At three o'clock in the afternoon, Elias knocked timidly on the heavy oak door of the CEO's office.
He walked in carrying a thick stack of premium resumes.
Harrison looked up from a mountain of legal documents. His eyes were dark and deeply irritated. He glared at the resumes as if they were offensive.
"I contacted three elite domestic staffing agencies, sir," Elias reported, keeping his voice steady. "They are sending five candidates directly to the penthouse this evening for on-site interviews."
Harrison gave a curt nod, his attention already drifting back to his paperwork.
Elias hesitated. He pulled a single sheet of paper from his folder and placed it on the desk.
"Regarding the inventory, sir," Elias said carefully. "The former Mrs. Torres did not take your cufflinks. However... she left behind a significant amount of her own personal property in the master closet."
Harrison picked up the paper.
It was a long list. Hermes Birkin bags, custom Chanel dresses, Cartier jewelry. Millions of dollars worth of luxury goods, just abandoned.
Harrison's jaw tightened.
She had cried and begged for fifty million dollars, acting like she would starve on the streets. Now that she had the cash, she didn't even care enough to pack her own priceless belongings.
The blatant disrespect made the veins in Harrison's neck throb.
He slammed the paper down on the desk.
"Call her," Harrison ordered, his voice dangerously low. "Tell her she has until tonight to clear this garbage out of my apartment, or I am having it thrown into the incinerator."
Elias didn't dare argue. He pulled out his work phone, dialed Iris's number, and pressed the speaker button. He placed the phone on the desk.
The line rang. And rang.
Just as the call was about to go to voicemail, someone picked up.
Instantly, the deafening sound of heavy bass, electronic synths, and the roaring cheers of a crowd flooded the quiet office. But then, the chaotic music suddenly muffled, the heavy wooden thud of a door closing echoing through the line as if she had quickly ducked into a restroom or a soundproofed VIP hallway.
"Hello?" Iris's voice slurred slightly over the speaker, now clear enough to hear over the distant, vibrating bass. She sounded breathless and incredibly happy. "Who is interrupting my vibe?"
Elias cleared his throat loudly. "Ms. Cooper, this is Elias from the Torres Group. Mr. Torres has requested that you return to the penthouse immediately to remove your remaining personal items."
Iris let out a bright, careless laugh.
"Tell him I'm busy on a date," she yelled over the music. "I don't have time for that old junk. Tell him to throw it in the trash."
As soon as she finished speaking, her inner voice transmitted directly into Harrison's brain.
That uptight old man is probably staring at my bags, crying over my memory. I'm not going back just to let him guilt-trip me.
The words crying over my memory snapped the last thread of Harrison's self-control.
He shot out of his leather chair so fast it slammed into the wall behind him.
He snatched the phone off the desk, bringing the microphone right to his mouth.
"Iris Cooper," Harrison snarled. His voice was laced with pure, lethal venom.
The background noise on the other end of the line seemed to stutter. Iris clearly hadn't expected him to be listening. Her breathing hitched.
Harrison didn't give her a second to recover.
"If you are not standing in my apartment in exactly one hour," Harrison said, his tone absolute ice, "I will have my security team pack every single bag you own and dump them into the Hudson River."
He paused, letting the threat hang in the air.
"And then," he added softly, "I will call the bank and place a freeze on the international wire transfers of your trust fund. Let's see how you pay for your little Soho parties then."
The threat of losing her money shattered her arrogant facade instantly.
You wouldn't dare! her mind screamed in panic.
"The choice is entirely yours, Iris," Harrison stated, his voice a low, vibrating hum of absolute authority, completely ignoring the frantic mental scream echoing in his skull. "One hour. The clock is ticking."
He slammed his thumb onto the red end-call button and tossed the phone back to Elias.
The office fell dead silent. Elias stared at his shoes, pretending he hadn't just witnessed his billionaire boss threaten his ex-wife over handbags.
Harrison straightened his cuffs. He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair.
"Change the interview location," Harrison commanded as he walked toward the door. "I'm going to the penthouse. I will conduct the interviews myself."
Meanwhile, in the middle of the sweaty Soho club, Iris stared at her dead phone screen.
Her hands were shaking with absolute fury. A handsome man tried to wrap his arm around her waist, but she shoved him away violently.
She stomped out of the club, her twelve-inch heels clicking furiously against the pavement.
She cursed Harrison's entire bloodline in her head as she aggressively flagged down a yellow cab, screaming at the driver to take her to Tribeca.
Back in the back of his Maybach, Harrison watched the city blur past the tinted windows.
A dark, twisted sense of anticipation curled in his stomach.
He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she walked through his door.
