Chapter 2

The next morning, sunlight streamed into the small room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Corey was on the floor, moving through a series of slow, controlled stretches that looked like an advanced form of yoga. In reality, it was a routine designed to maintain peak muscle memory for hand-to-hand combat.

The door flew open with a loud bang, kicked in by a designer heel.

Brandi Copeland stood there, perfectly coiffed and dressed in a silk robe that probably cost more than Corey's entire wardrobe. Her face was a mask of contempt and jealousy.

"I can't believe it," Brandi said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Corey's hand, hidden in the pocket of her worn jeans, subtly pressed the side button on her phone, activating the audio recorder. A precaution. Always a precaution.

"Some country bumpkin from Montana is marrying a Fitzgerald. It's the luckiest day of your pathetic life, even if he is a cripple."

She sauntered into the room, examining her manicure. "I, on the other hand, have a date with a real man tonight. A senior VP at Goldman. Try not to embarrass us all at the wedding."

Corey finished her stretch, her body coiling and uncoiling with a fluid grace. She rose to her feet, her heart rate not even slightly elevated.

"Get out," she said, her voice quiet and even.

Brandi's face twisted in fury. The quiet dismissal was more infuriating than any argument. "Don't you take that tone with me."

She lunged forward, her hand reaching out to shove Corey's shoulder.

It was a mistake.

The instant before Brandi's fingers made contact, Corey shifted her weight. A subtle, almost imperceptible movement. Her body pivoted, and Brandi's hand met empty air.

In the same fluid motion, Corey's hand shot out, not to strike, but to catch. Her fingers wrapped around Brandi's wrist, her grip like steel. She twisted, using Brandi's own momentum against her.

A sharp cry escaped Brandi's lips as she was pulled off balance. Corey swept her leg back, and Brandi tumbled onto the plush rug with a soft thud. Before she could even process what had happened, Corey had her pinned, a knee pressed lightly but firmly into the small of her back. The entire takedown had taken less than two seconds.

Corey leaned down, her lips close to Brandi's ear. Her voice was a whisper, colder than ice.

"I don't like to be touched."

Brandi's shriek of pain and outrage echoed through the hallway.

Seconds later, Sherry Copeland, her stepmother, burst into the room, her face a mask of horror. "What are you doing? Are you insane?"

Corey released Brandi and stood up, smoothing down her simple t-shirt as if nothing had happened. Brandi scrambled to her feet, sobbing, and ran into her mother's arms.

"She attacked me! The psycho attacked me!"

The commotion brought Isham to the door, his face dark with anger. "What the hell is going on here?"

Sherry and Brandi launched into a dramatic, embellished account of the incident, painting Corey as a violent, unhinged maniac. Corey stood by the window, silent, letting them exhaust their fury.

When they finally wound down, she spoke, her voice cutting through the lingering hysteria.

"I was simply exercising my rights."

"Rights?" Isham bellowed. "You have no rights in this house!"

Corey turned to face him, her gaze unwavering. "As compensation for taking Brandi's place in this... unfortunate arrangement, I want five percent of Copeland Industries stock."

The room fell silent. Isham, Sherry, and Brandi stared at her as if she had just grown a second head.

Isham let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You've lost your mind. Who do you think you are?"

Corey didn't answer. Instead, she took her phone from her pocket and pressed play. Brandi's shrill voice filled the room.

"...even if he is a cripple."

"...try not to embarrass us all at the wedding."

The recording was crystal clear.

Corey stopped the playback. "Imagine if this recording, along with a photo of the 'slight' bruise on Brandi's wrist, were to be sent to a certain gossip columnist tomorrow," she said calmly. "The day before the wedding. What do you think the Fitzgeralds, a family obsessed with their public image, would do?"

The color drained from Isham's face. He knew she was right. Any scandal, no matter how small, could derail the merger-the marriage. The Fitzgeralds would drop them without a second thought.

He looked at Corey, truly looked at her for the first time, and saw not a timid girl, but a stranger with cold, calculating eyes.

He exchanged a desperate glance with Sherry. He was trapped.

Through clenched teeth, he bit out the word. "Done."

A small, triumphant smile touched Corey's lips. She deleted the recording in front of them, the digital file vanishing with a tap of her finger.

This five percent was more than just money. It was her first foothold. Her first victory on enemy soil.