The elevator doors opened to the parking garage. My Aston Martin sat waiting—registered under my real name, not that Harrison had ever bothered to check.
For three years, I’d played the meek wife. I’d worn cheap clothes, driven his old sedan, and pretended I couldn’t tell the difference between a Bordeaux and a Burgundy.
Why? Because my grandfather’s will required me to “experience ordinary life” for three years before inheriting the company. Something about building character.
Well, my character was thoroughly built now.
I slid into the driver’s seat and dialed my legal team.
“Ms. Sinclair.” Richard’s voice was calm and professional. “I assume we’re proceeding?”
“Pull my investment from Oasis Group. All of it. I want it done before the board meeting.”
A pause. “That will trigger an immediate stock collapse. They’ll lose approximately… sixty percent of their value by market close.”
“I know.”
“Harrison Cole will be financially destroyed.”
“I know that too.”
Another pause, longer this time. “It’s been an honor working with you, Ms. Sinclair. I’ll have the paperwork filed within the hour.”
I ended the call and allowed myself one moment—just one—to feel the weight of what I was doing.
Three years ago, I’d genuinely tried to love Harrison. I’d thought that beneath his cold exterior was a man worth knowing. I’d poured myself into his company, his family, his life. And he’d repaid me by sleeping with my sister and calling our marriage “adequate service.”
My phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.
Heard you’re finally free. Dinner tonight? —D.L.
Damien Laurent. CEO of Laurent Enterprises. Harrison’s biggest rival.
Also, the man Harrison had forbidden me from ever speaking to.
Also, the man who’d been sending me anonymous flowers for the past six months.
I smiled and typed back: Pick me up at eight.
If Harrison wanted a war, I’d give him one. And I’d do it on the arm of the man he hated most.
The Sinclair Industries headquarters occupied forty floors of downtown’s most prestigious tower. I hadn’t set foot inside in three years.
The security guard’s eyes went wide when I walked through the lobby doors. “Ms… Ms. Sinclair?”
“I need a conference room. And coffee. Strong.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
Within minutes, I was seated at the head of a mahogany table, surrounded by screens showing real-time market data. Nina had already pulled up Oasis Group’s stock—holding steady at $42.
For now.
“The withdrawal is processing,” Richard reported via video call. “Estimated time to completion: forty-seven minutes.”
“And the board meeting?”
“Starts in ninety minutes. Harrison has no idea.”
Good.
I leaned back in my chair, watching the numbers. In less than an hour, Harrison Cole would walk into his own boardroom expecting to finalize a merger that would make him billions.
Instead, he’d find out that his company was in freefall and that his mysterious major shareholder had just pulled out.