s performance was next.

Sure enough, right on cue.

Ethan looked like he’d only just recovered from the shock. He walked forward slowly, eyes red as he spoke to her. “TayTay… you had a reason, didn’t you? Just tell me. No matter what it is, I’ll believe you…”

Hearing that, Taylor’s gaze—locked on the bedsheet Harrison had wrapped around her the moment the door opened—finally lifted, inch by inch, to Ethan’s face.

Her mind echoed with the images from her past life.

Back then, facing Ethan like this, she’d felt guilty and grateful.

Now there was only disgust.

Since they wanted to act, she might as well play along.

Taylor feigned remorse. “I don’t even know what happened last night. I only had one drink and I was drunk. My tolerance isn’t great, but it’s not that bad. Someone must’ve set me up…”

As she said it, she glanced at Sienna, faintly but unmistakably.

Sienna’s eyes flickered. She didn’t dare meet Taylor’s stare.

Taylor laughed silently to herself and was about to continue when Harrison cut in first. “Setting you up is one thing. Setting me up too? I’d like to see if he’s got a life big enough for that kind of guts.”

“…"

So now he was taking the chance to distance himself, to scrub himself clean?

If she hadn’t lived this life twice—if she didn’t already know the truth—he would’ve been the first person she suspected.

Taylor curled her lip in a quiet, contemptuous smile and decided to ride his words. “Exactly. Anyone who dares set up Young Master Cole must be out of his mind. I’ll just wait and enjoy Young Master Cole’s… protection, and see who it is that’s tired of living.”

Her eyes swept, deliberately casual, over both Sienna’s and Ethan’s faces.

Sienna looked like she was about to crack. She hurried to say, “Maybe it was just an accident.”

Ethan followed immediately. “Sien’s right. This involves your reputation—and Young Master Cole’s. The fewer people who know, the better.

“TayTay, don’t worry. I won’t mind. My love for you won’t lessen by even a bit.”

As he spoke, he pulled a red velvet box from his pocket.

He opened it.

Inside was an exquisitely made gold ring.

“TayTay, today, in front of Young Master Cole and Sien, I’m asking you to marry me. This ring may not be as precious as a diamond, but it’s my savings—I’ve been putting money aside for a long time.

“Don’t worry. When I have money in the future, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you the most perfect diamond ring in the world.”

How touching.

A man like that—one in a million, right?

In her past life, she’d been moved to tears and agreed on the spot.

Only now did Taylor understand just how blind she’d been.

How had she not seen it—this hypocritical face, this disgusting performance?

Her hand slowly reached toward him.

She saw the sharp gleam flash in Ethan’s eyes. He looked thrilled as he took the ring from the box, ready to slide it onto her hand.

Just as the ring was about to pass the tip of her right ring finger—just as Taylor was about to clench her fist—

a sudden voice cut through.

“Then what about me?”

Chapter 3: Your Proposal? I Refuse

“What’s wrong with you?” Taylor stared at Harrison, baffled. What the hell did he mean by what he’d just said?

Harrison held her gaze without blinking, his eyes turning darker by the second. “Whether last night was an accident or someone set it up, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

“…”

Weren’t they in on this together?

She shot a look at the other two. They were clearly just as confused. So Cole changed the script on the spot?

For what?

Whatever the reason, one thing was certain.

He wasn’t doing it out of kindness.

Taylor smoothed the real emotion out of her eyes, forcing a smile that didn’t reach them. “Pretty sure I’m the one who got the short end of the stick last night.”

“So you want compensation?” Harrison let out a cold little laugh. “Money isn’t what you’re missing. How about I do you a favor and marry you?”

“…”

Was he even speaking like a human being?

Before Taylor could respond, Sienna cut in. “Young Master Cole, thank you for your kindness on my sister’s behalf. But my sister and my brother-in-law have been together for years. They’re deeply in love. You heard him just now—my brother-in-law said he doesn’t mind at all, so you don’t need to feel guilty.”

Harrison’s gaze slid to Ethan, his dark eyes narrowing. “You really don’t mind?”

Taylor looked at Harrison. “Young Master Cole, this is between me and him. If you keep involving yourself, it makes it very easy for me to suspect you’re not unrelated to what happened.”

She didn’t wait to see Harrison’s reaction. She turned to Ethan and said what she’d wanted to say from the moment she opened her eyes.

“Your proposal? I refuse.”

Ethan and Sienna both froze, disbelief written all over them.

“Sis, are you still drunk?” Sienna blurted. “He loves you so much, and he doesn’t even care about any of this. How can you reject him?”

“No, Sien.” Ethan immediately followed, voice full of practiced gentleness. “Don’t blame your sister. The only reason she’d refuse me is because I’m not good enough, not worthy of her trust for the rest of her life… or she doesn’t believe me. She thinks when I say I don’t mind, I’m lying to her.”

“Sis, you know what kind of person he is.” Sienna pressed on. “He never lies. If he says he doesn’t mind, then he really doesn’t mind. You can’t miss out on a man like him.”

The two of them played off each other perfectly. Seamless.

If Taylor had been in the mood, she would’ve applauded.

Putting on a self-mocking air, she said, “It’s exactly because he’s so good that I don’t think I deserve him. He deserves a better woman. Like…”

Her eyes landed on Sienna, every word loaded. “You.”

In an instant, a flash of panic slipped into Sienna’s eyes—caught off guard, raw, real. “Sis, what are you talking about?

He’s my brother-in-law. Don’t say weird things.”

“Not anymore.” Taylor smiled, her gaze deepening. “A man this good… I’m not qualified to be with him anymore. And you’re my only family. What’s mine is yours. So don’t feel guilty. Don’t be afraid people will spit on you. I’ll tell everyone it was me who gave him to you.”

“Sis…”

By the time Sienna truly processed what was happening, Taylor was already out of bed and gone.

Since Taylor had left, Sienna and Ethan obviously had to go too.

They exchanged a look. Then Sienna turned to Harrison. “Young Master Cole, my brother-in-law and I will be leaving as well.”

She was about to walk out when Harrison spoke, his voice low and unreadable. “Tell your sister about last night. I’ll give her an answer she’ll be satisfied with.”

Sienna’s heartbeat instantly fell out of rhythm, but she still had to force a smile. “Then I’ll thank you on my sister’s behalf, Young Master Cole.”

**

Taylor wrapped in a bedsheet and went straight down to the hotel’s underground parking garage. Following her memory, she found her car.

There were spare clothes inside.

After changing, she drove away.

On the road, she called her best friend and assistant, Rachel Sterling. “Buy a trending news spot. Push a breakup story—me and Ethan.”

“Break up!?” Rachel sounded like she’d misheard. “Taylor, are you sleepwalking?”

Her relationship with Ethan was stronger than diamonds. Those were Taylor’s own words.

She’d even said that even if every couple in the world broke up, she and Ethan never would.

She didn’t care that he came from nothing. She’d turned down who knew how many rich, powerful men for him. How could she suddenly say this?

“Did Ethan do something to hurt you?”

Hearing Rachel assume, without hesitation, that Ethan was the one at fault—trusting her unconditionally—Taylor’s eyes stung.

She and Rachel had been classmates in high school, the kind of friendship forged from clashing and then refusing to let go.

After her parents died, Rachel stayed by her side. In life, in work—she’d helped her more than anyone.

The Foster Group had grown this far, and Rachel deserved at least half the credit.

But in her last life, Taylor had listened to Sienna and Ethan’s poisonous lies, convinced herself Rachel had ulterior motives. Not only did she cut Rachel off, she even made sure Rachel was treated like a rat in the business world.

Thinking of everything from that life made Taylor want to slap herself twice.

When Taylor didn’t answer for a long time, Rachel’s worry sharpened. “Say something. What happened?”

Taylor pulled herself back, took a slow breath. “Nothing. I just suddenly think we’re not right for each other.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell her the truth—was she supposed to say she’d been reborn from the future?

Rachel would probably think she’d lost her mind.

Afraid Rachel would keep pressing, Taylor added, “I’m driving. I’m hanging up.”

**

Rachel moved fast. In less than half an hour—Taylor wasn’t even home yet—the story was already on trending news.

It even popped up as a browser push notification.

According to an insider, a certain female CEO and her broke boyfriend appear to be having relationship problems…

Taylor hadn’t even clicked to open the details when another notification jumped out.

A top-tier business tycoon spends the night with a female companion at a certain hotel…

The photo was a little blurry, but anyone with eyes could tell.

It was her and Harrison.

This…

The first headline was Rachel.

The second one absolutely wasn’t.

Without Harrison’s permission, something like that would never see the light of day.

Furious, Taylor called him immediately. “Cole, did I dig up your family’s grave in my last life or something?

You go against me in business, and now you’re even sticking your nose into my personal life too?”

Chapter 4: Vows Are Worth Less Than Hot Air

The voice on the other end wasn’t Harrison at all.

It was his assistant, Maxwell Kent. “Ms. Foster, I’m sorry. The CEO is in a meeting.”

Taylor clenched her teeth. “Then pass this along for me. Stay out of what doesn’t concern you. Don’t wait until it turns into something you can’t clean up.”

She hung up and nearly wanted to smash her phone.

With that bastard Harrison stirring the pot, everyone would think she’d been the one to betray that relationship first.

Then Ethan would become the one people pitied, and those two sluts would absolutely use it to start trouble.

The more Taylor thought about it, the angrier she got. “Cole, what the hell did those two sluts give you that you’ve got time to play dirty with them? Or is it as simple as you just want to go against me, so you’re helping them on purpose?”

Taylor figured it had to be the second one.

Because that bastard had always treated making her miserable like a hobby. Over the years, openly and behind her back, he’d tripped her up more times than she could count.

She genuinely didn’t know when she’d ever offended Harrison—someone that powerful.

Two lifetimes, and she still couldn’t figure it out.

**

Just like Taylor expected.

Sienna and Ethan showed up right after she got home.

Sienna spoke first. “Sis, did you see what’s going around online?”

Looking at Sienna, Taylor’s mind flooded with memories from her last life. Thinking about what Sienna had done to her made Taylor want to rip the mask off them both right then and there.

But she couldn’t.

She was going to return every ounce of pain they’d piled onto her in her last life—hundreds, thousands of times over.

Quietly taking a deep breath, Taylor forced down the hate twisting in her chest. She looked at Sienna and said, meaning far more than the words themselves, “I saw it. No idea who I pissed off, but I’m sure they’re laughing their head off right now.”

Sienna’s brows drew together. “Sis, don’t be scared. You’ve got me and your brother-in-law. Whoever it is, they can’t hurt you.”

Ethan nodded. “TayTay, tell me what you need. Anything.”

“Sis, look how good your brother-in-law is. He didn’t even get mad about what you said at the hotel. Stop torturing yourself.”

“The best way to kill the rumors is for you and your brother-in-law to get married as soon as possible…” As she spoke, she pulled Taylor’s hand and tried to place it into Ethan’s. “Then the rumors will fall apart on their own.”

Taylor yanked her hand back. “Impossible!”

Realizing she’d lost control for a second, she hurried to add, “I told you. I’m not good enough for him.”

“Sis, at a time like this, how can you still say that?” Sienna pressed. “Your brother-in-law already said he doesn’t care. What will it take for you to believe him?”

“Yeah, TayTay,” Ethan said. “What will it take for you to believe me?”

As he spoke, he raised three fingers. “Do I have to swear to God? Fine. I, Ethan, swear—if I ever dare mention even a single word in the future, then I’ll die a horrible death.”

“Sis, did you see that?” Sienna urged. “He already swore. How can you still doubt his sincerity? If you let him go, you’ll regret it.”

Taylor stared at Ethan without blinking until his gaze flickered. Only then did she speak, slow and steady. “For me… you’d really do anything?”

“Yes,” Ethan answered without hesitation.

Taylor nodded. “Then fine. Take every bit of the blame and put it all on yourself. Say you were the one who wronged me first…”

“Sis!” Sienna cried out. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

Taylor didn’t bother responding to her. She continued, “Vows are something I’ve never really believed in. If you want to prove it, then do what I said.”

“But if you do that, what will the world think of your brother-in-law?” Sienna realized her emotions were too sharp and immediately softened her voice. “Sis, other people might not know how he feels about you, but don’t you? All these years, how good he’s been to you—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. So, sis, there’s no need to do this. All it’ll do is damage what you two have.”

Taylor’s lips curved. “That was before. This is now. He hasn’t even said anything yet—how do you know he won’t agree?

Or are you saying you can decide for him? That if you tell him to do something, he’ll do it?”

“…Of course not. I’m just scared you’ll hurt your relationship with him,” Sienna said, shooting Ethan a look so subtle it was practically invisible, signaling him to refuse Taylor.

But before he could even open his mouth, Taylor cut in first. “I only have this one condition. If you can do it, then everything’s negotiable. If you can’t, then we’re done here.”

After that, she turned around, opened the door, changed the code on the keypad lock, went inside, and shut the door—one smooth, decisive motion.

Chapter 5: When Enemies Collide

The first thing Taylor did after she walked in was take a shower.

The second she thought about the fact that she’d slept with Harrison, she wanted to dump disinfectant straight into the tub.

If she had to be brutally honest, she would’ve rather it had been a stranger last night than Harrison.

He was a bastard. Trash. Absolute scum.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She scrubbed for over an hour, rubbing so hard it felt like she was about to scrub her skin raw before she finally stopped.

She’d just stepped out of the bathroom when the doorbell rang.

She assumed it was Sienna or Ethan.

It was Rachel.

The moment Taylor opened the door, Rachel looked her up and down. Only after she saw Taylor was fine did she finally exhale. “I called you over and over. Why didn’t you pick up? Do you have any idea how badly you scared me? I thought I was going to die of a heart attack.”

The rumors online about her and Harrison were everywhere. Rachel had been sure Taylor couldn’t take the pressure and that something had happened. She’d run red lights the whole way here.

Hearing the raw worry in Rachel’s voice, Taylor felt both guilty and warmed at the same time.

No matter what, in this world, there was still someone who was genuinely, truly good to her.

And when Taylor thought about what she’d done to Rachel in her last life, regret hit so hard she could barely breathe.

She pulled Rachel into a tight hug.

She wanted to say she was sorry, but it wasn’t the right time. So she said nothing—only held on harder, swearing silently to herself.

What she owed Rachel from her last life, she would repay double in this one.

Taylor’s sudden embrace scared Rachel half to death. “W-What is going on?”

Ever since Taylor’s parents had died and she’d carried everything on her shoulders overnight, she almost never showed weakness.

These past years, she hadn’t just protected her father’s legacy—she’d turned it into an industry powerhouse.

In Ashbrook, the Foster family now ranked second only to the Cole family.

“It’s nothing,” Taylor said. “I just wanted to hug you.”

That didn’t make Rachel feel better. It made her more nervous. “On the way here, Sien called me and told me to convince you not to break up with Ethan. What happened between you two?

“And that Harrison—how did you piss him off now? I literally just finished what you asked me to handle, and then he swooped in and jammed himself into it.

“I don’t get it. Why is he everywhere? You’re both global CEOs. You’re so busy you have to schedule time to breathe, but he’s just… what, free all day?”

Rachel’s eyes flickered. “Sometimes I even wonder if he likes you and he’s doing this on purpose to get your attention.”

“...Can you not?” Taylor rolled her eyes. “Did you forget he has a ‘white moonlight’ named Lily Hartwell?

“And besides—who likes someone like that? Think about it. How has he treated me all these years? If I’m still alive, it’s because my parents are protecting me from the grave.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rachel said. “He’s never gone easy on you.”

Her expression looked a little off, but she hid it well. Taylor didn’t notice.

Rachel kept going. “Now that he’s stirred this up, you instantly look like some cheating, heartless scum girl, and the company’s stock is taking a hit right along with it.

“And you still haven’t told me—what exactly happened between you and Ethan?”

The second Ethan’s name came up, Taylor’s anger flared so hard it threatened to burn through her. But her tone stayed casual, almost indifferent. “Nothing happened. I just suddenly realized we’re not right for each other.”

Rachel could tell Taylor wasn’t telling her the truth, so she didn’t push.

Even the closest people still had secrets.

After a moment, Rachel said, “Don’t worry too much. I already had people working on it—see if we can divert attention and push this down.”

“No,” Taylor said.

“...You’re just going to leave it?” Rachel couldn’t believe it. Was she not worried the company would take an even bigger hit?

Taylor smiled, her meaning hidden and unreadable. “Just wait and watch. I promise it’ll be a show. And it’ll be good.”

Rachel suddenly realized Taylor seemed… different.

More than different.

Steadier.

Before, the second anything threatened the company’s reputation, Taylor would panic harder than anyone. She would never have acted like this.

And her attitude toward Ethan—how could she just decide it wasn’t right?

Rachel had seen how much Taylor cared about him.

After they started dating, the Vance family had basically ridden Ethan’s success straight into the sky. Even distant relatives who barely had anything to do with him had ended up working at Foster Group.

So what had happened between them?

Taylor caught Rachel staring, lost in thought, and she could guess exactly where Rachel’s mind was going.

Taylor smiled and hooked an arm around Rachel’s neck. “Come on. I’m taking you to eat something good.”

**

Taylor took Rachel to a Japanese restaurant.

The moment Rachel got out of the car, she frowned. “Why are we here? You don’t even like Japanese food.”

Taylor’s chest tightened. “I didn’t before. I do now. Come on.”

Rachel loved Japanese food, but Taylor couldn’t stand it. Whenever they ate together, Rachel usually catered to Taylor.

Not just with food. In every way.

Rachel had always been the one giving.

But Taylor had been given a second chance.

Now it was her turn.

She’d planned to relax and actually enjoy herself.

But the second they walked in, Taylor saw someone who made her eyes hurt just looking at them.

Chapter 6: Thanks, But I’m Not Reaching That High

The second Taylor saw Harrison, she spun around on instinct.

“Ms. Foster, what a coincidence!”

It was Harrison’s assistant, Maxwell.

If she had a choice, Taylor wouldn’t have bothered responding. But her beef was with Harrison. She didn’t need to drag anyone else into it.

She turned back and gave Maxwell a shallow smile. “Sure. Coincidence.”

Then she walked right past them, heading inside, ignoring Harrison from start to finish.

She’d been planning to leave. Then she changed her mind.

She wasn’t about to act like she was scared of him.

Seeing Harrison had already ruined her mood, and to make it worse, when the server brought the food, they accidentally spilled something on her.

Taylor stared at her white dress, now smeared with stains, and her head started to throb. The server hadn’t done it on purpose, so what was she supposed to say? She got up and went to the restroom to clean herself.

What made her want to throw up was who she ran into in there.

Harrison.

He stood there with that not-quite-smile, not-quite-smirk. Taylor seriously suspected that server had been bought.

Otherwise, how could this be that perfectly timed?

Taylor let out a cold laugh. “Harrison, I learned something today. Your shamelessness doesn’t have a bottom.

“So. What do you actually want?”

At her insults, Harrison’s brow tightened in displeasure, but he didn’t snap back. He only said, “After what you did to my reputation, you don’t have anything you want to say to me?”

Taylor smiled. “I ruined your reputation? Are you seriously trying to flip this on me?”

“You think it was me?” Harrison smiled too. “And what would I possibly gain from that?”

“Hurting me. Destroying me. Isn’t that what you’ve always enjoyed?” Taylor’s gaze turned icy. “But this time, honestly? Your move was pathetic. You shouldn’t have done it yourself. And that picture—if you’d photoshopped it into some other guy, I’d be way worse off right now.”

Harrison didn’t answer. He just looked at her, eyes dark and unreadable.

The way he stared made Taylor’s scalp crawl. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The corner of Harrison’s mouth lifted, and the mockery in his eyes didn’t even try to hide. “You break into my room in the middle of the night. Then first thing in the morning, your sister and your boyfriend show up to catch you in bed with me. After that, you dump your boyfriend right in front of me. And then, immediately, two pieces of news like that hit the internet…

“Nice chain of tricks.

“Taylor, if you like me, you can just say it. There was no need to make it this complicated.”

Taylor honestly couldn’t not laugh. “Harrison, did you forget to take your meds before you left the house? Who exactly gave you the nerve to say I like you?”

Harrison raised a brow. “Three years with Ethan, and nothing ever happened. But you were willing to give your purity to me…

“And Old Master’s been pushing me to get married lately.

“You’re not my type, but if I look at it objectively, marrying you would do nothing but benefit both our families.”

“…”

That was the second time in one day he’d brought up marriage.

Was this really Harrison?

She couldn’t deny it—like he said, marrying him would bring nothing but advantages.

Foster Group and Cole Industries. A powerhouse pairing…

No. What was she even thinking?

If she agreed, wouldn’t that be admitting that everything—every setup, every scandal—had been her doing?

She’d almost let him drag her into his rhythm.

But why did he keep bringing it up?

If he married her, what about Lily Hartwell?

Or was this his way of swallowing Foster Group whole?

Or was he planning to use a husband’s position to squeeze her from a different angle?

Taylor was convinced it was both.

This man was a snake.

She stepped closer, enunciating every word. “Thanks for your kindness. But I’m not reaching that high.”

Then she turned and walked away.

The stains on her dress weren’t coming out anyway, so there was no point wasting more time here with this trash.

Harrison watched her leave. His black eyes grew even deeper, as if carrying a ruthless, certain-to-win hunger.