I looked at Evan's face and remembered my past life—the day he devoured my family's company for Jenna Bishop, the day he signed the order that kicked me off my own board. The memory was a fresh wound.

This time, I would protect what was mine. I would not let history repeat itself.

Without the Devereux alliance my marriage would have secured—without the technology, influence, and capital my name represented—did Evan truly believe he could inherit the Astor Group so easily?

Did he think the CEO's seat would simply fall into his lap?

Jenna Bishop's official engagement to Evan was announced soon after, and overnight she became the most talked-about woman in New York. A mere manager's daughter becoming the most coveted fiancée in a financial empire, and the heiresses of New York's top dynasties could barely conceal their fury.

In private clubs and gallery corridors, the whispers were everywhere.

"Marissa, Evan has gone too far. An intern as his fiancée?"

"You two grew up together. How could he cast all those years aside so easily?"

"I heard Miss Bishop was awful to the other interns. What on earth does he see in her?"

What did he see in her?

He had once told me, with a straight face, "Jenna hasn't been tainted by the ambitions of high society. She's pure, unspoiled. Not calculating and competitive like the rest of you."

"I love her precisely because she isn't moved by status or wealth."

I smiled faintly at the memory.

Good.

Let's see how long that purity lasts when faced with the power of the Astor Group.

Because I was marrying Jonathan, Catherine was ecstatic. She summoned me to her private trust fund office and insisted I pick whatever I desired for my prenuptial agreement.

When I left that afternoon, my legal team trailed behind me, their arms laden with documents for multiple estates, numerous funds, and priceless pieces from Catherine's private art collection.

In the polished marble corridor of a high-end restaurant, I ran into Jenna, who was on her way to greet Catherine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had been crying, and she was clutching a gossip magazine that contrasted her pitiful engagement ring with my net worth.

When she saw the team of lawyers trailing me, a shadow crossed her face before she lowered her gaze.

"Marissa," she said softly, "you're so fortunate. Your aunt is so generous to you."

I studied her for a moment, then pulled a deed from the nearest file—a beachfront estate in the Hamptons.

"Jenna," I said lightly, "this would be perfect for your weekend parties. Consider it my gift to congratulate you on becoming Evan's fiancée."

Before she could respond, Evan's voice cut through the corridor.

"There's no need for such gestures."

He strode over, his face tightening at the sight of the lawyers and their documents.

"Jenna doesn't value these gaudy displays," he said coldly. "Put your deed away."

He immediately turned to her, his tone softening with concern.

"Why were you crying?"

Then his gaze returned to me, now dark with accusation.