Chapter 4

Suzan’s POV

"Mommy, this city smells like hot metal and hurry."

Emerald pressed her small nose against the cool glass of the town car’s window, her grey eyes reflecting the towering, glittering grid of Manhattan. We had just crossed the Bridge, entering the heart of the grid that had once been my cage.

"That's just the smell of too many taxis, sweetie," I said, reaching over to smooth down the collar of her forest-green velvet coat.

"And angry people," Emerald added, not looking away from the bustling streets. "The lady on the sidewalk just shook her fist at a bus. Why is everyone in such a rush to go nowhere?"

I let out a soft, dry laugh. Emerald’s observational skills were terrifyingly sharp. At just five years old, she possessed a quiet, analytical mind that dissected her surroundings with clinical precision. It was a trait she had inherited from both of her parents, though only one of us had raised her to use it for good.

"They are rushing because they think time is money," I explained, looking out at the familiar streets.

Five years.

As the town car glided down Park Avenue, past the high-end boutiques and the towering luxury high-rises, a cold wave of nostalgia washed over me. We passed the turn-off for the Sterling penthouse, the place where I had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering what I had done to deserve a husband who looked at me with nothing but cold indifference.

But as I caught my reflection in the dark glass of the car window, the ghost of that fragile, crying girl vanished.

In her place sat Dr. Suzan Wells.

My dark hair was styled into a sharp, asymmetrical bob that grazed my collarbone. I wore a tailored, charcoal-grey three-piece suit that hugged my frame with military precision, paired with a silk cream blouse and classic black Louboutins. On my wrist was a simple, elegant Cartier watch, bought with my own money, from my own achievements.

I was no longer a shadow in Draven Sterling’s world. I was the light they were all screaming for.

The town car pulled up to the curb of the Sterling Group’s global headquarters.

The glass-and-steel monolith stretched high into the grey autumn sky, a monument to the family’s generational wealth. But today, the atmosphere around the plaza was noticeably frantic. Knots of reporters stood near the barricades, their cameras flashing every time a high-ranking executive entered the building.

"The stocks opened another four percent down this morning," Edward Vance murmured from the front seat, turning around to look at me. "The board is panicking, Suzan. If you don't sign this protocol merger today, their major creditors are going to force a restructuring by Friday. Draven is backed into a corner."

"Good," I said, my voice cool and even. "Let him feel the walls closing in."

"Are you ready for this?" Edward asked, his eyes filled with a fatherly, protective concern. He knew exactly what this city, and that building, had taken from me.

"I've been ready for five years, Edward." I turned to Emerald, who was watching me quietly, her little hand resting on her lap. "Emerald, you're going to stay with Uncle Edward in the private lounge, okay? He has the new iPad and those puzzle books you like."

"I know," Emerald said, her tiny chin lifting. "And I have to be on my best behavior. No asking the executives why their blood pressure is high."

I couldn't help the genuine smile that broke through my icy composure. I leaned down, kissing her warm forehead. "Exactly, I'll be out soon."

The lobby of the Sterling Group was just as imposing as I remembered, but the energy was different. It felt like a sinking ship. The receptionists were speaking in hushed, urgent tones, and the security guards looked exhausted.

As I walked across the polished marble floor, my heels clicking in a slow, rhythmic cadence, a few senior employees paused to look at me. I saw a flicker of confusion in the eyes of a receptionist who had worked there during my marriage. She squinted, trying to place my face, but the sheer confidence in my posture, the expensive cut of my suit, and the name on my security badge, Dr. Suzan Wells, completely threw her off.

To them, Suzan Roland had been a quiet, mousy girl who wore oversized cardigans and kept her head down. This woman walked like she owned the air she breathed.

An executive assistant in a frantic rush practically sprinted toward me. "Dr. Wells? Oh, thank heavens. Mr. Sterling is waiting for you in the topmost boardroom. Please, follow me."

We rode the private elevator in silence. With every floor we ascended, my chest tightened, but it wasn't the tightness of fear. It was the coiled, kinetic energy of a predator preparing to strike.

When the elevator doors chimed open on the 50th floor, the assistant led me down a wide, carpeted corridor lined with expensive modern art. She opened the heavy, double oak doors to the main boardroom and stepped aside.

"Dr. Wells is here, sir," she announced quietly.

I stepped into the room.

The boardroom was vast, dominated by a massive, polished mahogany table and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Standing by the glass, his back to the room, was Draven Sterling.

Even from behind, his presence was commanding. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark trousers, his broad shoulders tense beneath a crisp white dress shirt. His suit jacket was draped over the back of a chair, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had spent the night running his fingers through it.

The silence in the room was deafening.

"Leave us," Draven commanded, his voice deep, gravelly, and laced with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.

The assistant quickly bowed and closed the doors behind me, leaving the two of us completely alone.

Draven didn't turn around immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the skyline, his shoulders rising and falling with a heavy, ragged breath.

"I have to admit, Dr. Wells," he began, his tone dripping with a mixture of desperation and reluctant respect, "I didn't think you would actually show up. My team has been begging for a meeting with you for three weeks. I was starting to think the legendary biochemist had a personal grudge against the Sterling name."

He paused, letting out a bitter, humorless chuckle.

"But I suppose everyone has a price. And right now, I am willing to pay whatever yours is to save this company. I don't care about the equity, and I don't care about the terms. Just give me the protocol."

He finally turned around, a polite, professional mask ready to be slipped into place.

"Let's get this over with, Dr…"

The words died in his throat.

Draven froze. The color drained from his face so rapidly I thought he might collapse. His grey eyes, the exact, striking shade of Emerald’s, widened in absolute, paralyzing shock. His hands slowly slid out of his pockets, his fingers trembling slightly as he stared at me.

He looked at my face, my hair, my posture, and the cold, unyielding power radiating from my eyes.

"S…Suzan?" he whispered, his voice cracking, sounding like a man who had just seen a ghost walk out of the grave. "No... that's... that's impossible."