From the Peninsula Hotel's suite, floor-to-ceiling windows framed Harbor City's glittering nightscape.
I swirled my wine, watching headlights snake far below. In my past life, I'd been a prisoner of the Sanchez family's kitchen and laundry room. Even lifting my head to see the sky had been a luxury.
My phone vibrated relentlessly on the table.
Transaction Declined.
Transaction Declined.
The notifications kept coming. Henry was ruthless—we'd barely signed the divorce papers, and he'd already cut off every supplementary card.
He expected me to starve. To lose my roof and crawl back in tears, begging forgiveness.
Unfortunately, he'd severely underestimated me. I was no longer the fragile vine that needed a man to survive.
I opened my laptop and logged into a discreet asset platform. One by one, I listed the "garbage" properties I'd quietly acquired under my own name over the years—assets Henry had turned his nose up at.
Within thirty minutes, everything liquidated.
My balance swelled by five million dollars. To Sanchez Group, pocket change. To me? Ammunition. Startup capital.
I ordered a lavish seafood spread from room service. Just as I tucked into a lobster tail, my phone rang.
Henry's assistant. His tone dripped with borrowed arrogance.
"Miss Pruitt, Mr. Sanchez has a proposition. Return immediately and kneel to apologize to Miss Harding, and he's willing to negotiate."
A pause for effect. "The previous twenty thousand in child support can be raised to thirty. Furthermore, he'll let you stay in the servant's quarters—so you won't have to sleep on the street."
I laughed, nearly choking on my wine.
"Tell Henry to keep his spare change," I said coolly. "He'll need it for his own coffin."
I moved to hang up, then added, "Oh—and tell him to watch the morning news. Hope his heart can handle it."
I ended the call and blocked the number.
Early next morning, Harbor City's landscape shifted irrevocably.
A government announcement dropped like a bomb.
Breaking: City Planning Department officially designates West City wasteland as the new CBD core!
Hundred-billion-dollar development launched! West City wasteland to become Harbor City's future landmark!
The city went into a frenzy. Meanwhile, the land deed for that exact core area sat quietly in my handbag.
I sipped my coffee, watching the live broadcast.
Moments later, the compensation plan was released. Because the location was the absolute heart of the new zone, combined with policy incentives, the payout was astronomical.
Two billion dollars in cash.
Plus ownership of ten Grade-A office buildings upon completion.
A fortune had literally fallen into my lap.
I opened my calculator app. Two billion cash. Annual rent from ten skyscrapers—at least another billion yearly. The mighty Sanchez Group that Henry was so proud of barely scraped that much in annual profit.
My phone buzzed again.
Not a decline this time. Victory.
Your account ending in 8888 has received $2,000,000,000.00.
I stared at the string of zeros. No giddiness. Just cold, refreshing clarity.
At the same time, in Sanchez Group's CEO office—
Crash!
A priceless antique vase exploded against the wall.
Henry stood panting, eyes bloodshot, glaring at the television.
"That was a wasteland!" he roared. "How could it possibly become the CBD?"
The composed, icy CEO was gone. He paced like a caged animal, stride growing frantic. The debris scattered across the floor mirrored his shattering sanity perfectly.
