Chapter 3

Morning sunlight sliced through the blinds. Clara woke up first. She stared at Julian's sleeping face with pure disgust and immediately got out of bed.

She walked into the closet and chose a sharp, black Tom Ford tailored suit. She pulled her hair into a tight, professional bun and put on pearl earrings.

She stood in front of the mirror and meticulously checked the concealer on her neck. No red marks were visible. She took a deep breath and walked out.

Julian was sitting up in bed. He froze when he saw her corporate attire. A tiny crease formed between his brows.

"Sweetheart, weren't we supposed to walk in Central Park today? Why are you dressed like that?" He walked over and tried to wrap his arms around her waist.

Clara stepped sideways, completely avoiding him. She picked up her coffee cup. "The honeymoon is over, Julian. I'm going back to the office today."

Julian's face darkened instantly, but he quickly masked it with a loving smile. "Back to work? You're too tired. Didn't the doctor say you need to rest and prepare for a baby?"

Clara sneered internally. A baby? With who? But her face remained blank. "The company is pushing the AI medical project. I spearheaded that. I need to oversee it."

Julian tried to use money to shut her up. "Baby, making money is my job. I'll wire fifty thousand dollars into your trust fund every month. Go shopping. Go to the spa. Okay?"

Clara slammed the coffee cup onto the saucer. The porcelain clinked sharply. "Fifty thousand? Julian, my mother's special care unit at the nursing home costs thirty thousand a month. You want me to go shopping with the rest?"

Julian choked on his words. A flash of anger crossed his eyes. His tone hardened. "You're too aggressive! What kind of wealthy wife shows her face in public like this?"

Clara didn't back down. She stared straight into his eyes. "I am the co-founder of Vance Tech. I own twenty percent of the original shares. I have the right to audit the books."

At the word "audit," Julian's pupils shrank violently. Panic flashed across his face. His attitude immediately softened.

"Okay, okay. If you want to go back, go back. I'm just worried about your health." Julian compromised. He stepped forward and forced a kiss on her forehead.

Clara fought the urge to vomit. She forced a perfect, fake smile. "Thank you, husband."

Julian turned and walked into the bathroom. The second the door closed, he pulled out his phone and sent an encrypted text to Mitch, the sales manager.

"Clara is coming back today. Put her at the lowest desk. Make her life miserable so she quits." Message sent.

Outside the door, Clara stared coldly at the frosted glass. She pulled out her phone and ordered an Uber. She would rather walk than sit in his disgusting car.

Forty minutes later, Clara stood in front of the glass revolving doors of the Vance Group headquarters in Midtown Manhattan. Three years ago, the small software startup she and Julian co-founded, Vance Tech, had been aggressively acquired by this massive corporate monolith. That acquisition had granted her original shares in the parent company, giving her a legitimate foothold here. She inhaled the freezing New York air.

She walked through the lobby in her stilettos, radiating authority. The receptionist's jaw dropped. She quickly bowed her head in greeting.

Clara walked straight to the VIP elevator reserved for executives. She pressed the up button and stared at her reflection in the metal doors.

Ding. The doors slowly slid open.

Clara lifted her foot to step inside, but froze instantly. Her heel screeched against the floor tiles.

Standing in the center of the elevator was a massive, imposing man. He wore a perfectly tailored dark grey suit. His presence crushed the air out of the space.

His features were sharp and cold. A faint scar rested above his brow bone. His deep, abyssal eyes stared down at her.

It was Conrad Vance. The current CEO of Vance Group. Julian's uncle.

Clara's breath hitched. She opened her mouth to greet him, but her eyes dropped to his right hand resting casually by his side.

On the back of his hand were three deep, scabbed scratch marks. The size and spacing perfectly matched the desperate scratches she had inflicted on the man in the dark room last night!

Clara's brain exploded. The freezing scent of cedarwood seemed to rush out of the elevator and wrap tightly around her throat.

The elevator doors started to close. Conrad suddenly reached out with his scarred hand and blocked the metal doors. His deep, slightly raspy voice echoed in the cabin.

"Are you getting in?"