Before the crushing weight of the realization could pull her under, the heavy, frosted glass doors of the office swung open.
The spell broke. Sean stepped back as his executive assistant held the door.
A sharp, impeccably dressed man in his late fifties entered the room. He carried a sleek black leather briefcase and possessed the cold, predatory aura of a man who destroyed lives for a living.
“Mr. Sterling,” the lawyer said, extending a hand to Sean without a single wasted movement. “Mrs. Vanguard. I’m Arthur Vance.”
“Arthur,” Sean greeted, shaking his hand firmly. “Thank you for coming.”
Arthur Vance didn’t waste a breath on pleasantries or condolences. He walked directly to the conference table, popping the brass latches of his briefcase. He pulled out three thick stacks of heavily tabbed legal documents, dropping them next to the prenup with a heavythud.
“I’ve reviewed the prenuptial agreement, the security footage from your estate, the private investigator’s financial trails, and the motel receipts from last night,” Vance said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion, operating with the terrifying efficiency of a scalpel. He looked directly at Rosália. “The infidelity clause is completely ironclad, Mrs. Vanguard. With this mountain of evidence, your husband’s attorneys won’t even be able to mount a coherent defense. You will get the sixty percent, and you will walk away completely clean.”
Rosália let out a long, shaky breath. A massive, suffocating weight began to lift off her chest. The end was finally in sight. “So we file today?”
“No.”
The word cracked through the quiet office. It came from Sean.
Rosália turned to him, her brow furrowing in deep confusion. “What do you mean, no? We have everything. Why would we wait?”
Sean walked slowly over to the table, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the lawyer. His dark eyes met hers, and the comforting protector she had just been speaking with was gone. In his place stood the ruthless, calculating billionaire who had built an empire by crushing his enemies.
“If we file for divorce today, David will panic, but he will still have his prestigious firm and his vast resources to fight a prolonged war of attrition against you,” Sean explained, his voice a low, lethal purr that sent a shiver down her spine. “And Katherine will just run away, crying victim, to the next wealthy mark she can find.”
Vance nodded in grim agreement, tapping a manicured finger against the files. “We are going to wait exactly three weeks before I file the divorce papers with the state court, Mrs. Vanguard.”
“Why three weeks?” Rosália asked, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Sean offered a slow, devastating smirk. The sheer, cold promise of destruction in his eyes was breathtaking.
“Because, Rosália, three weeks is exactly how long it is going to take me to systematically and completely obliterate both of their careers,” Sean murmured darkly, leaning his hands flat against the mahogany table. “By the time David is served with those divorce papers, he won’t have a job to pay for a lawyer. And Katherine won’t have a single fitness sponsor left to her name.”
Sean looked out the massive windows at the sprawling city below, the undisputed king surveying the empire he was about to weaponize.
“We don’t just want to leave them,” Sean promised, the words hanging heavy and absolute in the cold air of the office. “We are going to destroy them.”
Chapter 15
Katherine
The midday sun poured through the massive, arched skylights ofL’Orangerie, the city’s most exclusive rooftop brasserie, casting a flawless, golden aesthetic over the private marble table.
Katherine sat at the head of the spread, entirely and intoxicatingly in her element. She wore a pristine, cream-colored tailored blazer draped effortlessly over her shoulders, her bouncy blonde hair catching the light perfectly. Surrounding her were five other fitness influencers—girls with respectable followings, but absolutely none who possessed the sheer, untouchable proximity to wealth that Katherine flaunted.
“Okay, guys, say hi to the live!” Lacey trilled, extending her arm to hold her phone high above the table, a sleek, portable ring light attached to the top.
Lacey was a local spin instructor who had been desperately trying to claw her way up the social ladder for years. Katherine secretly despised her tacky ambition, but keeping a few envious, inferior girls in her orbit was exactly what made Katherine feel like a queen.
Katherine leaned into the frame, offering a radiant, perfectly practiced smile to the thousands of people currently watching Lacey’s live stream. She posed behind a ridiculous,highly photogenic spread of gold-leaf avocado toast, imported burrata, and a towering, three-tier seafood plateau practically overflowing with oysters.
“We are celebrating Kat’s new brand deal,” Lacey cooed to the camera, panning the lens to capture the expensive champagne buckets. “Living our absolute best lives today, courtesy of the queen herself.”
Katherine took a slow, delicate sip of her mimosa. Her chest bloomed with absolute, arrogant satisfaction. This was her reality. She had it all perfectly balanced on the edge of a razor-thin knife, and she was thriving. She had Sean’s limitless bank accounts funding her glamorous, untouchable lifestyle, and she had the dark, thrilling, feral intensity of David’s body whenever she snapped her manicured fingers. She was playing two incredibly powerful men, and neither of them had a single clue. She felt invincible.
When the waiter—a discreet, impeccably dressed young man in a stark black vest—approached the table, the high-pitched chatter naturally lulled. He placed the slim, black leather folio softly onto the marble right next to Katherine’s elbow.
The bill was easily over two thousand dollars.
