It was where old money met modern wealth.
It might be the beating heart of tourism, but it was also home to a lot of private equity firms and hedge fund managers.
I fell into step with the crowds as we moved up the sidewalks and rushed across intersections.
Then there it was.
A tall glass tower, the hundreds of windows reflecting the buildings around it.
The Valentine Group.
I’d known Harrison was rich in Vegas.
And it had been confirmed by my cousin.
But knowing someone was rich and realizing they owned an entire building in Midtown Manhattan was a complete other thing.
This kind of building had to be worth somewhere between two and five hundredmillion.
Knowing what I knew about personal net worth, I had to assume that meant Harrison Valentine was the ultra-elite kind of rich. Meaning a “B” in front of “illion” instead of the “M” I’d been expecting.
No wonder my lawyer and my cousin both went wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the idea of a man like this being so reckless as to marry a stranger without first protecting his assets.
Harrison was a billionaire.
Which, according to the rings still on my finger, meant I was now a billionaire.
This guy was a straight-up idiot if he didn’t sign the annulment now that I knew what was at stake and was willing not to take him to court for half.
Sucking in a deep breath, I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored glass window, trying to finger-comb my hair back into order.
I hadn’t dressed up for the occasion.
Lightly flared jeans, a tee, a black leather jacket, and black combat boots were what he would be getting. I hoped that he saw it and realized how unfit I was for his life.
Maybe he’d had a different idea of me because I needed to be in a nice dress to be at the poker table.
But I was not a fancy dresser. I would never be the kind of arm candy rich men wanted to drag around to charity events and business meeting circle-jerks.
Rolling my shoulders, I made my way inside.
The lobby felt more like a gallery than an office. Light traced clean lines across the ceiling in precise geometric patterns, glowing against steel beams and polished stone. Everything was open and symmetrical, designed to impress without raising its voice to be heard.
Low, modern sofas sat in small groupings across the floor, their cream upholstery stark against the dark sheen on the floors beneath them.
Glass walls rose on either side textured panels catching the light and breaking it into shades of blue and gold.
The whole space hummed with quiet purpose—footsteps softened by the sheer scale of the space, conversations kept low, as if the building itself demanded discretion.
At the far end, a wide corridor stretched forward in a line, drawing the eye inward, deeper into the heart of the building.
It was the kind of space that reminded you exactly how small you were… and how powerful the person running it must be.
My spine straightened instinctively.
Cool air brushed across my skin as I forced myself not to turn and flee, but to make my way over toward the reception area that gatekept the rest of the building from anyone who might happen inside.
The air had the faint scent of polished stone and something earthy—like leather and tobacco. Nothing that demanded attention, but you noticed regardless.
