The conference room at Burnett Group headquarters was a cathedral of corporate power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a sweeping view of Manhattan. A long, polished table reflected the faces of the board members.
Estela sat at the head, looking smug and regal. Today was the day. The legal documents for the one-year observation period for both boys were to be signed. She believed she had regained control. She believed Frances had been chastised.
Frances sat quietly at the other end of the table. Her face was a mask of polite indifference. But inside, her mind was a steel trap.
Before the lawyers could even open their folders, Frances spoke up. "Before we begin, there is a matter of housekeeping to address."
She looked toward the back of the room, where a middle-aged man in a cheap suit was sitting. He was a junior staffer, one of Estela's spies.
"Mr. Fletcher," Frances said, her voice cutting through the room. "According to your employment contract, spreading false information about your employer is grounds for immediate termination."
The man paled. "I... I don't know what you mean-"
"Security," Frances called out. Two burly men in suits stepped forward. "Please escort Mr. Fletcher out. And inform the HR department that he is blacklisted from every top-tier agency in New York."
The man was dragged out, sputtering excuses. The room fell silent. Herta, standing behind Estela, looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Estela's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. It was Frances's right as mistress of the house.
"Now," Estela said, her voice tight, "let's proceed."
The lead lawyer slid the folder across the table. Frances didn't even look at it. Instead, she turned to the woman sitting beside her-her personal attorney, a sharp-eyed woman in a severe gray suit.
Frances nodded.
The lawyer stood up. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of papers. She walked around the table, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and stopped directly in front of Estela.
"Dowager Burnett," the lawyer said, her voice ringing with authority. "This is a copy of the divorce petition filed by my client, Ms. Frances Salinas, against Mr. Baron Burnett."
The room exploded. Gasps. Murmurs. The clatter of a dropped pen. Estela shot to her feet, her face a mask of disbelief.
"You... what?" she sputtered.
The Burnett family's legal counsel snatched the papers from the lawyer's hand. He flipped through them, his face growing paler by the second. He looked up at Estela, his eyes wide.
"It's true, Dowager," he stammered. "Citing 'irreconcilable differences'."
Estela glared at Frances, her chest heaving. The prenup was ironclad. If Frances filed for divorce, she walked away with nothing. She would be destitute. Why would she do this?
Frances met her gaze head-on. "I believe we do have some irreconcilable differences," she said calmly.
Her lawyer stepped forward again. "Of course, if the Burnett family prefers to litigate on grounds of 'adultery'," the lawyer said, her voice smooth as silk, "we are more than happy to oblige. We have ample evidence."
The word 'adultery' hung in the air like a bomb. It was a direct threat. It meant Gia. It meant Jagger. It meant the scandal of the century.
Estela's breath hitched. She realized the trap. A divorce wasn't just a personal matter; it was a corporate event. Discovery. Subpoenas. The exposure of financial records, of offshore accounts, of secret payments.
It would be the end of the Burnett empire.
"Out," Estela barked at the room. "Everyone out. Now."
The board members scrambled for the exits. The lawyers packed their bags. Within minutes, the room was empty, save for Estela, Frances, and their respective counsel.
Estela walked to the door and locked it. Then she turned, her eyes like chips of ice. " We are going to discuss exactly what you want."
