Helena woke to the smell of wet earth and winter smoke drifting through the open windows of her new apartment. The city outside was alive, indifferent, and utterly oblivious to the drama that had consumed her life for the past year. She could hear the faint clatter of subway trains, the low hum of traffic, and the occasional wail of sirens. A world still spinning, despite everything Victor Ward had tried to destroy.She dressed carefully, choosing a charcoal-gray suit that carried authority without arrogance. It was her first day back in the professional world, not as a wife or a prisoner, but as herself: Helena Ward, architect, strategist, survivor. She paused in the mirror, studying her reflection. The prison had not stolen her beauty, nor her poise, but it had sharpened her. Her eyes were harder now, more focused, carrying the quiet intensity of someone who had stared down betrayal and refused to blink.The small office she rented in Manhattan was modest but functional. Sunlight st

Helena sat in her office late into the night, the city lights sprawling beneath her like a glittering blueprint of opportunity. Outside, traffic hummed, unaware of the woman who had once been crushed under the weight of betrayal and false accusations. Now, she wielded authority not through inherited wealth or family connections, but through vision, resilience, and the meticulous precision of a mind unbroken by adversity.She had received news earlier that day: a coalition of international investors wanted to partner with her on a large-scale sustainable city project in Southeast Asia. The plan was ambitious, entirely self-contained, incorporating renewable energy, modular housing, green spaces, and state-of-the-art infrastructure. Helena read through the proposals carefully, her mind already analyzing potential challenges and risks. To the outside world, she was a visionary architect and philanthropist. To herself, she was a strategist who would not let ambition blind her to detail.H