The toilet brush felt heavier than the pen he'd used to sign a billion-dollar acquisition last month.Blake scrubbed at the porcelain, phone wedged between shoulder and ear. His subordinate's voice crackled through: "President Blake, Nasdaq confirmed. Tomorrow, 9:30 AM Eastern. Your wife's press conference goes live.""Good work, Sam." Blake hung up, peeling off the rubber gloves. In the bathroom mirror—expensive face, cheap clothes. The irony wasn't lost on him.He'd been greasing palms, whispering favors in powerful ears, all while also erasing paper trails just so he could buy her this company listing while she thought it was her brilliance.Downstairs, laughter echoed like breaking glass. The air full of jasmine tea and competition."Robert just bought me this." Mrs. Patterson lifted her wrist, letting the Cartier bracelet catch the light. "Anniversary gift. Fifty thousand. He said I deserved something timeless.""How thoughtful," Madam Mary said, smile tight as wire."Men should

The door opened at dawn, and Lillian walked in wearing yesterday's triumph like armor.Blake was still on the sofa. Still in the same clothes. Still surrounded by the ruins of a celebration dinner meant for two.She barely glanced at him. Just dropped her designer purse and rolled her neck with a wince."Massage. Now. My shoulders are killing me."Blake didn't move.Lillian's irritation spiked. "Did you hear me? I've been networking all night. The least you could do is make yourself useful.""Where were you last night?"His voice stopped her cold. Flat. Empty.Lillian turned, really looking at him for the first time. His eyes were red-rimmed. His jaw tight. He looked wrecked.Good.Maybe now he'd understand what it felt like to be ignored. To be taken for granted."The celebration banquet. I already told you." She kicked off her heels. "My phone died. Is there a problem?""I called you. Multiple times.""And I just explained why I couldn't answer." Lillian crossed her arms. "What is t

Blake's hands were steady.They always were during a crisis. Steady when he signed billion-dollar contracts. Steady when he'd watched that proposal video. Steady now, as he pressed the sterilized needle against Emma's inner arm.The hotel suite was silent except for her shallow breathing.He'd done this once before—years ago, when a business partner collapsed at a dinner in Shanghai. The old treatment. Barbaric by modern standards, but effective when time mattered more than comfort.The first incision released a thin line of dark blood.Emma's fever had spiked to 104 degrees. Her skin burned like coals. Without this, she'd seize within the hour, and her organs would follow.Blake worked methodically—inner arms, behind the knees, the traditional pressure points. Each cut shallow, precise, releasing the poison the drug had flooded through her system.Her breathing steadied.The fever broke.By 3 AM, her pulse was normal. By 4 AM, the toxins had cleared. By 5 AM, Blake finally allowed hi

The Grandeur Hotel's tea room smelled of money and competition.Madam Mary adjusted her pearl necklace—a gift from Carter, delivered this morning along with a handwritten note calling her "the mother I never had." She'd read it three times before calling her friends."This jasmine blend is from Taiwan," Mrs. Patterson said, holding her cup like evidence. "Thirty dollars per ounce. I had to special order it.""How thoughtful of you." Madam Mary's smile was polite, predatory. "Though I must say, staying in the presidential suite does spoil one's standards. The tea service they provide is simply extraordinary."Mrs. Patterson's cup paused halfway to her lips. "The presidential suite? Here?""Oh, didn't I mention?" Madam Mary's voice dripped false modesty. "Carter—my future son-in-law—booked it for me. Insisted I stay the night after Lillian's celebration banquet. You know how these young men are. So attentive."Mrs. Wellington set down her pastry. "Carter? I thought your daughter was mar

Mrs. Wellington touched Madam Mary's arm. "Mary, maybe we should just—""Just what?" Madam Mary was still riding high on victory, cheeks flushed with triumph. "Let them disrespect me? Absolutely not. Did you see how that little tramp talked to me? The audacity.""I know, but maybe we should focus on why we're here," Mrs. Patterson said carefully. "You were going to show us the apartment Carter bought?"Madam Mary's expression shifted immediately, anger melting into pride. "Oh, you're right. Why am I wasting energy on those two losers when I have something so much better to show off?" She pulled a sleek black key card from her purse, held it up like a trophy. "Ladies, prepare to be amazed."They approached the penthouse door—the same one Blake and Emma had just exited."Now, I told Carter not to go overboard," Madam Mary said, her voice taking on that false modesty that made Mrs. Wellington's smile tighten. "I said, 'Carter, dear, Lillian isn't the type to care about material things. J