Chapter 3

The next morning, I was on the sofa, reading, when I heard banging on the front door.

Izzy. She' d forgotten her keys, or I' d changed the smart lock access. Maybe both.

I let her bang for a few minutes before I slowly walked over and opened it.

She looked frantic, her usually perfect hair slightly messy.

"Ethan! Thank God! You have to help me!"

She pushed past me into the house.

"The Alistair Finch deal, it' s collapsing! His people are saying they' re reconsidering the partnership. This is huge, Ethan, it' s everything!"

Alistair Finch. CEO of a major luxury retail conglomerate. An old contact of mine from my first software company, years before Izzy even thought of Elysian Living.

She paced the living room, her voice rising.

"You have to call him. Use your old boys' network, whatever it takes. You know people, you can fix this!"

I lounged back on the sofa, picking up my book.

I looked at her, a small, sarcastic smile on my face.

"Why me, Izzy? You' re the self-made mogul. You built this empire all by yourself, remember?"

I paused.

"And I don' t have a salary at Elysian Living, do I? Not even for consulting."

She stopped pacing, her eyes wide, then narrowed.

"Don' t be like this, Ethan! Not now! This is serious!"

"Oh, I' m perfectly serious."

She tried pleading, then switched to threats about how this would affect 'our' finances, conveniently forgetting her narrative of complete independence.

I remained indifferent, turning a page in my book.

She saw a small, artisanal box on the coffee table. Macarons. She' d picked them up from some trendy bakery, probably for Kev or a client.

She grabbed the box and threw it at me. It hit my chest, the delicate cookies scattering.

"Here! A peace offering! Happy now?" she yelled, her voice cracking.

I brushed a crumb off my shirt.

"You buy your boy toy a classic car, a six-figure 'marketing expense,' and I get leftover party favors? Classy, Izzy. Truly."

Her face turned red with rage.

"You' re impossible! Fine! I' ll handle Finch myself! I don' t need you!"

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I picked up a macaron, looked at it, then tossed it in the trash.

I went to my home office and reviewed my personal investment portfolio.

Elysian Living was listed there, a significant early-stage investment. A passion project I' d funded and guided, using my reputation to smooth her path.

My phone rang. An unfamiliar number, but the prefix was Finch' s company.

"Ethan? Alistair Finch here. Long time."

"Alistair. Good to hear from you. What can I do for you?"

"Just had a rather... energetic call from a young woman named Isabella Vance. Claims Elysian Living is the next big thing. Then my team tells me she' s your wife. Small world."

He chuckled.

"Ethan, if you say this deal is good, that her company is solid, we' ll sign. Your word is gold around here."

I paused, the future of Elysian Living hanging on my next words.