"YOU CALLED ME TRASH IN FRONT OF THE SERVANTS, SO MY BILLIONAIRE FATHER ERASED YOUR ENTIRE LIFE BEFORE SUNRISE"

The grand ballroom of the Grand Hyatt Regent was bathed in gold and crystal light. Over five hundred of the state’s most influential figures—politicians, hedge fund titans, real estate magnates, and media barons—clinked glasses of vintage Dom Pérignon.

At the center of the main floor, Julian Cross stood like a king enjoying his coronation. His arm was wrapped firmly around Chloe Miller’s waist. Chloe was practically glowing, holding her glass high, making sure every high-society woman in the room saw the 40-carat diamond choker around her neck.

"Julian, darling," Chloe purred loudly enough for the surrounding board members of Apex Group to hear. "Look at how everyone is staring at us. They know who the real power couple is."

Julian puffed out his chest, adjusting his Italian silk cuffs. "You belong here, Chloe. You have elegance. You have class. Not like Clarissa. God, if you saw what she tried to wear tonight... a rag from four years ago. I had to threaten to lock her in the house just so she wouldn't embarrass the company."

Marcus Vance-Reid—no relation to my father, just a sycophantic board member of Apex—chortled into his scotch. "Wise choice, Julian. A CEO's wife is an extension of his brand. Clarissa always looked like a charity case. Frankly, we were all wondering when you’d drop the dead weight and get yourself a real woman of status."

"She was useful in the beginning," Julian smirked, taking a sip of his champagne. "Kept the house clean, didn't ask questions about my late nights, didn't cost me a dime. But Apex Group is moving into the global tier now. We’re closing the $500 million acquisition deal with Vance International’s Midwest division tonight. I can't have a pathetic, penniless housewife dragging down my image when the regional VP of Vance arrives."

"Speaking of Vance International," Chloe gushed, touching her diamond necklace. "When do we get to meet the mystery representative? My father said the chairman himself might send an envoy!"

"Soon," Julian boasted. "I’ve been in contact with their chief investment counsel for weeks. They’ve reviewed our books and agreed to back our expansion. Once that paper is signed at midnight, Apex Group will be worth three billion dollars, and I will be untouchable."

Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the main entrance of the ballroom didn't just open—they were pushed wide by six towering men in tailored charcoal suits with ear pieces.

The orchestra stopped playing mid-measure. The chatter faded into a suffocating, sudden silence.

The hotel’s general manager, a man who usually didn't bow to anyone short of the Governor, was practically tripping over his own shoes as he personally escorted a single woman into the room.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A collective gasp rippled through the hall.

Walking down the marble stairs was a woman wearing a custom, deep-emerald velvet gown that seemed to absorb the light around it. Draped over her shoulders was a cape of rare white mink, and around her neck sat the legendary Tears of the Empress—a sapphire and diamond piece so rare it had only been displayed once at the Louvre in Paris. Her hair was styled in a sleek, commanding crown, and her posture exuded a cold, absolute authority that made every billionaire in the room feel instantly insignificant.

Julian’s champagne glass froze halfway to his lips. His eyes widened in absolute shock.