The marble floor of Sterling Tower reflected a stranger—a woman with ice in her veins and fire in her step.
Arden's stilettos cracked against the polished stone like gunfire. Employees scrambled out of her way, coffee cups clutched to their chests like shields. Whispers died on their lips the moment she passed.
She didn't slow down.
The private elevator doors were closing. A hand shot through the gap.
Diane, her senior analyst, squeezed in, clutching a folder like a lifeline.
"Morning, Arden," Diane mumbled, eyes fixed on the floor, cheeks flushed.
Arden didn't respond. She looked at the folder.
*"Let me see it."*
"Oh, it's just the final draft for the foundation event. Nothing important—"
*"The folder. Now."*
Diane's hands trembled as she handed it over.
Arden flipped it open.
*Sterling Foundation Annual Jewelry Exhibition: Final VIP Guest List.*
Page one. Under 'Special Guests of Honor.'
*Sloane Kensington.*
Her husband's mistress. Front and center. At an event Arden had spent six months building.
Her nails dug into the paper. She didn't blink.
The elevator doors opened.
Lauren, her assistant, was waiting, her face pale.
"Arden, it came from the CEO's office this morning. They insisted—"
*"Insisted?"*
Arden's voice was quiet. That made it worse.
She walked out of the elevator. Past cubicles. Past whispering interns. Past the glass-walled offices where executives suddenly found "urgent business" on their screens.
She pushed open her office door.
An iced Americano waited on her desk. Lauren's thoughtful gesture.
Arden didn't touch it.
From the common area, voices. Careless. Loud.
*"...can't even control her own guest list. I'm telling you, Sloane Kensington will be the next Mrs. Sterling by Christmas."*
The glass on her desk didn't crack. But her knuckles turned white.
She pressed the intercom.
"Lauren. Get me the CEO's office. *Now.*"
A pause. Then Lauren's strained voice:
"Caleb says Mr. Sterling is in a critical meeting. Cannot be disturbed."
Arden smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
She clicked off the intercom.
She stood. Walked to the vanity mirror.
Pulled out a tube of lipstick—*bold red, the defiant kind*—and slowly reapplied it.
The woman staring back wasn't a victim.
She was a blade still in its sheath.
She pulled open her door.
Lauren jumped up. "Arden, where are you going—"
Arden walked past her.
The end of the hall. The unmarked elevator. The one that required a special key card. The one that went straight to the top.
She slid the black card from her wallet. Wedding day privilege. Three years. Never used.
*Today, she'd use it.*
The doors opened.
The penthouse level. Hushed. Opulent.
Executive assistants looked up in unison. Their professional smiles froze the moment they saw her.
"Mrs. Sterling, Mr. Sterling is—"
Arden walked past them. Didn't break stride.
One assistant stood to block her. Arden shot her a single glance—*the woman froze in place.*
She kept walking.
The end of the hallway. Two massive mahogany doors.
Caleb stood there. Julian's gatekeeper. Sweating today. Pale.
He saw her. Didn't step forward. Instead, he planted himself directly in front of the doors.
"Arden, please—"
*"Move."*
"Don't do this. I'm begging you—"
She stopped inches from his face.
Her voice dropped so low only he could hear.
"Caleb. I'm giving you three seconds. After that, I won't walk past you. *I'll walk through you.*"
His mask cracked.
He saw something in her eyes—something that made his spine go cold.
He stepped aside.
Arden grabbed the brass handle.
