Chapter 3

Lana’s POV

The mirrored elevator doors slid open, catching my reflection for a fleeting moment before parting.

I barely recognized my own reflection. The woman who stared back wasn't the trembling bride who'd taken flight from a wedding five years ago.

She was upright, chin tilted, dressed in a fitted ivory suit that hugged like confidence itself. Her hair, once long and silky, was cut blunt at the shoulders.

The lobby was filled with the rustle of language as I left. Interns walked briskly by with clipboards, their voices soft and deferential. Everyone always assumed that I didn't hear it when they whispered

"That's Lana Roth."

But I always did.

Five years later, and the name still circulated like electricity in the air always prefaced by a tale.

Humiliated bride, runaway heiress, reborn philanthropist.

I’d built something out of that ruin: Stripped Foundation, a nonprofit organization that turns young talents into start-ups. Kids who couldn’t afford an education now have a chance to change the world.

But right now, that brand is cracking.

The letter had come an hour earlier; contract retracted, terms acquired by Monroe Corporation.

Months of planning, millions of pledged capital. All vanished into the air…. poof.

I straightened the cuff of the jacket and forced my breathing to stay consistent as I stepped into the glass-walled conference room. Seated was the investor, Mr. Keller, a man in his mid-fifties with a weathered smile and a watch that probably cost more than the tuition for a year at school for the kids I work with.

He looked up from the tablet, eyes raking me in quiet assessment. "Ms. Roth. You're early."

I smiled tightly. "I don't like to wait when my career is on the line."

He smiled, indicating the chair opposite his desk. "Still direct, I see."

Still courteous, still deadly.

I sat down, folding one leg over the other, the movement controlled. My nails tapped the folder in my hands once. "I received your message. I hope it was an error."

Keller laced his fingers together. "I'm afraid not. Monroe Corp made me a proposal I couldn't refuse."

My heart raced, but I didn't yield. "You had a contract with me."

"I signed with Stripped Foundation," he corrected gently. "And they've opted for Monroe's resources as a commodity for superior partners. It's business, Lana."

His voice softened on my name, but I sensed the brush-off behind it.

My jaw tightened. "Monroe Corp does not engage in humanitarian partnership. They buy, own, and rebrand."

"Then you'll fit right in."

I stared at him, his easy smirk, the casual cruelty in his tone. I’d seen it before, in different faces. Men who thought charm made cruelty palatable.

He leaned back. “Jace Monroe personally expressed interest in working with you. That’s not a small gesture.”

The name hit me like a cold wind.

Jace Monroe; Monroe Corp’s new CEO. Young, talented, the kind of guy who could ruin businesses with one takeout. I'd heard of him, seen him interviewed, ruthless, intelligent, self-assured.

And apparently, he owns my future now.

My fists tightened on the folder, knuckles whitening. "You're telling me I'm supposed to work for him?"

"I'm offering," Keller said, folding his fingers together, "that if you want to see the funding come back, you'll have to work with us. Monroe's group will take care of your second phase. Otherwise…" He shrugged almost daintily. "The deal is off."

I drew a deep breath, my mask unraveling at the edges. "You're asking for humiliation in order to survive. How nice."

His smile never wavered. "Don't make it personal. It's not about you."

I smiled lightly, but there was no humor in it. "Everything is about me when my name is on the door."

The room fell silent for a moment. Keller's eyes slanted slightly, but then he waved a dismissive hand. "I'll send over the documents. Take a day to think about it."

"I don't need a day." I stood. "You've already made up your mind for me."

He raised his eyebrow. "So that's no?"

I stared him straight in the eye, radiating calm I did not possess. "That's a reminder that I founded this foundation on my own without Monroe's money. I can do it again." I stormed out.

But when I left the conference room, the bravado wavered.

The elevator doors closed, and my image glared back again, fierce, but with the barest quiver. My chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths.

Breathe, Lana.

I pushed my hand into my belly, grounding myself. My image blinked back, face firm, shoulders squared, but my fingers still twitched imperceptibly at my side.

When the elevator doors slid open onto the parking lot, I stepped out into the gentle breeze and chaotic movement of people, cars and machines.

My heels clicked on the floor, the echo sounding thoughts rumbling in my head.

Jace Monroe.

Why him?

The man whose very existence represented all that I'd built myself against; arrogance, power without empathy, control disguising itself as possibility.

I tensed my shoulders as I walked out to my car, the tension traveling as high as my neck. I leaned against the door, closing my eyes for a moment.

I could almost feel that old pain seeping in, the helplessness, the shame, the way my body once betrayed me when I was trapped. My throat tightened, chest shrinking.

No. Not again.

I braced my shoulders, rolling them back. My mirror in the car window showed a woman in control again, chin up, eyes still.

This was what I had prepared myself for. All the early morning runs, all the sleepless nights, all the negotiations where I had to swallow pride and remain calm when someone was trying to make me small once more.

But as I settled into the driver's seat, I could feel the slightest of shakes in my hands when I wrapped them around the steering wheel.

I glared at them, refined, polished, shaking.

He can't take this away from me.

The words escaped on breath, a half warning, half vow whisper.

By the time I reached the foundation's office, I had buried every shred of emotion under a practiced smile. My workers looked up as I came in, wide-eyed interns, hopeful engineers, dreamers who trusted me.

Their faces grounded me.

I nodded, allowing a fast flash of smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Team meeting in an hour," I said. "We're not done yet."

When I opened the door to my office, I closed it silently behind me. The glass walls confined the city — the very skyline on which my name had been a headline.

I unfastened my jacket, at last freeing my shoulders. My shadow in the window was faint, hanging between sunlight and darkness.

I set my fingertips on the glass, cold against my skin. "You said you'd never be embarrassed again," I whispered.

A knock at the door broke me off. My assistant stuck her head in, scowling.

"Ms. Roth? A call just arrived. From… Jace Monroe's office."

For a moment, everything inside me locked up.

My jaw tightened, eyes narrowing.

"Put him through," I said.