LOGINI poured her a glass of water. I didn’t recognize her at first. Not immediately. The features were familiar, but rearranged—smoothed into something deliberate, expensive. Only then did I place her. “Why are you here?” I asked. Lila lifted the glass, tilting it slowly. The surface rippled. “I’m getting engaged next month,” she said lightly. “To a man who actually knows how power works.” “He oversees one of the port authorities along the eastern coast,” she continued, watching me closely. “Shipping, customs, security clearances—nothing moves without his signature.” She smiled, slow and deliberate. “And unlike Alexander, he listens.” “He doesn’t need flattery,” she went on smoothly. “He doesn’t panic when things turn ugly. He asks what I want—and then makes it happen.” She tapped the rim of her glass, deliberate. “He treats me well. Protects me. Keeps me close.” A faint smile curved her lips. “A man who understands that a woman like me should be handled with care.” A pa
One year later. With the ten percent of controlling interests transferred into my name, I founded my own investment firm. Independent. Clean. Untouchable. In a capital market ruled by predators and blood memory, I didn’t merely survive—I secured my ground. I named the company Moonfall. To cross the night of my reckoning. To arrive at my rebirth. The top-floor terrace was planted entirely with white roses. Not for mourning. For remembrance. On an autumn afternoon, the sunlight was warm but restrained. I sat in a wicker chair on the terrace, reviewing acquisition reports while the city moved quietly below. A woman in a tailored suit approached, her heels clicking against the stone. She wore a smile I recognized at once. A former associate of the Cole Family— one who used to lower her voice when speaking about me, as if contempt were more polite when whispered. “Oh my,” she said lightly. “Mrs. Collins—no, Director Collins now.” A practiced laugh followed. “I must say, I
I pressed the next button on the remote. The asset-freeze notice vanished from the screen. In its place appeared a transfer of shares, followed by a notarized legal attestation. “This,” I said calmly, “may interest you more.” Every movement in the hall stilled. All eyes shifted—from me to the screen. “This agreement was signed by the Founder of the Cole Family,” I continued. “The Elder. The man I call he Grandfather.” “The document states that during Alexander Cole’s tenure as Don, should his lawful wife—me—personally prevent three major risks to the Family, ten percent of the Family’s controlling interests would be transferred to her name.” I paused. “Alexander’s unauthorized investment. The frozen accounts. The broken alliance you just saw?” “That was the third risk I warned against—and formally reported to the Council.” “The agreement activates today.” Alexander’s father surged to his feet, his face drained of color. The Elder had designed the clause years ago—a safegu
“Forged?” I looked at him coldly. “Alexander Cole, this notice was issued by the Council Court yesterday afternoon.” “The complainants are the shareholders of the offshore energy front you secretly funneled Family funds into—without approval, without cover.” “The authenticity can be verified at any time. Council seals. Legal signatures. And a complete trail of witnesses and accounts.” I took a step forward, my voice steady, merciless. “This past year—who warned you that project was a trap? Who told you the numbers were manufactured, the partners compromised? Who ran risk assessments for you again and again, begging you to pull out before it turned into a blood debt?” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t need to. “Who stood in front of the Council more than once, cleaning up after you?” I met his eyes. “It was me. Emma Collins.” The silence pressed down hard. “And what did you do with my warnings?” I continued. “You took them—and told another woman I was cold. Controlling. A
Lila Grant climbed the stage with tears streaming down her face. The room was dead silent. She lifted the hem of her dress, moving carefully, as if each step cost her something. When she reached Alexander Cole, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled her close, one arm firm around her waist. He lowered his head, brushing his lips gently over the damp corner of her eye. “You didn’t deserve any of this,” he said quietly. “I should have protected you.” Then he looked up. At me. Not as a husband—but as a judge passing sentence. “Emma Collins,” he said evenly,“for the sake of what we once shared, I suggest you leave now—with dignity.” “I’ll see to it that you’re provided for. Generously enough that you’ll never have to worry about money again.” Then his tone cooled, the courtesy evaporating. “But if you choose to turn this into a spectacle,” he added, “don’t expect that dignity to follow you out.” It was calculated. This place. This moment. This audience. He was nailing me to the
I sank into the couch, completely hollowed out. Eight years. From sneaking kisses behind iron gates to standing beside him as the Don’s wife under crystal chandeliers. Every promise he ever made me, every sacrifice I thought was love, now burned like hot brands pressed again and again into my chest. He said he loved me— yet he held another woman while sleeping in my house. He said he was in meetings— yet crossed the city at midnight to soothe someone else’s tears. He once told me I was his constant. That I was the one thing in his life that never changed. And yet, behind my back, he had already chosen a future that didn’t include me. My stomach twisted violently. I barely made it to the sink before I started vomiting, my body rejecting what my heart still hadn’t fully accepted. I leaned against the cold marble wall, gasping, shaking. It wasn’t Why wasn’t I good enough? It was worse. When did I start shrinking myself to fit the space he allowed me? When did I start







