1.The crystal bowl slipped from my hands and shattered across the kitchen floor just as my husband walked into the room.

I took a slow sip of champagne, looking at the man I had spent eight years loving.

“Section Four, Paragraph B of the debt agreement Prescott Logistics signed with Vanguard in 2023,” I said, quoting the contract from memory. “In the event of moral turpitude, public misconduct, or material misrepresentation by the CEO, Vanguard reserves the right to declare all debt immediately due and payable within twenty-four hours.”

Weston’s head snapped up. “What? No! Elowen, you can’t do that! That’s fifty million dollars! If you call in that debt, the bank will seize the company tomorrow morning!”

“Not tomorrow morning, Weston,” I corrected him coldly. “Tonight.”

Julian stepped forward and handed a thick red envelope directly to Weston.

“This is a formal notice of default,” Julian said with absolute professionalism. “Vanguard Global is calling in all outstanding notes effective immediately at midnight. Furthermore, Madam Sterling has revoked your authority to use the Birch Street estate.”

Claudia grabbed Julian’s arm, her voice hysterical. “You can’t throw us out of our house! I’ve lived in that mansion for six years! My furniture is in there!”

I turned my cold gaze onto my mother-in-law.

“That marble floor you were so worried about me ruining tonight, Claudia?” I said smoothly. “I bought it. The house belongs to Sterling Holdings. The staff has already been instructed to lock the gates at midnight.”

Claudia let out a strangled cry and collapsed onto a chair, weeping loudly into her hands.

Weston crawled forward on his knees, his hands reaching out toward the hem of my dress, complete desperation ruining any trace of his former arrogance.

“Elowen... baby, please!” Weston begged, tears finally spilling down his face. “I was wrong! I was stupid! I’ll fire Victoria right now! I’ll announce to the whole room that you’re the head of the company! Just please don't do this to me! Give me one more chance!”

I looked down at him. The man who had walked out of our home two hours ago, leaving me with a broken bowl and a sink full of grease.

“You had eight years of chances, Weston,” I whispered. “And every single day, you chose to treat me like nothing.”