Chapter 2

Richard rolled in at 3 AM smelling like Sabrina's perfume—Tom Ford Jasmin Rouge, the same scent I'd smelled on his shirts for two years. He didn't even bother to shower anymore. That's how little he respected me.

He slipped into bed like nothing was wrong, and I lay perfectly still, eyes closed, counting his breaths until they deepened into sleep. Then I got up, dressed, and drove to the office.

By 7 AM, I was sitting in the CEO's chair—my chair, technically, since the original incorporation documents listed me as majority shareholder. Richard had never bothered to read the fine print. He'd been too busy celebrating our "partnership" with champagne while I stayed up until 2 AM structuring the equity split.

Derek arrived at 7:30, two coffees in hand, his expression a mixture of relief and grim satisfaction. "Protocol V," he said, sliding a folder across the desk. "Every account flagged. Every transfer documented. Sabrina Cole received $1.3 million in 'consulting fees' over the past three years. She has never produced a single deliverable."

I flipped through the pages, each one a nail in Richard's coffin. "And the board?"

"Emergency session scheduled for Friday. I've already spoken with Margaret Chen and David Park. They're furious. They had no idea about the embezzlement."

"It's not embezzlement if the CEO authorized it," I corrected.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "It is when the CEO doesn't have unilateral spending authority above $50,000—which, per the bylaws you drafted, he doesn't."

I almost smiled. Almost.

At 8:15 AM, Priya called. "Papers filed. Richard Hayes has been formally served. He should receive them by—"

A crash echoed from down the hall. Then Richard's voice, thundering through the office like a storm breaking: "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

"—now," Priya finished dryly.

Seconds later, Richard burst through my office door, the divorce papers crumpled in his fist. His tie was crooked. His hair was disheveled. He looked like a man who'd just watched his empire crack beneath his feet.

"Vivienne," he snarled, slamming the papers onto my desk. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

I took a slow sip of my coffee. "No joke, Richard. I want a divorce."

"You can't be serious. Over what? A gift card? I told you, I forgot—things have been crazy at work—"

"You spent $47,000 on a Tiffany necklace for Sabrina Cole last night," I said calmly. "Charged to the corporate Amex. Would you like to see the receipt, or should I just forward it to the board?"

The color drained from his face. For a moment—just a moment—the mask slipped, and I saw the real Richard. Not the charming CEO. Not the devoted husband. Just a scared little boy who'd been caught stealing.

Then the mask snapped back into place.

"Sabrina is a valued consultant," he said, his jaw tight. "That necklace was a professional gift. You're reading into things because you're insecure."

"A professional gift," I repeated. "Like the Four Seasons suite in March? The Cartier bracelet in June? The Hermès bag in September?" I opened Derek's folder and spread the receipts across the desk like a dealer laying cards. "Richard, I have three years of records. Every dinner, every trip, every gift. All on company money. All unauthorized."

He stared at the receipts, his Adam's apple bobbing. Then, incredibly, he laughed. A short, bitter sound. "You've been spying on me?"

"I've been doing my job as majority shareholder. Something you might understand if you'd ever read the operating agreement."

"Majority share—" He stopped. Blinked. "What are you talking about? We're 50-50."

I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch. Then I pulled out the original incorporation documents and slid them across the desk.

"Read paragraph 4, section C," I said. "Equity split: 60-40 in favor of the founding partner who provided initial capital. That's me, Richard. It's always been me."

He grabbed the document, his eyes scanning frantically. I watched the realization hit him—the way his hands started to tremble, the way his breathing went shallow.

"This... this can't be right. My lawyers reviewed—"

"Your lawyers reviewed what I gave them. And they didn't catch it because they assumed the husband was the majority owner." I stood, buttoning my blazer. "Sexism is expensive, Richard. You should tell them that."

His face twisted—Loss. Rage. And underneath it all, something that almost looked like fear.

"Vivienne," he said, his voice dropping low, dangerous. "If you think you can take my company—"

"Your company?" I let the words hang in the air. "Richard, I need you to hear this clearly." I leaned forward, palms flat on the desk, my eyes locked on his. "It was never yours."