Mason’s jaw locked so hard I could hear the faint grinding of his teeth over the nervous hum of the string quartet. For a second, he looked like a man drowning in a shallow pool—thrashing internally while trying to maintain the polished facade of a groom who had everything under control.

Inside was a handwritten note from Arthur Whitmore.

“Rachel, the corporate restructuring of Whitmore Enterprises is complete, and Mason’s former division has been successfully scrubbed of his fraudulent oversight. My daughter Claire is currently spending a quiet month healing in the south of France, away from the media circus. But before she left, she asked me to pass along an invitation. There is a position opening up at our corporate headquarters—Director of Public Relations and Crisis Management—and based on how brilliantly you handled a catastrophe of epic proportions, we can think of no one more qualified. Let’s talk over lunch this Thursday. My treat.”

I stared at the paper, a slow smile spreading across my face.

For three years, Mason had tried to convince me that I was fragile, that I needed him to survive, and that my place was safely tucked away in the background of his rising career. Now, the billionaire titan who had nearly been destroyed by Mason’s deceit was offering me the keys to the very kingdom Mason had spent his entire life trying to conquer.