Kara sat in her car for a long time, the city's noise a distant hum. When she finally started the engine, something inside her had shifted. She wasn't just fighting for herself anymore.

Instead of returning to the estate, she drove straight to "Arc-Design," her studio in SoHo.

Colton's email from last night was a siren's wail. Their design for a boutique hotel was being threatened. The contractor they'd partnered with was suddenly claiming their work was plagiarized.

It was a lie designed to ruin their reputation and, with the threat of a massive lawsuit, bankrupt their fledgling studio.

She found Colton Robertson pacing his office, phone pressed to his ear, his expression haggard. He was her partner, the one person who knew the architect she used to be before she became a Whitaker.

"Kara, you're here!" Relief and worry warred in his eyes as he hung up. "Foster isn't taking my calls. Their lawyer's letter arrived this morning." He handed her the document.

Her face hardened as she read. "Foster is trying to pin all the blame on us so he can walk away with the final design payment."

Colton hesitated. "That construction company... it has investment backing from the Whitaker Group. Maybe... you could talk to Julian?"

Kara shook her head, a bitter smile touching her lips. "Colton, I'm not with him anymore." She didn't say the word 'divorce,' but the finality in her tone was clear.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, his concern genuine. "I just... I can't let them destroy what you've built."

The way he looked at her held a warmth she hadn't felt from anyone in years.

"We'll handle it ourselves," Kara said, her gaze firm. "Contact our lawyer. Prepare for a fight. And gather every design draft, every timestamp, every meeting record we have."

Miles away, in midtown Manhattan, Julian Whitaker stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his CEO office. He'd just finished a video conference and was nursing a cup of black coffee, his gaze sweeping over the city below.

His eyes, by chance, fell on a building in SoHo. He'd acquired the property years ago. He knew it was where Kara kept her studio. 'Arc-Design.'

He considered it a hobby. A diversion for a bored wife. In two years, he had never once set foot inside.

He was about to look away when he saw a familiar Porsche Taycan parked out front. Kara's car.

A small frown creased his brow. Wasn't she supposed to be at a gallery? Or a spa?

The next second, he saw her emerge from the building, a man at her side.

He recognized him. Colton Robertson. Her partner. A playboy who coasted on his family's name in the architecture world, or so Julian had heard.

Colton was speaking to her, his expression full of earnest concern. He reached out, as if to touch her shoulder, then seemed to think better of it.

Instead, he slipped off his own suit jacket and draped it over Kara's shoulders. She was only wearing a thin cashmere sweater, and the New York autumn air had a bite to it.

Kara looked startled for a moment, then she gave him a small, tired smile. A smile of gratitude.

From Julian's god-like vantage point, the gesture was intimate. Protective. The man's tenderness, the woman's smile... it looked painfully harmonious under the pale autumn sun.

Julian's hand tightened around his coffee mug. His knuckles turned white.

He didn't even feel the hot liquid sloshing over the rim, scalding the back of his hand.

He just stared at the two figures below, a raw, unfamiliar fire roaring to life in his chest. It was possession. It was rage.

So this was why she'd agreed to the divorce so easily. She already had his replacement lined up.

Never see each other again. The words now dripped with sarcasm.

Down below, Kara said her goodbyes to Colton. She handed the jacket back to him before getting into her car.

Colton stood on the sidewalk, watching until her car was swallowed by the traffic.

Julian slammed the mug down on his desk, the ceramic cracking against the marble. He jabbed the button on his intercom, his voice as cold as a winter storm.

"Yvonne. Get me the CEO of Foster Construction on the line. Now."