"He Said 'I’m Marrying Your Sister.' She Smiled and Said 'I’m Dating the Mafia Boss.'"

Spread across the polished mahogany table were financial statements, zoning blueprints, and legal injunctions that represented the entire financial livelihood of Prescott Development—Ethan’s father’s company, the very empire Ethan planned to inherit after marrying my sister into wealth and comfort.

Tobias stood by the door, while I sat at the head of the table wearing a tailored navy blazer I had retrieved from my apartment earlier that morning. Lorenzo sat beside me, sipping black coffee, watching me command the room with a calm, clinical efficiency that surprised even me.

"The primary loan defaults tomorrow at midnight," I said, pointing a silver pen at a highlighted financial ledger. "If Ethan's father can't secure an extension from our holding company, the entire Fremont project goes into immediate foreclosure. Their assets will be seized, and the scandal will wipe out their secondary investors before the weekend."

"And the zoning permits?" Lorenzo asked, testing me.

"Already revoked under municipal code violation 4-B due to environmental non-compliance on the waterfront border," I replied without missing a beat. "Which I flagged three weeks ago when I was still an event coordinator, because nobody in this building ever reads the fine print except the people doing the actual work."

Lorenzo’s lips curved into an appreciative smile. "Remind me never to cross you in a boardroom, Scarlet."

At that exact moment, the double doors of the conference room swung open.

Ethan Prescott stumbled in, looking like a man who had just survived a high-speed train wreck. His expensive suit was rumpled, his hair was disheveled, and his face was the color of spoiled milk. Trailing behind him was his father, a portly, red-faced real estate mogul whose expression was a terrifying mix of fury and blind panic.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Ethan’s father, Richard Prescott, roared, slamming his briefcase onto the mahogany table. "We have an appointment with the managing director of Moretti Holdings! Who authorized this—this secretary to sit in this chair?!"

Lorenzo didn't stand up. He didn't even blink. He simply leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers, letting the silence stretch until the older man’s face turned an even deeper shade of purple.

"She isn't a secretary, Mr. Prescott," Lorenzo said, his voice dangerously soft. "She's my chief of staff. And you're standing in her office."

Ethan stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror, disbelief, and sudden, sickening comprehension.

"Scarlet?" Ethan stammered, his voice cracking. "What... what are you doing here? This is a business meeting. This is about our development portfolio! How do you even know these people?!"

I stood up slowly, buttoning my blazer, and walked around the table until I was standing just a few feet away from my ex-fiancé. The man who had whispered sweet nothingness into my ear while sleeping with my sister in my own bed. The man who thought I was boring, compliant, and invisible.

"I don't know 'these people,' Ethan," I said, my voice steady and ice-cold. "I am these people."

"You're out of your mind," Richard Prescott snarled, turning to Lorenzo. "Listen to me, Moretti—we've been dealing with your firm for five years! You can't just pull our financing because some bitter ex-girlfriend made up a fairy tale to get back at my son!"

"It's not a fairy tale, Mr. Prescott," I interrupted, tossing a thick manila folder onto the table right in front of him. "That's the forensic audit of your company's shell accounts in the Cayman Islands. And that," I pointed to a second document, "is the signed confession from your chief financial officer detailing how you bribed the city zoning committee to approve the Fremont project."

Ethan’s face drained of what little color he had left. He grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself. "Where... where did you get this?"

"I work for Lorenzo Moretti," I said simply, stepping back beside the man who owned the room. "And in this city, secrets don't stay buried for long once someone decides to dig."

Richard Prescott looked at the papers, looked at his son, and then looked at Lorenzo, finally realizing the sheer, unwinnable abyss they had fallen into. There would be no wedding bailout. There would be no corporate rescue.