“Which girl?” Trace Ryan tossed a detached glance at Damari Jacobs.

“The one we just passed at the entrance. You know, Skye Montgomery — the former Montgomery heiress,” Damari said, clicking his tongue in disdain. “She’s a real stunner, but with her father’s conviction dragging her name through the mud, who in this city would dare marry her?”

Trace arched an eyebrow, a cold glint flickering in his eyes. “And you’re sure Jonathan Montgomery’s guilty? Were you there to watch it go down?”

Damari blinked, caught off guard by the sudden edge in Trace’s voice. “The court ruled on it. How could it be wrong?”

Trace answered flatly, “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

“You think Jonathan was framed?” Damari asked, curiosity prickling.

Trace’s chiseled face stayed unreadable. “Montgomery Corp was thriving. Do you honestly think he’d torch all that for a few million bucks?”

A year ago, Trace had met Jonathan Montgomery face-to-face. Jonathan had been calm, steady, the kind of man who wouldn’t sell his soul for a paycheck. How could someone like that stoop to embezzlement? In business, every crack is a lever — one an opponent can use to bring you down for good.

Damari’s eyes went wide. “So somebody set him up?”

Trace shot him a loaded look, then said nothing as he strode into a law office.

Damari scrambled to keep up.

“Trace, Damari — glad you made it!” A man with wire-rimmed glasses and a slick, polished air rose to greet them. Victor Reid. “I’ve pulled together every loophole Wagner Corp’s been exploiting. All set for your review.”

Trace gave a short nod. “Thanks for the hard work.”

Damari couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Trace, I don’t get it. Our partnership with Wagner is rock-solid — Kash Wagner’s not stupid enough to cross us. Why dig into him?”

A flash of Skye’s delicate, innocent face crossed Trace’s mind, and he asked in a low voice, “Why was Skye here earlier?”

He aimed the question at Victor.

Victor felt a jolt of surprise. Trace never showed interest in women — let alone someone like Skye Montgomery, who’d become a punchline in their social circles. Still, he answered honestly. “Skye came in looking for a lawyer to handle her sister’s divorce. I’ve assigned someone to the case.”

Trace’s brows knit together, his gaze sharpening. “You take this case personally.”

That wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.

Victor’s stomach dropped. Trace personally assigning him a case? Unheard of. And Skye was the first. There had to be something going on between them.

Damari suddenly remembered that Kash Wagner — the president of Wagner Corp — used to be Jonathan’s business partner. After the Montgomery collapse, Kash had wasted no time distancing himself and pinning every bit of blame on Jonathan. Yet Ryan and Wagner’s partnership had never skipped a beat. Damari couldn’t help but smirk. “Trace, you’re really into Skye, huh? But her ex was your nephew...”

He didn’t get to finish. Trace’s icy stare cut him off mid-sentence. “If you’re that attached to your tongue, I can fix that.”

Damari clamped his mouth shut immediately. Was a little joke a crime now?

Suddenly, a phone rang.

Trace glanced at the screen, his expression darkening at the caller ID. He hung up without a second thought.

Victor caught a glimpse of the name and couldn’t resist asking, “Trace, you’ve been back with the Ryan family for two years now. Haven’t you thought about reconciling with Soren Ryan?”

Trace’s eyes went cold as forged steel. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

The room went silent, the tension pressing down like a weight.

Damari knew that bringing up Soren around Trace was basically stepping on a landmine. Hoping to shift gears, he tried, “Hey Trace, where’s that watch Marcus gave you? Haven’t seen you wearing it lately.”

He’d meant to lighten the mood — but all he did was ice over Trace’s demeanor even more.

Trace’s gaze clouded. “Left it at the family house.”

Last week, he’d stopped by for Ryan Corp business and accidentally left the watch in the study.

Damari sighed internally. Apparently, his foot had a permanent home in his mouth.

Meanwhile, Skye sat in a taxi heading for the hospital. As the scenery blurred past, a faint crease formed on her delicate brow. She’d hoped to leave some impression on Trace — but clearly, she was just another face in the crowd.

Her phone buzzed. Seeing her best friend Annika Carpenter’s name, she picked up. “Annika.”

“Skye, so how did it go last night? Did Trace take the bait?” Annika’s voice crackled with excitement.

Skye thought of Trace’s cold gaze and let out a sigh. “Not yet.”

“With your face and charm, how could Trace Ryan not notice you? Are you sure he’s not into dudes?” Annika joked, incredulous.

Only Skye knew just how "manly" Trace Ryan truly was. The man was a force of nature, and last night had been wilder than any rollercoaster ride she'd ever been on.

"Maybe... my charm isn't quite enough yet," Skye mused, a hint of defiance in her smile. "But that's fine. I'll win him over—eventually."

"Want me to track down his social media, see what he's up to? I could even set up a little 'coincidental' run-in," Annika Carpenter offered, her voice practically buzzing with eagerness. As one of the top hackers in her university's computer science program, she was more than ready to pull some strings.

Skye's eyes turned thoughtful. "There are gaps in Trace's past—before he rejoined the Ryan family. I've always suspected he deliberately wiped them clean. Annika, dig into that for me..."

Annika didn't hesitate. "Don't worry, Skye. I've got this. I'll sort it out for you."

After hanging up, Skye's beautiful eyes glinted with determination. If Trace wasn't willing to make a move, then she would. Winning over this man was just a matter of time.

About an hour later.

Skye arrived at her sister Mae's hospital room, carrying a thermos of homemade chicken soup. Just as she was about to push the door open, a man's harsh voice cut through the air from inside.

"Mae, you've got some nerve. Didn't even tell me about the miscarriage. If Dr. White hadn't called, were you planning to hide it forever? Do I mean nothing to you?"

Skye stopped dead in her tracks, her gaze freezing over.

Inside, Mae Carr lifted her swollen, tear-filled eyes to look at her husband, Bryce Carr, who stood looming over the side of her bed like he owned the place. Her voice came out flat, hollow. "Bryce, did you remember you were my husband while you were fooling around with other women?"

A flicker of panic crossed Bryce's face—but he recovered quickly, puffing up his chest. "Mae, even after your family went bankrupt, I still married you out of old affection. I gave you the title of Mrs. Carr. What more do you want?"

He said it with an air of arrogant superiority, not an ounce of guilt in his eyes. Mae's heart twisted painfully, like a swarm of tiny ants gnawing at her already battered soul. Was this the man she'd once been so desperate to marry?

Swallowing every emotion, Mae spoke calmly. "Bryce, I want a divorce."

His sneer barely hid his surprise. "Mae, you'd better think carefully. Divorce me, and you'll be left with nothing."

In his mind, with the Montgomeries' downfall, Mae was nothing but a has-been without him. No matter how beautiful she was, the upper echelons wouldn't dare touch her. He was convinced Mae would never actually go through with it.

"I've thought it through." Mae's expression was eerily calm. "In three days, when I'm discharged, we'll file for divorce."

Bryce's smirk twisted into an ominous shadow. He could hardly believe that Mae, who had clung so desperately to their marriage, was now resolutely demanding a divorce. Mae was only twenty-three, her face still full of youthful vibrancy, her features delicate and lovely. She was far more beautiful than any woman he'd ever dallied with on the side.

But as they say, the one thing you can't have is always the most tempting. He preferred women with a little wild streak. To him, men straying was normal—he saw nothing wrong with his affairs. Yet Mae's insistence on divorce infuriated him.

"Mae, remember the prenup. If we divorce, you won't get a single penny!" he shot back, expecting her to cave. After all, the Montgomery family had collapsed; there was no returning to her former glory.

For the first time, Mae looked at the man she had once shared a bed with and found him utterly unrecognizable. How blind had she been to think such a man could give her lifelong happiness?

From the doorway, a clear, sharp voice cut in. "Bryce, you'd better remember it was Mae's dowry that secured your first big deal, and the Montgomery connections that got you into high society. Who exactly gave you this sense of superiority? You think you're some big shot from a rock band?"

Bryce turned to see Skye stride in, thermos in hand. In the heat of summer, she, like Mae, wore a simple tank top. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back, giving her a fresh, almost ethereal beauty. The Montgomery sisters were famous in high society for their looks. If Mae was the delicate, fragile type, Skye was aggressively striking. And he definitely liked this type.

Regaining his composure, Bryce asked, "Skye, what do you mean?"

Skye placed the thermos on the bedside table and gave him a mysterious smile. "My sister doesn't want a penny from you—but you'll be coughing up every cent of that ten million dowry. Plus interest."

Bryce's voice rose defensively. "You just said it was a dowry."

Skye's lips curved into a taunting smirk. "Bryce, I seem to recall a clause in the prenup prohibiting infidelity. You've violated that. Which means my sister has the right to reclaim her entire dowry—or take half your assets in the divorce. Care to choose?"

Bryce's face darkened with fury. He'd always known Skye wasn't a pushover, but he never expected she'd already set this trap. Yet he quickly sneered, "That's assuming you can afford a good lawyer."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Skye watched him go, her gaze darkening. Bryce's implication was crystal clear: even if they had the upper hand, he had the money to hire the best lawyers and win the case. People often cared only about results, not the truth. Her father had been wrongfully imprisoned under similar circumstances.

Her fingers tightened with resolve. This time, she would not let her sister be bullied by this scoundrel.

Masking her thoughts, Skye picked up the thermos with a serene smile. "Sis, I made some chicken soup for you. Try it."

She scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Mae's lips. But Mae, worry clouding her eyes, said, "Skye, we can't win against Bryce."

Over the past year, she had seen how the Carr family operated—how Bryce operated. Getting back that ten million dowry was like trying to grab the moon. She didn't want any more entanglements with him; she just wanted to escape and put as much distance between them as possible.

Skye set the thermos aside, pinning Mae with a steady gaze. "Sis, I know what's worrying you. But that dowry was swindled from you, and we're going to get it back."

Mae lowered her eyes silently. "But Skye, we don't have the money for a good lawyer..."

"Sis!" Skye took Mae's hand in hers, her voice more determined than ever. "The Montgomeries might have fallen, but we sisters can't. If we keep backing down, they'll just keep pushing us around. Haven't you learned that lesson yet?"