Denice slumped into the leather chair in Jairo's study.

Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. No tears. Crying was a physical response to pain, and at this moment, she felt none. Instead, she felt a cold, terrifying clarity.

She took out her phone and connected it to the laptop.

She dragged all the chat logs, photos, videos, bank transfer receipts, and the DNA report into her highly encrypted cloud drive. When the progress bar reached one hundred percent, she titled the folder: "Reckoning." Then she unplugged the USB, cleared the system access logs, and shut the laptop.

She took a deep breath, the air burning her lungs, and pressed the call button.

The dial tone echoed in the dead-silent room, each ring a hammer blow solidifying her resolve.

After three rings, a woman's voice answered, elegant and imperious, with a sharp edge of impatience. "Denice? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

It was her mother, Eleanor Montgomery, the true matriarch of the Montgomery family. Since Denice had walked out eight years ago for Jairo, their conversations had been brief and cold.

Denice ignored the reprimand. "It's over between Jairo Slater and me."

A long silence stretched from the other end of the line. Denice could picture her mother perfectly: one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised, assessing the information.

Finally, Eleanor's voice returned, laced with a faint, unmistakable thread of satisfaction. "A wise decision. Albeit eight years too late."

Denice didn't argue. She cut straight to the point. "A few years ago, you mentioned a business arrangement... a marriage alliance with the Collins family. Is that offer still on the table?"

Another silence, this one weighted with calculation. The Collins family. Kings among New York's new money, their power was immense, enough to elevate the Montgomery's old-money empire to new heights.

"Culver Collins is not an easy man to handle," Eleanor said slowly. "Are you sure you're prepared for that?"

A cold smile touched Denice's lips. "I only need his name and his resources, Mother. As for affection, I no longer have a use for that sort of thing."

That seemed to please Eleanor. To her, emotion was the most useless commodity in the world of business. "Very well," she replied briskly. "I'll make the arrangements. Vincent Hayes, Mr. Collins's executive assistant, will contact you tomorrow morning at ten."

The call ended. Denice lowered the phone, feeling a profound, hollowed-out exhaustion. Her relationship with her family was just another transaction.

She turned back to Jairo's computer, scrolling through Alyssia's social media again.

She noticed a post where Alyssia thanked an "anonymous Ivy League benefactor" for the scholarship that allowed her to finish her degree, accompanied by a photo of her and Jairo on the Yale campus.

A flicker of confusion crossed Denice's mind. She remembered Jairo taking a short course at Yale around the same time. She had even encouraged him to apply for an anonymous grant. A coincidence?

She didn't dwell on it, but a gut feeling told her something was wrong with this woman. She took a screenshot and saved it to a new, encrypted folder on her cloud drive. The folder was titled: "Reckoning."

She stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She twisted the engagement ring off her finger. The diamond Jairo had given her, once her most treasured possession.

She didn't throw it. She didn't smash it.

She walked to the desk and casually tossed it into the back of a drawer, where it landed with a soft clink among discarded pens and paperclips.

With that done, an unprecedented calm settled over her. She walked into the bedroom. Jairo was still fast asleep in the guest room.

She opened her closet, filled with the muted, conservative clothes she'd bought to suit Jairo's taste for a "low-key" partner.

Her eyes scanned past them, landing on a garment bag tucked away in the very back. It was the only piece of couture she had brought with her when she left home, the last dress she had worn as a Montgomery heir.

She unzipped the bag. A cascade of shimmering, dark blue silk, embroidered with crystals was revealed.

She took out her phone and sent a text to her personal assistant. "Chloe, have all of my clothes and jewelry in storage sent over. Yes, all of it."

Then, she walked into the bathroom and began to remove her makeup.

She turned on the shower, the hot water washing over her skin, as if it could cleanse her of eight years of foolishness and naivety.

She closed her eyes. The faces of Jairo and Alyssia, and the boy named Connor, were seared into her mind.

She would not let them have their happiness. She would make them pay the steepest price for what they had done.

Outside the bathroom door, her phone lit up. A new email notification glowed on the screen.

Subject: Meeting with Mr. Collins. From: Vincent Hayes.

Denice sat in the small, temporary office Jairo had set up for her at Slater Dynamics, a place for her to handle his "miscellaneous" tasks. She glanced down at the diamond on her finger-a ring she had fished out of the drawer this morning, not as a symbol of love, but as a weapon for the performance ahead. The employees who walked by cast glances at her, a mixture of pity and poorly concealed schadenfreude.

They had all heard the rumors about Jairo and some woman named Alyssia. They all thought Denice was the poor, clueless fiancée.

She ignored their stares. She opened the project management software on her desktop and located the file for a core project codenamed "Phoenix."

It was the company's key to profitability for the next quarter, a plan she had spent countless sleepless nights perfecting. Jairo had staked his reputation on it.

She moved the mouse. Without a flicker of hesitation, she clicked the "Terminate Project" button.

In the reason-for-termination field, she typed: "Core design contains irreparable flaws."

A system prompt appeared, warning that the action was irreversible.

She clicked "Confirm."

The entire project vanished from everyone's worklist.

Almost instantly, her phone began to scream, the screen flashing with Jairo's name.

She didn't answer. She declined the call, switched her phone to silent, and tossed it onto the desk.

The office was suddenly quiet. Everyone was stunned by what she had just done. Whispers erupted. "Is she crazy? That's the Phoenix project!"

Denice stood up, picked up her handbag, and prepared to leave. Her sole purpose for coming here today was complete.

Just as she reached the main entrance, the elevator doors opened on her floor. Denice looked up and saw a figure step out of the elevator. She immediately recognized the face-Alyssia.

Alyssia also saw Denice, having seen her photo in Jairo's phone before. Her eyes widening in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked jealousy. But she quickly masked it, flashing a sickly sweet, triumphant smile. She wore an ill-fitting, off-season Chanel tweed suit that screamed "nouveau riche trying too hard." She gripped a gaudy designer handbag. When she saw Denice in her deep-blue silk gown, her eyes widened in shock, followed by a flash of ugly, naked envy. But she quickly masked it, putting on a sickly sweet, triumphant smile.

She straightened her back and puffed out her chest. She walked straight up to Denice, her voice cloyingly saccharine, laced with feigned innocence and gloating. "Miss Montgomery, are you here for Jairo? He's probably busy right now. An urgent meeting came up."

Denice looked at her coldly, as if observing a pathetic, show-off insect. "I'm just here to take out the trash." Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward Alyssia. A flicker of irritation crossed Alyssia's face.

Then Alyssia strode past Denice, deliberately trying to bump her with her shoulder. At that moment, Denice sidestepped. Alyssia's footing wavered, and she stumbled backward in her cheap high heels. She lost her balance and landed hard on the hallway carpet, her Chanel bag spilling open, lipstick and receipts scattering everywhere.

Denice looked down at her, her eyes icy cold. Alyssia's eyes were bloodshot with anger and humiliation; she struggled to get up but fell back again. She pointed at Denice, her voice sharp enough to pierce the air: "You're nothing but a stand‑in! Jairo doesn't love you at all! He gave me fifty million dollars yesterday, and he's going to marry me next month!"

Denice looked down at her, who was slumped on the floor. "That Chanel suit is a spring 2019 outdated style," Denice said, her voice flat and bored. "If you're going to steal fifty million dollars, at least buy something that fits."

Alyssia's face went pale. Her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish.

"Remember your place, Miss Stuart." Denice's voice was soft but carried an unmistakable authority. "As long as this engagement ring is on my finger, I am Jairo's legally recognized fiancée. And you," she paused, letting her gaze sweep contemptuously from head to toe over Alyssia, "are nothing."

Without another glance, Denice turned and walked toward the elevator, leaving Alyssia staring after her elegant, resolute back. As the elevator doors slowly closed, Denice saw Alyssia's face contort with rage.

The elevator descended smoothly. Only then did the cold mask on Denice's face crack, revealing a hint of weariness.

Jairo's calls and texts kept flooding her phone. Without a single glance, she cleared them all.

She knew he must be frantic. The Phoenix Project was his biggest promise to his investors. But she also knew that he wouldn't dare break up with her now. Not now. Because without her, he couldn't explain the core design of the project to anyone. He needed her. And that was her greatest leverage.

Stepping out of the office building, the New York sunlight felt harsh. Denice put on her sunglasses, hiding her eyes and every ounce of emotion within them.

She hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of one of New York's most exclusive private clubs. She was going to see Culver Collins, heir to the Collins family. She needed a new, more powerful ally.

The taxi merged into the flow of traffic. Denice leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

She was going to make Jairo understand that he had lost far more than just a project.