"If I wear a dress, they’ll think I’m trying too hard," I mutter to the empty room, tossing the suit onto the mattress.
I walk into the en-suite bathroom and turn on the shower. The steam quickly fogs up the mirror, blurring my reflection. I lean my hands against the cold marble of the vanity, taking a slow, deep breath.
Seven o'clock.
It is currently four-thirty. We leave for Lake Forest in an hour and a half.
I press the heel of my hand against my chest, right over my sternum, trying to physically push the anxiety down. I am going back to the Vance family estate. I am going to sit at a dining table with the man who stole my company, the woman he replaced me with, and the patriarch who views me as a disposable piece of trash.
And I am going to do it wearing Malcolm Vance’s ring.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering traces of sleep and the phantom memory of Malcolm’s mouth against mine.
It doesn't work.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel the heavy, possessive grip of his hand on the back of my neck. I feel the exact moment the contract dissolved and the reality of what we are doing took over. He isn't faking it. He paid off my mother’s debt, he tracked down a private investigator, and he slept with his arm around my waist like he was guarding a vault.
I turn the water off, wrap a towel around my hair, and step out into the cold air of the bathroom.
I dress quickly. The charcoal suit fits like a second skin. It is severe, elegant, and completely devoid of the soft, accommodating aesthetic I used to wear when Simon took me to family dinners. I pair it with black stilettos and a simple silver necklace. I leave my hair down, letting it fall in loose waves over my shoulders.
I look at my left hand. The vintage diamond catches the harsh bathroom light.
I am not the woman Simon threw away. I am the woman who is going to burn his life down.
I walk out of the bedroom and head down the hallway toward the living room. The penthouse is quiet, but the heavy oak door to Malcolm’s home office is cracked open.
I stop outside the door.
I can hear the low, steady murmur of his voice. He is on a phone call.
"I don't care what the legal department advises," Malcolm is saying, his tone completely flat. "If the board attempts to freeze the discretionary funds, I will invoke Clause Four of the shareholder agreement and trigger a hostile buyout of the logistics division. Tell them to back down, or I will dismantle the division by Friday."
There is a pause. I picture some terrified corporate lawyer on the other end of the line, sweating through his suit.
"Good," Malcolm says. "Have the documents on my desk tomorrow morning."
I hear the click of the phone receiver being placed on the base.
I push the door open slightly and step into the office.
Malcolm is sitting behind the massive mahogany desk. He is wearing a dark gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a black tie. He looks exactly like the ruthless CEO the media portrays him to be, right up until he looks up and sees me standing in the doorway.
The cold, calculating edge in his eyes vanishes instantly.
He leans back in his leather chair, his gaze sweeping over the charcoal suit, the stilettos, and the loose hair. He doesn't say anything for a long moment. He just looks at me with that dark, possessive intensity that makes my pulse spike.
"You look like you are going to a funeral," he says quietly.
"I am," I reply, walking into the room and stopping in front of his desk. "Simon’s."
A slow, lethal smile touches the corner of his mouth. "The suit is effective."
"Thank you for the clothes." I cross my arms, sharply aware of how expensive the fabric feels against my skin. "Though I’m fairly certain you spent more on this wardrobe than my firm made in its first year."
"It is a business expense." He stands up, buttoning his suit jacket with one hand. "You cannot walk into Preston’s house wearing clothes Simon bought you. It gives him a psychological advantage."
"Simon didn't buy my clothes," I correct him, a defensive edge creeping into my voice. "I bought my own clothes. He just criticized them until I changed into something he preferred."
