Chapter 1 When a rival firm tried a hostile takeover of my company, it was Julian who ran the defense. He risked his own fortune, working the market to buy me time, and saved my father's corporation. When he was framed by competitors, nearly facing prison, I was the one who mortgaged my entire inheritance. I pulled every string my father had left me, dragged him from the abyss, and bankrolled his ascent to the top of the financial world. They called us the twin wolves of Wall Street. A predatory team, our teeth only for our enemies. He bought the Atlas Tower, proposed to me on the roof, and promised the city's skyline would light up only for me. Seven years later, the tower’s lights were all over Page Six, but this time they were celebrating the "King of Investing" and his new model girlfriend. “Chloe... she’s pregnant, and she was crying, wanted to see the lights. You know how young she is.” He had the audacity to say it over the phone. “Elara, don’t worry. As long as you’re quiet, your position as 'Mrs. Vance' is secure.” I listened to his magnanimous offer, and I laughed. I hung up and made one call. I shorted every single stock associated with that model’s name, every brand she endorsed, every shell company she’d been gifted. I bankrupted her overnight. He seemed to have forgotten: I owned half of this empire. I was the one who could make him a god. I could just as easily be the one to drag him to hell. When Julian returned to the penthouse, I was trimming an absurdly expensive black pine bonsai. A dozen black-suited bodyguards filled the foyer, making the apartment feel less like a home and more like a hostile boardroom. “Elara, you went too far this time.” “You zeroed out Chloe’s accounts. You blacklisted her. How is she supposed to get by in this city again?” “Do you have any idea? She's twenty-two. And she's pregnant!” My hand slipped. The gold shears bit too deep. Ten years of meticulous care, ruined. I tossed the shears onto the table and wiped my fingers on a silk handkerchief. “I thought she liked the spotlight. I was just giving her a taste of what it feels like to fall from it.” “Why are you still angry?” Julian kicked the mahogany table. The priceless bonsai crashed to the marble floor, shattering. “Elara, Chloe isn't like you. Don’t use your filthy tricks on her.” Filthy. My heart seized. Fifteen years. I had been the society princess who, for his sake, learned to kill in the capital markets. The hands that once only knew piano keys and paintbrushes were now cold, hardened from tapping keyboards and signing billion-dollar contracts. I became this for him. And now, for another woman, he called me filthy. I let out a mocking laugh. “I just bankrupted her. Why are you so tense?” “Remember when I torpedoed that rival hedge fund for you? I didn't sleep for three days. You weren't this worked up then.” Julian’s eyes were filled with exhaustion. “Elara, what do you want?” “I told you, she’s no threat to your position. Can we just stop this?” The sharp crack of the slap echoed in the room. In an instant, Julian's dozen bodyguards had their guns drawn and pointed at me. My own bodyguard, Leo, moved just as fast, his pistol aimed squarely at Julian’s head. I didn't seem to notice. I just kept slapping him. Again and again, until his cheek was raw and his lip was split, bleeding. Julian finally shoved me back, then whirled on his own men, kicking the nearest one. “Who the fuck told you to pull a gun on my wife? Put them down! Now!” He turned back to me, taking my stinging hand, trying to blow on the skin. “Doesn't your hand hurt?” A wave of utter exhaustion washed over me. I threw the divorce papers onto the blood-smeared table. “Sign them, Julian. We’re done.” He picked them up, looked at them, and tore them into confetti. His face was grim. “Elara, I told you. The title of Mrs. Vance is yours. Only yours.” “I will never divorce you.” I grabbed the heavy crystal vase from the sideboard and smashed it over his head. Watching the blood trail down his temple and mix with the blood on his lip, I smiled. It was a bright, happy smile. “Fine. No divorce. In that case, let’s watch a show. We can go right back to being Wall Street’s favorite power couple.” The 80-inch wall screen lit up. It was Chloe. She was trapped in her home’s trading room, her white clothes stained with what looked like red wine. An ear-splitting alarm blared—a margin call. A secret, over-leveraged account in her name was being forcibly liquidated. She was being wiped out. Chloe's sobs filled our apartment. “Julian! My money! Our baby’s formula money! Julian, save me!” Julian’s hands were suddenly around my throat, slamming me against the wall. His eyes were burning. “Elara! You stop this now. If anything happens to Chloe or that baby, I swear to God, I will kill you.” I’d seen that fire in his eyes once before. Years ago, when I’d been kidnapped by a family rival. They wanted all of my father's shares. Julian, with nothing to his name but bravado, had walked into their stronghold and offered himself as collateral—a gamble so insane they took it. He had saved me. That fire had been for me. Today, it was for someone else. The screen suddenly went black. Julian's assistant, Bryce, burst into the room, breathless. “Mr. Vance! Ms. Rivers collapsed. She’s being rushed to the ER.” The hands on my throat disappeared. Julian was gone, not even a backward glance. Leo, looking at the red marks on my neck, was vibrating with rage. “For a B-list model... he laid hands on you, Ma’am. He’s forgotten. Without you, he’d be nothing.” I stared at the empty doorway. “Let him be blind. It's fine.” “But I am Elara Stone. And I am no one’s victim.” Chapter 2 The financial news sites were exploding. Paparazzi shots of Julian carrying Chloe into the emergency room were everywhere. The 15-year fairy tale of Wall Street’s golden couple had become the city’s biggest joke. All the envy I had enjoyed was now replaced with pity and mockery, with speculators wondering when Julian would finally ditch his "barren old wife." A new friend request popped up on my phone. It was Chloe. Her profile picture was two hands, clasped. One of them was Julian's. I accepted. A photo immediately came through. An ultrasound. It was followed by a picture of Julian, down on one knee, gently pressing his head to her barely-there stomach. “Sorry to disappoint you, Elara. The baby is perfectly fine. ?” “I should actually thank you. Julian is so worried you’ll try to hurt me again, he won't leave my side. I tell him to go home, but he refuses.” “You have no idea how protective he is of this baby. But I guess you wouldn't, would you? A barren old hen.” “I’ll have your title eventually, Elara. Just watch.” I laughed out loud. “Sweetie,” I texted back, “the title of 'Mrs. Vance' isn’t something you can just fuck your way into.” As if to prove her point, she sent me photos every morning. Julian, whose hands were made to sign billion-dollar deals, was making her soup. Julian, staring at her stomach with a look of religious reverence. Watching the photos, Leo’s face was grim. “Ma’am, just give the word. I can… teach her a lesson. I'll handle all the messy details.” The front door suddenly crashed open. Julian stormed in, flanked by his men. They started smashing the antiques in the foyer. Julian’s face was dark. “Elara. I let the other time slide. But you actually tried to drug her.” “Just because you can't have a child, you won't let anyone else have one? Is that it? If we hadn't found out, the baby would be gone!” My heart stopped. Years ago, one of Julian’s rivals, seeking revenge, broke into our house while Julian was away. They locked me in the wine cellar for three days. By the time Julian found me, the tiny embryo was long gone. I spent three months in the ICU. I survived, but I lost the ability to ever be a mother. And now, he stood in my home and accused me of being the one who "can't have one." Leo stepped in front of me, furious. “Mr. Vance, that’s enough!” “And who the hell are you to bark at me?” There was a sickening thud. Leo crumpled, clutching his leg. One of Julian’s men had clubbed him. I raised an eyebrow. I leaned back against the sofa and laughed. In one smooth motion, I snatched a dagger from the belt of Julian’s nearest bodyguard, lunged forward, and buried it in Julian’s shoulder. I twisted it. “Drugged her? You really think too little of me, Julian.” “But since you’re so determined to pin it on me... I should at least give you a reason. Let me remind you of my real style.” For the first time, a flash of panic crossed Julian’s face. He fumbled for his phone, but it was already ringing. “Sir! Sir, it’s bad! A group of men just stormed the hospital! They took Ms. Rivers!” Julian’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide with disbelief. I smiled. “I told you. I never take the blame for something I haven't earned.” Moments later, the front door was thrown open again. Chloe was dragged in, screaming, and thrown at my feet. Julian ripped the dagger from his shoulder and, in the same motion, pressed the barrel of his own gun to my forehead. “Elara. Don't make me do this.” He was the one holding the gun, but his eyes were red-rimmed and desperate. I just laughed in his face. “Julian. Either pull the trigger right now... or get ready to bury your bastard.” His hand was shaking. His jaw was clenched so tight a vein bulged in his temple. Chloe, seeing him, started screaming again. “Julian, save me! Elara, you bitch! You’re nothing without him! Let me go, or he’ll kill you!” I smiled, and in front of everyone, I kicked her, hard, in the stomach. Chapter 3 Chloe’s howl was animalistic. “You’ll die for this, Elara! You’ll rot in hell!” “No wonder you don't have a child! You can't even keep your own uterus!” “You cold-hearted bitch, you don't deserve to be a mother!” My breath hitched. My nails dug into my palms. I kicked her again, then pulled the dagger I’d taken and pressed the flat of the blade to her abdomen. “You love being fertile so much, huh? How about I cut your womb right out of you? Let's see you get pregnant then.” Blood began to trickle down her legs. My hand tightened on the hilt. BANG. A gunshot. The bullet was so close it grazed my cheek, a searing line of heat. I stared at Julian, frozen. “You shot at me,” I whispered. “For her.” Julian’s eyes were blood-red. “I warned you, Elara. She’s just a kid. You pushed me. This is on you.” I lunged, not at her, but at him. I stabbed the dagger deep into his chest. His blood splattered onto my face. In that moment, all I could see was red, just like the path we had carved to get here. I looked him dead in the eye and twisted the blade. “You’re wrong, Julian. You pushed me.” “If you had just signed the divorce papers, none of this would have happened.” In an instant, guns were drawn on both sides. The two teams, who had fought back-to-back in a dozen corporate wars, were now aimed at each other. Julian, as if he didn't feel the knife, pulled it from his chest. His white shirt was soaked. He walked over, picked up the whimpering Chloe, and looked at me, his gaze falling on the bleeding cut on my cheek. “I’m not divorcing you. I promised your father. The title of Mrs. Vance is yours.” “But you had better pray to God that she and the baby are okay. Or I will end you.” That afternoon, he sent me a video. It was Chloe in a hospital bed, wailing. “Our baby is gone! It's gone! Julian, you have to kill that psycho! Avenge our child!” Then, Julian’s voice, cold as ice. “Elara. I told you. There’s a price for everything.” A moment later, a sniper bullet shattered the penthouse window. It was his declaration of war. The attacks on my assets began immediately. A cargo ship in the Pacific 'accidentally' scuttled. My hedge funds were shorted into oblivion. My most profitable tech companies were suddenly, mysteriously, swarming with SEC investigators. As I stared at the damage reports, I felt nothing but a cold fire. I picked up a steel-tipped letter opener and threw it across the room. It pierced our wedding portrait, sinking deep into Julian’s face. “Julian,” I said to the empty room. “The divorce is off. This is a war. 'Til death.” Wall Street bled. The market went into freefall. The old guard, the titans of the industry, tried to intervene. “Julian, Elara has been with you from the beginning. Is one woman worth tanking the entire market?” “Elara, stop. Be reasonable. This chaos is bad for everyone.” Julian, his face a mask of stone, looked directly at me across the table. “I’ll stop. But only if Elara gets on her knees and apologizes to Chloe.” I laughed. “Apologize? Impossible. But I'd be happy to send her to hell.” He slid a photo across the table. It was my father's mausoleum... and the small grave of my unborn child. Both were empty. Julian’s eyes were flat. "Elara. Apologize. Or I don't know where their ashes might end up. Maybe the Hudson." My father, who had promoted him. Our child, who never had a chance. They were now just leverage. The man I had loved, the man who had loved me, was truly dead. He had killed him himself. I looked at Julian, and I smiled. A smile that didn't reach my eyes. “Julian. You win.” Chapter 4 When I got home, their urns were sitting on the living room table. My entire staff stood by, their eyes red with fury and shame. My phone buzzed. A stream of texts from Chloe. “I guess he didn't love you that much after all. ?♀️” “I just mentioned it, and he literally dug up your dad and your dead kid's grave to make me feel better.” “He says you have to apologize to me, and as compensation, you’re signing over your tech portfolio to me.” “You just wait, Elara. The title of Mrs. Vance will be mine.” I read them, and I didn’t even frown. Love is what makes you hysterical. Fear of loss is what makes you fight. But when the love is gone, their provocations are meaningless. I became quiet. I spent my days in the private study, where I had moved the urns. Julian was pleased with my silence. “If you had just been this reasonable from the start, none of this would have happened.” He looked at the two urns, his gaze darkening for a moment. “I’ll find a better plot for them. A nicer location.” “Elara, don't be so hostile. We are husband and wife.” His words were so laughable. I had spoiled him. I had let him get away with so much. I had let him believe that he could stab me, break my heart, and I would still be his loving wife. A week later, Julian’s assistant came to see me. “Mrs. Vance. Mr. Vance requests your presence. The entire board and all senior executives will be there.” “He said the asset transfer agreement is ready. He... requests that you do not make a scene.” I stood up, my face blank. I walked to the study, placed a fresh white rose in front of my father's urn, and another in front of my child's. Then I left. In the main boardroom, Julian sat at the head of the table. Chloe was nestled beside him, her eyes shooting daggers of triumph at me. Lining the table were the old guard. The executives who had fought and bled with us from the very beginning. The transfer agreement was placed in front of me. And a pen. Julian looked at me, his gaze heavy. “Elara, you were out of line. Even as my wife, I can't let that go unpunished.” “Today, in front of the board, you will apologize to Chloe. You will sign over three-tenths of your portfolio to her as compensation. And then, we will put this all behind us.” Chloe smirked. “Thanks, sis. I know you’re bitter, being barren and all, but don't worry.” “For this... 'generous gift'... I'll make sure my kids with Julian give you a spare bedroom when you're old and gray.” Julian tapped the table, a clear threat. “Elara. I told you the title is yours. But that doesn't mean I will tolerate this behavior forever.” “Be good. Don't make me angry.” One of the old-timers, a man who had known my father, slammed his fist on the table. “Julian, you've gone too far!” “If it wasn't for Warren Stone and Ms. Elara, you'd still be a two-bit trader! And you do this... for this whore? Your conscience has been eaten by dogs!” BZZT. BZZT. Not gunshots. Tasers. The old man crumpled to the ground, twitching. In an instant, a dozen guns were pointed at my head. “Elara,” Julian sighed, “how many of these loyal old fools did you buy? I gave you a chance. You didn't take it. Don’t blame me for being ruthless.” The next second, blood sprayed across the table. Julian stared in disbelief at his hand. I smiled.
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