Julian marched toward her. He grabbed her wrist. "Whose jacket is this?"

Clara ripped her arm free. Her eyes were dead. "I ran into Uncle Conrad. He gave me a ride."

Jealousy and fear flickered in Julian's eyes. He immediately went on the offensive. "You got into another man's car in the middle of the night? Have you no shame?"

"You abandoned me on a highway. You have no right to question me."

Julian's face reddened. "Sierra was almost beaten to death by her ex! I was handling a life-or-death emergency!"

Clara didn't respond. She pulled the jacket tighter, walked past him, and slammed the front door in his face.

The next morning, she walked into Sales Two in a sharp business suit. Mitch clapped his hands.

"Everyone, meet our special new addition." He smirked. "Supervisor Agnes, Clara is yours to train."

Agnes Finch, a bitter-faced woman in a cheap grey suit, looked Clara up and down. Her eyes lingered on Clara's designer bag. "I don't run a charity. I don't serve rich housewives." She slammed a stack of dusty folders onto Clara's desk. Dust exploded into the air. "Dead accounts. Failed contracts. Three days to locate and attach all missing receipts."

Clara nodded calmly. "Understood." This was exactly the excuse she needed to dig into the old books.

She spent the morning buried in the filthy files, coughing from the dust. Penny Holloway, a young girl in thick glasses at the next desk, slid a cup of coffee toward her. "Don't cross Agnes. She's Mitch's attack dog."

Clara gave her a grateful smile and kept working. Her sharp instincts quickly picked up a pattern. Dozens of massive, written-off expenses all funneled into a single shell company called "Blue Star Public Relations."

She tried to log into the company intranet to check the owner. Her access had been downgraded to the lowest tier. Blocked.

She grabbed a suspicious form and walked to Agnes. "Supervisor, this receipt is missing the approval signature. I need to go to the executive floor to verify the original."

Agnes didn't look up. "That's your job. Don't bother me. If you don't find it, don't bother going home tonight."

Clara took the form and walked to the elevators. She pressed the button for the fiftieth floor.

The executive floor was dead silent, covered in plush carpet and smelling of expensive leather. Clara walked toward the archive room.

As she passed the outer ring of the CEO's office, a familiar high-pitched giggle echoed down the hall.

Clara stopped. She stepped behind a large potted plant and peered through the leaves.

Sierra Shaw sat at an executive assistant desk, touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror. Around her neck hung a limited-edition Van Cleef & Arpels necklace. Clara knew Julian had bought it with their joint account.

Clara's fingers tightened on the form until the paper tore. Julian wasn't just betraying their marriage. He was replacing her in the company, handing her power to his mistress.

She took a breath, smoothed the crumpled paper, and stepped out. Her heels clicked against the marble.

Sierra saw her in the mirror and jumped. Her lipstick smeared across her cheek. She snapped the compact shut and stood up in a panic. "Clara—I mean, Ms. Sterling. What are you doing up here?"

Clara stopped in front of the desk. Her eyes flicked to the necklace. "Verifying accounts. Tell me, did your ex-husband's brutal beating heal overnight?"

Sierra's face went white. "Julian handled it. He felt bad, so he gave me this job for protection."

Clara set the file down with a sharp slap. "Since you're the executive assistant, do your job. Pull the original vouchers for this account."

Sierra stared at the complex financial codes. She had no idea what she was looking at. The other secretaries kept their heads down, ignoring her.

Clara let out a cold laugh. "Can't read a basic financial voucher? The standards here have really hit rock bottom. Almost like you were hired for special services."

Sierra's face flamed red. Tears welled up in her eyes.

At that moment, the inner office door swung open. Julian walked out holding files. He saw the standoff and marched over, stepping in front of Sierra.

"Clara? What are you doing here? Go back to your department." He lowered his voice to a hiss.

Clara's eyes were dead. "Just teaching your new assistant how to work." She turned toward the elevator. "Julian, I hope your taste in women doesn't crash the stock."

She returned to her dusty desk. She pulled out a burner phone, checked a secret offshore account balance, then dialed an encrypted number.

"Sam, it's me. The retainer is in your account."

"Received, Ms. Sterling. What's the target?"

"Full surveillance on Julian Vance and Sierra Shaw. Hotel video, all bank transfers, and the actual owner behind a shell company called Blue Star Public Relations."

"That's a heavy load. Not cheap."

"Money's not an issue. I want ironclad proof that leaves him with nothing."

She hung up, opened an encrypted app, and sent an anonymous tip to Marcus, Conrad's assistant, with her live location and a single line: Julian Vance's wife is walking into a trap at The Obsidian Club tonight.

She hit send. It was time to clock out. She grabbed her bag, but Agnes blocked her path.

"Clara, we have a mandatory client dinner tonight. You and Penny are coming with me."

Penny turned pale and whispered, "It's Sal Petrocelli from Stellar Real Estate. He's a known predator."

Clara frowned. "Client dinners are PR's job. Why is Sales going?"

Agnes sneered. "You think you're still a Vice Director? If we don't land this contract tonight, you both can pack your boxes tomorrow."

Clara knew this was a trap set by Julian and Mitch. But she couldn't get fired before she got the financial records.

"Fine. Send me the address."

At eight p.m., Clara and a shaking Penny stood before The Obsidian Club, an exclusive private lounge in Manhattan. The neon lights buzzed like a warning.

Clara grabbed Penny's hand and pushed open the heavy black-and-gold doors. The deafening bass from the main floor was muted in the hallway, replaced by the suffocating smell of expensive cigars.

A waiter led them to the end of the hall, to a VIP room labeled "Viper Room." He pushed the door open. A wave of cheap cologne and hard liquor hit Clara's face.

Three massive, aggressive-looking men sat on the leather sofa. In the center was Sal Petrocelli, a man with a heavy gut and predatory eyes.

Sal's gaze crawled up Clara's legs and stopped at her chest. He smiled, showing stained teeth. "Well, Vance Group finally learned how to do business. They sent the premium meat tonight."

Clara pulled Penny to the furthest edge of the sofa and forced a tight smile. "Mr. Petrocelli, Supervisor Agnes is stuck in traffic. She asked us to walk you through the renewal contract."

"Screw the contract. We drink first." Sal's lackey, a brute named Rex, slammed two bottles of whiskey onto the glass table. He poured three massive tumblers and shoved them toward Clara and Penny.

Sal leaned back and lit a cigar. "Finish these. Then I'll find my pen."

Penny looked ready to cry. Clara pressed a hand on Penny's knee. She picked up a glass. "Mr. Petrocelli, Penny is highly allergic to alcohol. I will drink her share."

She threw her head back and downed the burning liquid. The alcohol scorched her throat. She forced down all three glasses. Her stomach cramped violently.

Sal clapped his hands, eyes gleaming. He squeezed onto the sofa next to Clara and slapped his sweaty hand onto her thigh.

"You can drink. But I want to know how you taste." He leaned in to kiss her neck.

Clara shot up from the sofa, dodging his mouth, and grabbed an empty bottle. "Mr. Petrocelli, I need the restroom. I'll be right back."

She practically ran out of the room. In the bathroom, she gripped the sink and dry-heaved. She splashed cold water on her face.

As she walked back, she heard two men whispering around the corner. She froze, pressing her back against the wall.

"Julian made it clear. Sal needs to sleep with that bitch tonight. Take high-definition photos and send them to him." Mitch's voice.

"Don't worry. The drinks are spiked. She's not going anywhere. Once it's done, Julian promised Sal that new construction bid..." Rex.

Clara's blood turned to ice. Julian had set her up to be assaulted and photographed so he could blackmail her into a divorce with nothing.

She pulled out her phone to call 911. No service. The club used signal jammers.

Penny was still in that room.

Clara spotted a cleaning cart. She grabbed a heavy metal mop handle, hid it behind her back, and walked toward the Viper Room. Her eyes were flat. Cold.

She kicked the door open.

Sal had Penny pinned on the sofa, tearing at her blouse. Penny was screaming, thrashing wildly.

"Get off her!" Clara roared. She lunged forward and swung the metal pole with all her strength, smashing it into Sal's spine.

Sal screamed and rolled off, clutching his back. "You crazy bitch!"

Clara grabbed Penny and pulled the sobbing girl behind her. She held the pole like a bat.

The other men stood, faces twisting with rage. Rex rushed to the door, slammed it shut, locked the deadbolt, and pocketed the key. He smiled.

"Since you want to play rough, you can both service Mr. Petrocelli tonight." He pulled a switchblade and stepped forward, forcing them back toward the floor-to-ceiling balcony windows.