THE UNDERESTIMATED BILLIONAIRE TYCOON

Who the HELL do you think you are??

Emma stood in the hotel lobby, watching Blake's back as he walked toward his car.

She should go. Should find somewhere else to sleep tonight. Should stop imposing on a man who'd already done too much.

But where would she go?

Blake's phone rang. He answered briefly, said something she couldn't hear, then turned and gestured for her to follow.

Emma hesitated. Blake opened the passenger door, waiting.

She got in. Though puzzled.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging into evening traffic. Emma sat with her hands folded in her lap, acutely aware of the silence stretching between them.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked.

Blake kept his eyes on the road. Didn't answer.

Emma bit her lip, swallowed the follow-up questions. Maybe he was taking her to another property. Maybe he had business nearby. Maybe—

The car stopped.

Emma looked up. Her breath caught.

Another Grandeur Hotel. But this time the entrance was transformed—red carpet stretching from curb to door, photographers clustered behind velvet ropes, men and women in evening wear streaming through the entrance like a river of diamonds and silk—

God, it's the NASDAQ bell ringing banquet!

"You may come down," Blake said.

"What? Blake, I can't—" Emma gestured at her wrinkled clothes, her lack of jewelry, her complete unpreparedness for something like this. "I'm not dressed for—"

"You're fine." Blake was already opening his door. "Come on."

Emma climbed out on shaking legs. The cameras clicked sporadically—not for her, but for the actual guests, the ones who belonged here. She felt exposed, like she'd wandered onto a stage mid-performance without knowing her lines.

Blake walked toward the entrance. Emma hurried after him, heels clicking against pavement that probably cost more per square foot than her entire failed company.

They'd barely made it three steps inside when the crowd ahead of them parted like a curtain pulled back.

And there she was.

Lillian.

She stood at the center of a loose circle of admirers, champagne flute in hand, wearing a dress that probably cost what Emma used to make in a month. Midnight blue silk that clung and flowed in all the right places. Hair swept up to show off a diamond necklace that caught the light like captured stars.

She looked untouchable. Radiant. Everything Emma wasn't.

"—so grateful for all your support," Lillian was saying, smile wide and gracious. "This listing represents not just NovaTech's success, but a validation of innovative thinking in the industry."

Applause rippled through the circle. Someone raised a glass. Lillian accepted the praise like it was her birthright.

Then her gaze landed on Blake and Emma.

Her smile froze. Recovered. Sharpened into something that looked pleasant from a distance but cut like glass up close.

"Well," Lillian said, voice projecting across the sudden quiet. "This is unexpected."

The circle of admirers turned as one. Emma felt their eyes cataloging her—cheap clothes, no jewelry, no place among them. One man leaned toward his companion, whispered something that made her eyebrows lift. The woman's gaze snapped to Emma with sudden recognition.

"Isn't that Emma Kane?" the woman murmured, not as quietly as she thought. "The CEO who went bankrupt last month?"

"CloudPeak Systems," someone else added. "Lost everything in the IPO delay."

Heat crawled up Emma's neck. She wanted to disappear. Wanted to explain that it wasn't her fault, that she'd been sabotaged, that bankruptcy didn't make her worthless.

But Lillian was already moving forward, tapping her champagne glass with one manicured nail. The crystal rang like a bell. "If you'll excuse me," she said to her admirers, smile still in place. "I have some private matters to attend to."

The crowd parted immediately, giving her space. But one man stayed rooted—tall, handsome in that smooth, practiced way that spoke of money and confidence in equal measure. Carter.

"Should I give you privacy, darling?" he asked, voice warm with false consideration.

Lillian laughed, light and musical. "Oh Carter, you're too much of a gentleman." She linked her arm through his, pulled him close. "Stay. You're practically family now."

Carter smiled. Possessive. Proprietary. His hand rested on the small of Lillian's back like he owned the space.

Blake watched them with the expression of someone observing insects under glass. "If you have something to say, say it quickly. I have business to attend to."

Lillian's smile widened. "Business? You?" She sipped her champagne. "There's nothing much, really. I signed the divorce papers this morning. They should be filed by Monday. I just wanted to know—what do you plan to do with all that junk you left at the house?"

"Handle it however you want," Blake said flatly. "I don't need any of it."

"Oh Blake." Lillian's voice dripped with pity that felt more like contempt. "You're so poor now you'll be sleeping on the streets, and you're just going to throw away perfectly good things? Those are brand-name items, you know. Designer furniture. Expensive suits. You could sell a piece or two and live off it for months."

Emma's hands curled into fists at her sides.

Carter leaned forward, smile sharp. "Blake, a word of advice? Don't try to pretend you're better than you are. Pride doesn't fill your stomach. Maybe focus less on saving face and more on whether you can afford your next meal."

Lillian touched Carter's arm, eyes sparkling with delight. "Carter, you're so kind. Really." She turned back to Blake. "He's right, you know. If you're smart, you'll take the stuff while I'm still in a good mood. Otherwise, when my generosity runs out, you won't even have anywhere to go cry about it."

She and Carter laughed together. The sound echoed across the lobby, picked up by a few of the onlookers who found the spectacle entertaining.

Emma's vision went red.

"Stop." The word came out sharp, louder than she intended.

Everyone turned to look at her.

Emma stepped forward, heart hammering but voice steady. "You want to end the marriage? Fine. That's between you two. But don't stand here and humiliate him like this. Who divorces someone by offering them their own furniture as consolation? If you really wanted to compensate Blake, you'd just give him money. Or can't you even spare a few hundred thousand? Is that why you're pretending used furniture is some kind of generous gift?"

Silence crashed over the lobby like a tidal wave.

Lillian's face went from shock to fury in the span of a heartbeat. She took a step forward, finger pointed at Emma like a weapon. "Who the hell do you think you are?" Her voice climbed, sharp and vicious. "A bankrupt nobody who couldn't even keep her own company afloat, and you're daring to lecture me? You think you're qualified to talk to me?"

Emma's mouth went dry.

"CloudPeak Systems failed because you failed," Lillian continued, voice rising with each word. "And now you're here—at my event, for my company's success—doing what, exactly? Mooching free food and drinks? Clinging to Blake because you're desperate for someone to pay your bills?"

The crowd shifted, uncomfortable but unwilling to look away. Emma felt their judgment like physical pressure.

Lillian turned, snapped her fingers at the security guards stationed near the entrance. "You two. Check if these people have valid passes. I don't recall inviting charity cases to my celebration."

The guards moved forward, expressions professionally neutral but hands hovering near their belts.

Emma's heart dropped into her stomach. She looked at Blake, panic rising. They didn't have passes. She didn't even know why they were here. And now security was coming and everyone was watching and this was about to become another humiliation she'd have to live with—

Blake's hand found hers. Not squeezing. Not reassuring. Just there. Steady.

The guards stopped in front of them. "Sir, ma'am, we'll need to see your admission passes."