FAZER LOGINEmma Laurent had changed outfits four times already. Which was absurd. She knew it was absurd. And yet somehow she still stood in front of her bedroom mirror staring critically at a black dress she had previously loved thirty minutes ago. Now it suddenly looked too formal. Before that, the green one had looked too soft. The blue one had apparently made her resemble “someone attending a diplomatic funeral.” According to Maya. Who was currently laughing at her through video call alongside Stephanie. “You changed again,” Maya accused immediately. Emma adjusted the sleeve of her dress defensively. “I’m refining options.” “You’re panicking,” Stephanie corrected calmly from the other side of the screen. Emma narrowed her eyes. “I invited neither of you into this emotio
Rain slid steadily across the glass walls of the conference room while Emma stared at the illuminated skyline beyond Blackwoods Holdings. Most of the executive floor had emptied over an hour ago. Only scattered office lights remained now, glowing softly across the building while assistants somewhere down the corridor finished reports that probably should have waited until morning. Emma should have gone home too. Instead, she sat surrounded by Whitmore restructuring files, cold coffee, and the growing realization that her entire life had somehow become international financial news. Disturbing development. She rubbed tiredly beneath one eye before forcing herself toward another page of revised projections. Halfway through the report— her phone vibrated against the table. Unknown international number. Emma frowned sl
Dominic Sterling had spent years building a reputation powerful enough to survive almost anything. Scandals. Competitors. Market crashes. Fear. Especially fear. Fear kept executives obedient, investors loyal, and competitors careful. For years, Dominic had controlled every room he entered simply because people feared what happened when he lost patience. Which was exactly why the atmosphere inside Sterling Global’s boardroom felt so volatile now. Whitmore Industries had walked away. Not publicly. Not emotionally. Not even dramatically. They had simply ended negotiations and transferred the partnership to Blackwoods Holdings as though Sterling Global no longer deserved consideration. Cold blue market projections glowed across the conference room screens while executives sat rigidly around the table
Dominic Sterling had lost Whitmore. The realization settled over the Sterling Global boardroom like smoke after an explosion. Heavy. Impossible to ignore. Nobody spoke immediately after the call disconnected. The massive projection screen still displayed the Whitmore Industries insignia against a dark background while executives sat frozen around the conference table pretending not to look directly at Dominic Sterling. Because everyone in the room understood what had just happened. Whitmore hadn’t negotiated. Hadn’t argued. Hadn’t even entertained discussion. They had simply left. One senior executive finally cleared his throat carefully. “Perhaps we can still recover portions of the European sector if we move quickly—” The crystal glass in Dominic’s hand shattered violently against the wall before he even finished speaki
Emma slowly lifted her gaze toward the dark screen. Nobody in the room moved. Nobody even pretended to look away from the projection wall anymore. Because Alexander Whitmore had spoken only twice since joining the call— and somehow managed to make an entire boardroom feel intellectually inadequate. The screen remained dark. No face. Just the low static hum of the secure conference connection. Then Alexander spoke again. Calm. Measured. Precise. “Your European recovery projections are optimistic.” One senior analyst immediately straightened. “We based those estimates on fourth-quarter—” “You based them on stability assumptions,” Alexander interrupted smoothly. “Sterling Global is not stable.” The analyst stopped talking instantly. Not humiliated. Dismissed.
Emma barely slept. Not because of work. Not because of Whitmore. Because Laura Reed had walked into her house last night wearing a diamond engagement ring and enough audacity to start a war in someone else’s living room. And somehow Emma still made it to Blackwoods before eight in the morning. The lobby shifted the second she entered. Not dramatically. Subtly. Assistants who once gave her sympathetic smiles now straightened professionally. Conversations lowered. Executives acknowledged her presence carefully instead of awkwardly pretending not to recognize Dominic Sterling’s ex-wife. Interesting. Respect looked very different from pity. Emma stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor wearing a fitted ivory blouse tucked into charcoal trousers, her hair tied back neatly, makeup minimal and sharp enough to make exhaustion invisible.







