Chapter 3
The next seventy-two hours were a masterclass in corporate obliteration. The financial news networks ran non-stop coverage of the "Sterling Collapse." The family’s century-old brokerage firm had been gutted, its toxic short positions exposed, and its assets liquidated to cover the astronomical debts owed to the Vance Conglomerate.
Julianna was trapped in a nightmare. The Sterling family mansion, a sprawling pseudo-chateau that had hosted the valley’s elite for decades, was suddenly swarming with auditors and bank representatives holding eviction notices. Her father had suffered a mild stress-induced angina attack and was resting under mild sedation. Her friends—the very women who had sipped Earl Grey and laughed at Elena’s expense—had blocked her number.
But Julianna Sterling was not a woman who accepted defeat with grace. Desperation bred a new, toxic kind of audacity within her.
Sitting in the dim light of her increasingly empty drawing room, surrounded by moving boxes, she aggressively typed on her laptop. If she was going down, she was going to drag Elena Vance with her. She had spent the last two days scouring the deep web and hiring shady private investigators using the last of her hidden offshore funds. She was looking for dirt on Elena—anything to prove that Marcus Vance’s sudden marriage to a "nobody" was a fraud, a breach of corporate ethics, or a vulnerability.
She found a discrepancy in a public health database. A sealed medical file from three years ago, before Elena had met Marcus. It was heavily redacted, but to Julianna’s frantic mind, a sealed file meant a scandal. A previous pregnancy? A history of mental instability? It didn't matter. She could spin it.
"You think you’ve won," Julianna hissed to the empty room, her eyes manic. "The Annual Founders' Gala is tomorrow night. Every major shareholder of the maritime bonds will be there. Let's see how much they trust their beloved CEO when they realize his perfect wife is hiding a dirty past."
Meanwhile, in the penthouse of the Vance Tower, Elena was oblivious to the desperate schemes brewing in the valley. She was standing in the center of the newly finished nursery. The room was breathtaking—painted in soft, warm tones of twilight blue and gold, with a custom-crafted mahogany crib resting beneath a ceiling painted to perfectly mirror the constellations of the night sky.
She wore a flowing, emerald-green silk robe, her hands resting protectively over her stomach. The baby had been kicking actively all morning, strong and vibrant.
Marcus entered the room quietly, carrying a tray with a cup of decaffeinated herbal tea and a plate of fresh fruit. He paused in the doorway, simply watching her. The harsh edges of his corporate persona entirely dissolved in this room.
"You're pacing," he noted, setting the tray down and wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"I'm nervous about tomorrow night," Elena admitted, leaning back into his solid warmth. "The Founders' Gala. It will be the first time we step out publicly as husband and wife since the restructuring. Since the... incident at the tea party."
"Let them stare," Marcus murmured, kissing her temple. "You are Elena Vance. You hold fifty percent of the voting shares in this conglomerate. You aren't just my wife; you are my queen. And tomorrow night, I am going to make sure every single person in that ballroom understands that."
"I heard Julianna is trying to secure a ticket," Elena said softly. "Her family was technically removed from the Founders' board, but she’s been calling in favors."
May you like
Marcus’s jaw tightened. A cold, dangerous light flickered in his eyes. "Let her come. My security team is aware. If she steps one inch out of line, I will ruin whatever microscopic fragments of her life she has left. But I promise you, Elena, nothing will touch you."
Elena turned in his arms, looking up into his fiercely protective eyes. She reached up, framing his face with her hands. "I know, Marcus. I'm not afraid. Not with you."
