Morning sun cut through the blinds. Clara woke first, stared at Julian's sleeping face with disgust, and got out of bed.
She walked into the closet and chose a sharp black Tom Ford suit. She pulled her dark hair into a tight bun and put on pearl earrings. In the mirror, she checked her neck. No red marks. She took a breath and walked out.
Julian sat up in bed. His eyes narrowed at her corporate look. A crease formed between his brows.
"Sweetheart, weren't we supposed to walk in Central Park today?" He moved to wrap his arms around her waist.
Clara sidestepped him and picked up her coffee. "Honeymoon's over. I'm going to the office."
Julian's face darkened, then he quickly masked it with a loving smile. "Back to work? You're too tired. The doctor said to rest and prepare for a baby."
A baby? With who? Clara kept her expression blank. "The company is pushing the AI medical project. I spearheaded it. I need to oversee it."
"Baby, making money is my job. I'll wire fifty thousand a month into your trust. Go shopping. Go to the spa."
Clara set her cup down with a sharp clink. "Fifty thousand? My mother's special care unit costs thirty. You want me to shop with the rest?"
Julian's jaw tightened. A flash of anger crossed his eyes. "You're too aggressive. What kind of wealthy wife shows her face in public like this?"
"I am the co-founder of Vance Tech. I own twenty percent of the original shares. I have the right to audit the books."
At the word "audit," panic flickered in Julian's eyes. His attitude softened instantly. "Okay, okay. If you want to go back, go back. I just worry about your health." He stepped forward and forced a kiss on her forehead.
Clara fought the urge to vomit. She forced a fake smile. "Thank you, husband."
Julian turned and walked into the bathroom. The second the door closed, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Mitch. "Clara is coming back today. Stick her at the lowest desk. Make her life miserable so she quits."
Outside the door, Clara stared at the frosted glass. She ordered an Uber. She would rather walk than sit in his car.
Forty minutes later, she stood before the glass tower of Vance Group headquarters in Midtown. She inhaled the freezing New York air and walked in.
Heels clicking, she crossed the lobby. The receptionist's jaw dropped before she quickly bowed her head. Clara walked straight to the VIP elevator, pressed the button, and stared at her reflection in the metal doors.
Ding. The doors slid open.
Clara lifted her foot but froze. Her heel scraped against the tile.
Conrad Vance stood in the center of the elevator. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a perfectly tailored dark grey suit. His features were sharp and cold. A faint scar rested above his brow. His deep-set eyes locked onto her.
Julian's uncle. The CEO.
Her breath caught. Then her eyes dropped to his right hand. Three scabbed scratch marks tracked across the back. The same size and spacing as the scratches she had left on the man in the dark room last night.
Her mind reeled. The cedarwood scent seemed to rush out of the elevator and tighten around her throat.
The doors started to close. Conrad's scarred hand shot out and stopped them. His voice was low, slightly rough.
"Are you getting in?"
