Eve Of A Thousand Wakes

Ashley Palmer stormed onto the forty-fifth floor of the Grayson Enterprises building, her heels striking the marble like a countdown.

As Chairman, Jake claimed every privilege the company had to offer—starting with the lavish corner office crowning the end of the executive corridor.

His private secretary, Tammy, guarded the door like a sentinel in heels. She was a tall redhead poured into clothes one size too small, the kind of woman who left nothing to the imagination and wanted men to notice.

Ashley knew exactly what Tammy was—one of Jake's many mistresses, just better dressed for the part.

"Mrs. Grayson, this is a pleasant surprise," the secretary said, her smile stretched thin as plastic wrap. "Mr. Grayson is just about to wrap up an important meeting. Meanwhile, you can wait in the VIP lounge."

Tammy gestured curtly toward a luxurious waiting room adjoining the Chairman's office. "Perhaps some wine, to help you relax?" she added, as if Ashley were the one losing her mind.

Ashley's eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack a walnut. 'Pleasant surprise? Give me a break, bitch—you'd gut me the second nobody was looking.'

As the Chairman's wife, Ashley had swallowed his lies and his infidelities for a year, silent as a stone. Jake didn't bother hiding his affairs—why would he, when he could come home drunk every night and humiliate her with every filthy detail instead?

Usually, Ashley swallowed that too—forced a smile, played nice with Tammy, pretended not to notice. Not today.

"Get out of my way, slut!" she snapped, shoving past the secretary. Tammy's jaw dropped. She staggered back against the wall, stunned.

What was wrong with the Chairman's wife today? Since when wasn't she timid and tame?

The corner office radiated old money and new arrogance—marble-topped desks, swivel chairs upholstered in something that had once been alive, a private bar gleaming beneath designer lamps. Once, by all rights, it should have been hers.

As Ashley shoved the door open, a blonde intern shot past her—clothes askew, mascara streaked, barely into her twenties, fleeing like she'd just escaped a crime scene.

Jake's chair faced the panoramic skyline, his back to the door, utterly unbothered by his wife's intrusion.

"Jake!" Ashley thundered. "Are you so shameless you're getting a blowjob from an intern in broad daylight?"

Jake swiveled his chair around with infuriating slowness and rose, unhurried, as if she were the interruption and not the other way around. He was a handsome man in his early thirties, jet-black hair swept back with pomade, every inch of him radiating the kind of confidence only money can buy.

Jake straightened his rumpled clothes without a flicker of shame, strolled to the liquor bar, and poured himself a neat scotch—as casually as if nothing at all had happened.

"What are you doing here, Ash?" Jake asked, sauntering toward her, swirling his half-filled glass like he had all the time in the world. "You know the rules. You're not allowed to visit me in the office."

"Stop pretending to be ignorant!" she demanded, slamming a file down hard enough to rattle his scotch. "You sent me divorce papers! This is madness! First, you tricked me into marrying you and stole my company! Then I was made to work as a maid in your home! Now you want to get rid of me?!"

Jake froze mid-step, genuinely thrown. The Ashley he knew flinched at raised voices—she didn't raise her own. He'd spent a year grinding her pride into dust and her beauty into ash, and he'd expected her to sign the papers quietly, the way she did everything else now.

Jake hadn't expected her to fight back. Something about her was different. What?

The Graysons and the Palmers ruled Norwich—two of the city's wealthiest families, each clearing more than ten billion dollars a year.

Ashley had lost her mother young. Then, last year, she'd lost her father too—Arthur Palmer, dead in a car crash, his body never recovered after his vehicle went off a cliff.

His will had split everything: fifty-one percent of Palmer Industries to Ashley, forty-nine to her younger stepsister, Scarlet. Arthur had wanted his eldest, his trueborn daughter, in the Chairman's seat.

That was when Jake Grayson swooped in—young, rakish, dangerously charming—and swept her off her feet before she'd even finished grieving.

They married within a month. The honeymoon lasted exactly as long as it took him to get what he wanted.

"I'll handle all your work, Ash," he'd murmured, all warmth and devotion. "Go on holiday. Take up a hobby. Let me run things. I love you."

Lovestruck and still grieving, she'd signed everything over—never imagining he and Scarlet had been planning the takeover together for months. Scarlet, who'd spent her whole life choking on jealousy over a legacy that was never hers.

The Graysons seized Palmer Industries. Scarlet was installed as CEO.

"How could you do this to me?" Ashley had demanded of her stepsister.

"You're an idiot," Scarlet had spat back. "Dad should never have made you Chairman. God knows why you were always his favorite. I deserved that position—and now it's mine."

Heartbroken and utterly alone, Ashley had clung to her marriage anyway. If Jake wanted Scarlet running the company, fine. Let them have it.

But the moment Jake had her fifty-one percent in hand, the mask came off.

He stopped pretending. He cheated with anyone who'd have him, humiliated her for sport, and stripped away every comfort she'd ever known—until the heiress who'd once owned half this empire was sleeping in a maid's room in her own mansion.

The woman once crowned the most beautiful heiress in Norwich City had withered into someone gaunt, fragile, broken.

A scar traced her cheek—a souvenir from the night he'd struck her. Every time his drunken nights left her pregnant, he'd forced her to end it, again and again. It was hell. Hers alone.

Jake's eyes narrowed, fixed on her with something between curiosity and irritation. Why was she suddenly so bold?

He'd expected the same submissive bitch who flinched and signed whatever he put in front of her. Instead, she was looking at him like she wanted blood.

"Just sign the papers," he said, his voice gone cold as the ice in his scotch. "Or you'll regret it."

Ashley's fists balled at her sides. "You're already screwing half the city. Why do you even need a divorce?"

Jake took a slow sip of his drink, savoring it, and shrugged like he was discussing the weather. "Because I'm going to marry your stepsister. Scarlet."