"Okay."
I stood, ignoring the pins and needles pricking my legs.
The door swung open to reveal Jonathan Gilbert silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling glass. Below, the city sprawled in a tapestry of flickering neon, traffic weaving ribbons of light through the urban canyon.
Five years ago, we'd stood in this exact spot. He'd vowed to hold our annual meeting at the highest point in the city.
Now he had it. Same view. Different people.
"About today." He turned, his silhouette knife-sharp against the glass. "It was strategic."
I looked up at him.
"Anna's uncle is the key to our next round of financing." He crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair opposite me, spine rigid. "I need to keep her stable."
"So misappropriating company funds to buy her a diamond ring—that's also part of this grand strategy?"
My voice was unnervingly calm. Even to my own ears.
Jonathan's brow furrowed, a shadow passing over his features. "That was my dividend."
"The company hasn't hit annual profitability yet. Where exactly are these dividends coming from?" I held his gaze. "Jonathan, that $150 million investment hasn't burned through yet, but that doesn't mean you can move it around at will."
His expression shifted. His tone softened a fraction. "Fine. Consider it a loan. I'll repay it once the financing clears."
"A loan?" A sharp, incredulous laugh escaped me. "Under what pretext? A loan to lavish gifts on 'The One That Got Away'?"
"Joanna Kaufman!" He shot to his feet, voice booming off the walls. "Can you stop being so aggressive? I'm under enough pressure as it is!"
I met his glare without flinching. "And what about me? The pressure I've carried these past five years—what does that count for?"
His mouth opened. The words died somewhere in his throat.
His phone rang, slicing through the tension. His expression softened instantly. "I need to take this."
He grabbed the phone and walked out. The door clicked shut with infuriating gentleness.
I stood rooted to the spot, a chill seeping into my marrow.
His computer was still awake. The screensaver—a photo of us in the basement apartment. Two kids squeezed onto a folding bed, grinning like idiots at the camera.
Back then, there really was light in his eyes.
Now that light was gone. Or maybe it just didn't shine for me anymore.
I walked to the desk to shut down the computer. My hand brushed the mouse, and the drawer slid open.
Inside lay a stack of documents.
On top: a pregnancy test report. *Anna Pruitt. 8 weeks pregnant.*
The date was two months ago—during the period when Jonathan was frequently "on business trips."
Beneath that: a draft prenup agreement.
The clauses were dense, but the core was crystal clear: *If Anna Pruitt divorces, she is entitled to 50% of property under Jonathan Gilbert's name + 10% of the company's equity stake.*
The third document was an equity structure analysis. A section titled "Risks and Response Strategies Regarding Nominee-Held Shares" was circled in red.
Beside it, handwriting I knew all too well: *Must ensure control. If necessary, leverage personal connections to apply pressure or initiate forced buyback.*
My blood turned to ice.
He didn't just suspect the existence of nominee shares. He was actively plotting how to neutralize this "mysterious shareholder."
Did he suspect? Or did he... *know*?
A sharp, twisting pain radiated from my chest, accompanied by bone-deep cold. I gripped the edge of the desk, fighting for breath.
The door swung open.
Jonathan froze. His eyes landed on the documents in my hand, and the color drained from his face.
"Joanna! What are you doing?"
I stepped back, my grip tightening on the papers.
"What is this, Jonathan? You're studying how to eliminate your own investor?"
His eyes darted nervously. He reached out. "Give me the documents! That's company confidential!"
"Confidential? Confidential plans on how to scheme against your biggest backer?" My voice trembled. "Anna is pregnant? You're getting married? And you're planning to carve up the equity? Jonathan, just how many lies are you hiding?!"
The pregnancy report shook in my hand. Seeing it, he abandoned all pretense of calm.
