"He Left Her Home in an Old Dress to Take His Mistress to the Gala. Big Mistake—She Called Her Billionaire Father."

Jonathan Sterling blinked, his obsequious smile freezing awkwardly on his face. “A... a trespasser, Mr. Harrell? Surely there’s some mistake. Security has vetted every single guest—!”

“Security missed one,” my father interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, carrying the terrifying weight of absolute financial dominance. He gestured with his hand toward the cluster of terrified executives standing near the window.

Every single person in Jonathan Sterling’s circle instinctively took three steps away from Spencer Conway, leaving him standing completely exposed and isolated, like a stray dog caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler.

Spencer looked like he was about to vomit. He opened his mouth, trying to find his voice, trying to dredge up some shred of executive confidence, but nothing came out except a pathetic, strangled squeak.

“Mr... Mr. Harrell,” Spencer stammered, his legs shaking so violently his trousers trembled. “I... I didn't know... I mean, we’ve submitted our partnership proposals through your regional branch—!”

“Silence, boy,” Raymond Harrell commanded, the single word cracking like a whip across the silent room.

My father looked at Spencer the way a scientist looks at a particularly repulsive specimen under a microscope.

“You operate a regional software firm called Conway Group,” my father stated, his voice ringing clearly across the hall. “You applied for a Tier-3 supply chain integration contract with our logistics division three weeks ago. My junior analysts rejected it before it ever hit my desk because your profit margins are built on predatory lending and intellectual property theft.”

A murmur of shock rippled through the investors. Arthur Vance and the other bank directors instantly pulled out their phones, frantically messaging their risk assessment teams.

“Dad,” I spoke up for the first time, my voice cutting through the silence like a diamond cutter.

I stepped forward from my father's side, letting my heels click rhythmically against the floor as I approached the trembling CEO.

“Phoebe...” Spencer whispered, his face completely drained of color, tears of sheer panic welling in his eyes. He reached out a trembling hand toward me, his voice cracking into a pathetic whine. “Phoebe, my love... please. Tell your father it’s a misunderstanding. We’re... we’re married! You know how stressed I’ve been with the company—!”

I stopped two feet away from him, looking down at him with an expression of absolute, chilling indifference.

“Married?” I repeated softly. “Oh, don't worry, Spencer. We’re going to fix that part very soon.”

Paisley, realizing her sugar daddy was about to be obliterated into cosmic dust, tried to back away into the crowd like a frightened rat, but two of my father’s security guards casually stepped into her path, blocking her escape with immovable granite shoulders.

“And you,” I turned my gaze toward Paisley, whose designer champagne dress suddenly looked like cheap polyester under the bright lights. “You asked me earlier why your husband—excuse me, my husband—never took me anywhere. You said looking like me would ruin his evening.”

Paisley trembled, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I... I didn't know... I thought—!”

“You thought I was nobody,” I finished for her. “You thought you could send me victory photos from the back seat of an SUV while laughing at my worn-out sleeves. Tell me, Paisley... how does the view look from the bottom of the cliff?”

Spencer dropped to his knees right there on the polished parquet floor of the Apex Group gala, right in front of three hundred of the city’s most powerful elite.

“Phoebe, please!” Spencer sobbed shamelessly, clutching at the hem of my midnight-emerald silk gown. “I’m sorry! I was blind! I was arrogant! Don’t destroy everything I’ve built! I’ll give you half the company! I’ll divorce Paisley right now! Just tell your father to call off his dogs!”

I looked down at the man who had treated me like a domestic servant, who had kicked me to the curb while parading his mistress in front of the world.