I had died once, betrayed by the two people I trusted most in the world. Seven years later—seven years earlier, depending on how you looked at it, I was still breathing, still fighting, and this time I refused to lose.The next eight weeks became the sharpest, most relentless stretch of my second life. Sleep was a luxury I no longer afforded. My investment portfolio had swelled past eight million dollars, every cent of it weaponized.Now I sat at the long mahogany table in Lucien’s private war room, his penthouse office suite that overlooked the glittering sprawl of the city, surrounded by stacks of documents, glowing laptop screens, and the low hum of focused voices. Three corporate lawyers from Whitmore’s old firm pored over precedents with quiet intensity. My forensic accountant, Elena, a quiet woman with steel-rimmed glasses and an encyclopedic memory for numbers, cross-referenced decades of transactions without ever raising her voice. Vivienne—Lucien’s sister—worked beside her, h
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