Chapter 1 THE ANNIVERSARY GIFT

The penthouse was silent, save for the soft ticking of the grand clock in the hallway and the low hum of the city seventy floors below. Seraphina adjusted the silk lace of her dress, her fingers trembling slightly. On the mahogany dining table, a five-course meal sat cooling-Dominic's favorite French dishes, prepared by her own hands over six grueling hours.

Tonight was their third wedding anniversary.

For three years, Seraphina had played the role of the perfect Sinclair wife. She had been the shadow in his house, the warmth in his bed, and the silent support system that kept his life running while he built his empire. She didn't mind the coldness or the long nights he spent at the office. She believed, with the naivety of a girl in love, that if she just gave him enough, he would eventually see her.

Her hand drifted to the silk pocket of her dress, brushing against a small, folded piece of paper. It was a sonogram from her appointment that afternoon. A heartbeat. A tiny Sinclair heir.

"He'll be happy," she whispered to the empty room, a small, hopeful smile gracing her lips. "This changes everything."

The sound of the private elevator chiming broke the silence. Seraphina stood up quickly, smoothing her dress. The doors slid open to reveal Dominic Sinclair.

He looked every bit the titan-sharp, lethal, and devastatingly handsome in a charcoal-grey suit. But as he stepped into the light, the smile on Seraphina's face faltered. He didn't look like a man coming home to celebrate. He looked like a man finishing a chore.

And there was the scent. White lilies.

It was the signature perfume of Lydia Vance-the woman Dominic had loved before her family went bankrupt, the woman who had left him for a richer suitor four years ago.

"Dominic, you're home," Seraphina said, her voice steady despite the thumping of her heart. "I thought... since it's our anniversary, we could-"

"Sign it."

He didn't look at her. He didn't even acknowledge the candles or the wine. He simply tossed a thick manila envelope onto the table. It slid across the polished wood, knocking over a crystal wine glass. The red liquid bled into the white lace tablecloth like a fresh wound.

Seraphina stared at the bold letters at the top of the document. DIVORCE SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT.

"Dominic?" her voice was a mere breath. "What is this?"

"Lydia is back," he said, loosening his tie as he walked toward the bar. He poured himself a glass of scotch, his back to her. "Her marriage in Europe is annulled. I've already moved her things into the North estate. I want you out by tomorrow morning."

The world seemed to tilt. Seraphina gripped the back of a chair to keep from collapsing. "Out? Dominic, we've been married for three years. I was there when the board tried to remove you. I was there when you were sick. I've been your wife."

Dominic turned, his Sinclair-blue eyes as cold as a winter sea. "You were a placeholder, Seraphina."

The words hit harder than a physical blow.

"You were a quiet, obedient girl who filled a gap while the woman I actually love was away," he continued, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I rewarded you for it. You lived in luxury. You wore my name. But that time is over. Lydia is the only Mrs. Sinclair I ever wanted."

He pulled a check from his breast pocket and flicked it toward her. It fluttered through the air, landing in the puddle of spilled wine.

"Two million dollars. Consider it a tip for your services. Sign the papers, take the money, and disappear. Don't make this difficult, or I'll ensure you leave this city with nothing but the clothes on your back."

Seraphina looked down at the wine-stained check. She thought of the tiny life inside her. She thought of the three years she had wasted loving a man who viewed her as a temporary employee.

Something inside her snapped. The warmth, the softness, the yearning-it all burned away in a flash of icy clarity.

She didn't cry. She didn't beg. Instead, she reached into her pocket, gripped the sonogram, and-in a move that surprised even herself-tucked it deeper away. He didn't deserve to know. This child was hers.

She picked up the pen. With a hand that was now perfectly still, she signed her name for the last time as Seraphina Sinclair.

"Keep your money, Dominic," she said, her voice dropping an octave, sounding like a stranger's. She stood up straight, her shoulders square, meeting his gaze with a coldness that made him pause mid-sip.

"You're right. I was a placeholder," she whispered, a chilling smile playing on her lips. "But you've made a fatal mistake. You think you're the one casting me aside, but you're just the first domino to fall. You didn't just lose a wife tonight, Dominic. You created an enemy."

He laughed, a dry, arrogant sound. "I'm a Sinclair, Seraphina. You're a nobody. I don't lose."

"We'll see," she said, turning toward the door without taking a single one of her belongings. "Because the next time you see my face, you'll be the one begging for a placeholder. And I'll be the one who owns your world."

As she walked out into the rain, leaving the Sinclair name behind, the woman known as the 'Invisible Wife' died.

The Valkyrie was born.