"He Told Her to Crawl Under His Mother's Legs on Their Wedding Day. Her One-Sentence Response Left Everyone Pale."

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the Red River winding its way through the metropolis, catching the amber glow of the setting sun.

I stood by the glass, holding a crystal tumbler of sparkling water with a slice of fresh lemon, watching the endless stream of traffic crawl along the highway far below.

The door to my office opened softly, and my executive assistant, Linh, stepped inside carrying a sleek black tablet.

“Boss,” Linh said, her professional tone laced with a hint of amusement. “You have a visitor downstairs in the lobby. Or rather, a petitioner.”

I didn't turn around immediately. “Let me guess. Hunter Stone?”

“In the flesh,” Linh replied, tapping the screen of her tablet. “He’s been sitting in the ground-floor reception area for six hours. Security says he tried to get past the turnstiles twice, but our biometric access control system locked him out immediately. He looks like something the river dragged in.”

I took a slow sip of my water, the bubbles fizzing softly against my tongue.

“Did he bring his mother?”

“No,” Linh smiled faintly. “According to our local informants, Brenda and her brother Arthur packed whatever they could fit into the back of an aging tractor trailer and moved in with a distant cousin three provinces away. Hunter was left behind to pick up the pieces—or whatever pieces are left after the economic police finished reviewing his corporate asset transfers.”

I turned away from the window, walking slowly toward my custom walnut desk.

“Send him up,” I said quietly.

Linh blinked in surprise. “Are you sure about that, boss? Given everything he did, letting him step foot in your executive suite feels like giving a cockroach VIP access.”

“Linh,” I smiled, my eyes gleaming with cold, sharp satisfaction. “A predator doesn't fear a defeated prey item. Sometimes, the most satisfying part of winning a war isn't just banishing your enemy—it’s watching them realize the exact magnitude of what they threw away.”

Ten minutes later, the heavy oak door of my office clicked open.

Hunter stepped inside, and for a terrifying second, I almost didn't recognize him. The immaculately groomed, confident startup founder who had once stood beside me at high-society galas was completely gone. In his place stood a broken, hollowed-out man wearing a stained windbreaker, his hair unwashed, his eyes sunken and dull with exhaustion.

He stopped near the doorway, staring at the vast, luxurious expanse of my office as if he had stepped onto another planet.