Inside the CEO's office at Spencer Group, Vincent cut the call the instant it went straight to voicemail. A crease formed between his brows as irritation sank deeper, dark and unsettled.
The block was still there.
Seven full days had gone by, and Corinna had disappeared as if she had never existed. Since their marriage, she had never stayed out of his reach for this long.
Back then, regardless of how distant he was, she would always edge closer. Even when his words were sharp, she stayed nearby with cautious hope, eyes gentle, lingering beside him desperate for approval.
This time, she had left with another man.
The audacity of it made his expression turn cold.
Calling his assistant in, Vincent spoke without preamble. "Have you located Corinna?"
Tension tightened the assistant's voice as he answered, "No. There's nothing left to trace. Someone used advanced methods to completely erase her records."
A sharp chill settled into the room as Vincent's jaw locked.
After a brief hesitation, the assistant added, "There's more. The Walsh family's heiress has resurfaced."
Surprise flickered across Vincent's face. "Didn't she die three years ago?"
With careful detail, the assistant laid out everything he had uncovered. "Following the explosion, she vanished completely. For three years, no one could find her, and most people believed she was dead. Then she appeared at the shareholder meeting. The moment she returned, she overturned her uncle Nigel's decisions and revealed years' worth of evidence proving his embezzlement. He was forced to relinquish control to her. Since then, she's been restructuring the group's internal systems, and by all accounts, the results have been impressive."
Against the surface of the desk, Vincent's long fingers tapped once, then again. "Decisive."
It was the first time the assistant had ever heard approval in Vincent's voice. He straightened immediately. "We previously partnered with Walsh Group. But once Nigel took charge, several projects were put on hold because of quality issues and cost-cutting. Now that the new CEO has stepped in… should we revive that collaboration?"
Nothing about Vincent's expression gave him away. When he spoke, his tone was calm, steady, and firm. "Arrange a meeting with her. I want to negotiate face-to-face."
Market demand in the city of Kiepwell was massive, and expansion there promised substantial returns. Among all possible partners, only Walsh Group had the capacity to take on those projects without collapsing under the weight.
After the assistant left, Vincent remained seated, staring at the piles of documents spread across his desk, unable to absorb a single line on the page.
Restlessness had taken hold of him ever since Corinna walked away, leaving him wound tight with an unnamed pressure that refused to loosen its grip on his chest. She had always followed his lead, always given him her loyalty, yet she had thrown divorce papers at him and vanished with some unknown man.
Could everything she once showed him have been nothing more than an act?
Until his signature touched that agreement, she remained his wife. He had no intention of letting her slip free so easily, as if she had never belonged in his life, or fall into another man's arms without consequence. No distance would be far enough to keep her hidden from him.
In frustration, Vincent tugged loose his tie, poured himself a glass of vodka, and downed it in one harsh swallow. Fire scorched his throat, and the tension refused to ease, only stoking the heat already coursing through his veins.
Redness ringed his eyes when the assistant reappeared without warning.
"Mr. Spencer, the news about you and Ms. Palmer is spreading everywhere online," the assistant said carefully. After a brief pause, he added, "You may want to see it for yourself."
A frown creased Vincent's brow as he opened the link that was sent to him, and his expression grew darker with each passing second.
"CEO Vincent Spencer's Intimate Getaway with Margot Palmer Fuels Divorce and Reunion Rumors."
Beneath the bold headline sat a series of crisp, high-definition images.
Each photo showed Vincent in a sleek black suit, standing close to a woman with gentle features and immaculate makeup. As he leaned toward her, the sharpness that usually defined his expression faded into something unexpectedly gentle. Whatever he said made her lower her gaze and smile shyly, her lips curved with quiet sweetness.
Once the article spread across social media, the reaction exploded instantly.
"I heard Vincent and Margot were childhood sweethearts. Of course, he never moved on."
"Let's be real. His wife is just an orphan. If he hadn't been in a coma and she hadn't lucked into it, there's no way she would've married him. She was never worthy of him."
"Exactly. Margot is the real deal. She's a piano prodigy, practically nobility in the classical music world. That other woman is just baggage. They should've divorced a long time ago."
Tension locked Vincent's jaw as fury darkened his gaze, and the atmosphere around him turned cold.
"Take it all down," he said flatly. "Every last bit. I want it gone within the hour."
"Understood, sir."
