The billionaire’s jilted fiancée: he slapped her on their wedding night, unaware that she controlled his empire.

“No,” I replied, stepping neatly around his kneeling form and walking toward the open front door.

“The divorce will proceed on the grounds of physical abuse and financial fraud.”

“My legal team will ensure you leave this marriage with precisely what you brought into it: nothing.”

“And Florence?” I paused on the threshold, glancing back over my shoulder at the old woman still slumped on the stairs.

Florence looked up, her withered hands shaking violently against her floral apron.

“You have seventy-two hours to pack your bags,” I told her, my voice clear and final in the quiet morning air.

“I suggest you wash your clothes before you leave.”

“I hear the local shelter doesn’t offer free laundry services.”

Without waiting for another word, I walked out into the warm, bright sunlight, stepping into the back of the Maybach as Marcus closed the heavy door behind me.

As the car glided down the suburban avenue, leaving the Miller estate behind in ruins, I opened my laptop and checked the morning markets.

Vanguard’s acquisition of Vance Cloud Systems had just crossed the financial wire, and the tech sector was already rallying.

I took a deep sip of my black coffee, watched the Georgia trees blur past the tinted window, and let out a long, easy breath.