I stepped out of the car in six-inch stilettos and a tailored black suit that screamed boardroom bitch with vengeance in her veins. Lara would be waiting upstairs—playing the doting, pregnant wife in Elliot’s corner office. She’d clawed her way to the top with secrets and seduction, but I had something sharper, and I was about to weaponize every piece of it.
“Ma’am,” Marcus said, handing me the building badge.
I looked at it. Isabella Rivera—Executive Consultant.
Hudson Corporation's marble lobby looked exactly the same, except it was way colder today. The glass, the gold, and the towering art installations were meant to impress outsiders. But to me? They were just tombstones. My father's legacy was buried beneath luxury branding and Elliot’s smug face. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. I strode toward the concierge, and an assistant stood up upon noticing me.
“Good morning,” the assistant chirped. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I have an appointment,” I bluntly said, brushing past her. My heels hit the floor like gunshots.
She stammered, “I-I’ll let Mr. Hudson know—”
“No need,” I called over my shoulder. “Tell him the ghost of his sins is here.”
The top floor had changed. New decor. Sleeker furniture. But the rot? Still the same. When I opened the door to the executive suite, Elliot was leaning back in his leather chair like a god on a throne. And beside him, lounging like she owned the world, was Lara—in white chiffon, cradling her bump like the Virgin Mary. She looked up. Blinked once. Smirked.
“Well, look what the storm dragged in,” she cooed.
“Isabella,” Elliot said, standing. “You could’ve called.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I stepped forward, eyes on him. “You always preferred surprises.”
Lara twirled a lock of her bleached hair. “I thought you were off licking your wounds somewhere in the Alps. Or was it rehab?”
“I was busy,” I said, smiling. “Rebuilding the empire your husband tried to steal from me.”
Elliot’s smile faltered for half a second. “You’re not here to make trouble, are you?” he asked, voice low.
I tilted my head and met his dark gaze. “I’m here to reclaim my shares.”
“Shares?” Lara laughed sardonically. “You mean the imaginary ones in that fantasy company of yours? Sweetie, you’re embarrassing yourself.”
I stepped closer, pulled a sealed envelope from my bag, and tossed it on the desk. “That fantasy company owns 17.8% of Hudson Corp now. Thanks to a few discreet investors and my father's binding proxy agreement—signed and notarized before you weaseled your way in.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened while Lara’s smile froze.
“Now,” I said, voice like velvet dipped in venom. “Let’s talk about the next board meeting.”
Elliot shut the office door behind him, hard. Lara was still in the lounge, fuming silently. Good. Let her stew. I’m actually finding this charade fun and challenging.
“You’ve been planning this,” he said, his voice somewhere between admiration and fury.
“I have,” I replied, crossing my arms. “But I gave you nine years to stop underestimating me. You wasted every inch of it."
He walked closer. Not too close—but close enough to whiff his scent through me. “You think this is power, Isabella? A few shares? A little drama?”
“I think power,” I said slowly, “is walking into your office and watching your face when you realize I’m not the girl you married.”
“I never married a girl,” he said coldly. “I married a Rivera.”
“Exactly,” I said, eyes blazing. “And now that she’s finally awake, you should be terrified.”
There was a long pause. A shift in the air. Something old and familiar slithered between us. Lust. Fury. Memory. Then Elliot stepped even closer, and for a split second, I saw the fear in his eyes. The bastard was rattled.
“I know you, Isabella. You act cold, but deep down, you want control—but not at the cost of being alone.”
I laughed, soft and cruel. “Oh, Elliot. You’ve mistaken my silence for sadness. I wasn’t alone these past few nights. I was busy reading your quarterly reports. And your mistress’ prenatal care bills.” His expression cracked. I leaned in. “I will burn this company to the ground before I let your mistress sit in a chair that was meant for me!”
The door burst open. Lara—red-faced, eyes blazing—stormed in. “You think you scare me?” she snapped. “You’re nothing but a washed-up name and a broken womb. You couldn’t even give him an heir!”
The words hit like ice water. Cold. Calculated. Unforgivable. I turned to her, measured. Calm. Deadly. But I had to bring myself back to the battleground. Glaring at her, I said, “Is that what he told you? That I couldn’t give him a child?”
She sneered. “Yes. Why, did I hit a nerve, bitch?!”
I walked right up to her, leaned in close enough to smell the expensive perfume, trying to cover her desperation. “Just so you know, I lost our baby while he was shagging you in Venice. And you know what he told me? He said that I should ‘get over it’ because ‘we’d try again later!”
Lara’s face paled, but she managed to say, “You’re a liar and freaking delusional! Elliot had never told me about that!”
“Of course he wouldn’t. You think you’ve won, Lara?” I whispered. “He’ll cheat on you before the baby's even born. And when he does, you’ll finally understand what it’s like to bleed for a man who doesn’t even flinch when you do.”
Lara slapped me! Now it was Elliot’s turn to flinch. The room went silent. I didn’t move. I didn’t blink. Instead, I smiled. Slowly. Wickedly. The tables had finally turned— in my favor this time.
