The sky had turned heavy and gray as Mirena stepped out of the station. A moment later, the clouds broke, and rain poured down, drenching her completely.

Each drop felt like ice against her skin-tiny, sharp reminders of the betrayal she had just faced. She ignored the chill, forcing herself toward the taxi stand, when her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out, wiping raindrops from the screen with a trembling hand. One glance at the sender soured her mood further-Iris, George's younger sister, the other haunting troublemaker in her marriage.

Her finger hovered a moment before she tapped to open the message.

[In the Ashton house, there's no room for a fake like you! Don't bother coming back!]

A second later, another notification lit up her screen-a photo. Her belongings, piled carelessly in front of the Ashton manor, were drenched just like her.

Mirena's chest tightened. Her lips parted, but no words came out-only a hollow, broken laugh.

'So this is how it ends,' she thought, swallowing the bitterness rising in her throat.

Five years. Five years of walking on eggshells, bending over backward to meet their every demand-to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. And in return?

They treated her like trash.

If only they knew how much that "trash" had sacrificed for them. All for a family that was never hers, and a marriage doomed from the start.

But they were blind. And she-she had been the biggest fool of all for not seeing it sooner.

With a stiff, cold finger, she navigated to the top of the screen, tapped the three dots, and blocked Iris's number without another thought.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket and took an unsteady step forward. Suddenly, the world tilted at the edges. Her vision blurred. She staggered, blinking back a swarm of black dots clouding her sight.

Gripping her composure tightly, she scanned the rain-swept street for shelter-any refuge from the storm.

Her eyes landed on a café awning not far away. But just as she moved toward it, a sleek luxury car sliced through the rain, pulling to a sharp stop right before her. Muddy water splashed up, soaking her feet and the hem of her already ruined dress.

She froze, staring down at the dirty water, then back at the car-just as the driver's door opened and a man in a uniform hurried to open the rear passenger door.

First, a sleek black umbrella emerged. Then, long legs in impeccably tailored trousers and polished dress shoes. And finally-the man himself stepped out.

Recognition flashed through Mirena as her gaze locked with a pair of cool, ashen eyes.

Eyes belonging to the last person she ever wanted to see in this state.

Alexander Pierce.

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. She stood motionless, rain plastering her hair to her cheeks, as his gaze swept over her-cold, assessing, leaving no detail unnoticed.

In several long strides, he closed the distance between them. He stopped just before her, his eyes traveling from her drenched hair to her mud-splashed shoes with a scrutiny that felt like a violation.

Then came the scoff. Sharp, derisive-it pierced what little dignity she had left.

"So this is what you've become, Mirena." His voice was velvet wrapped in ice, each word deliberate. "Who would have guessed the woman they hailed as the queen of investments could be brought so low-and for what? Love? How utterly pathetic."

The words stung, but she refused to let them show. A faint, defiant smile touched her lips, though her voice wavered as she replied, "Pathetic?" She gave him a slow, deliberate once-over. He looked impeccable-not that she'd ever admit it. "Then what does that make you?"

A flicker of something unreadable passed through his ash-gray eyes. A silent challenge hung between them in the rain-heavy air.

She took a step forward-into the dry space beneath his umbrella, boldly invading his sanctuary.

"It took me five years to fall this far," she said, her voice gaining strength. "Yet in all that time, you never once managed to surpass me. Tell me, Alexander-who's the real disappointment here?"

A crack formed in his carefully crafted composure, so rare that the very air seemed to still around them. His driver shivered involuntarily-even after all these years, only Ms. Mirena could unravel the Boss so completely.

"You still have no sense of self-preservation, Mirena," Alexander bit out, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. But she didn't flinch. After years of rivalry, she knew every one of his weaknesses.

"Am I wrong, Xander?" She tilted her head, deliberately using the nickname he despised. "I stepped away for five years-gave you every opportunity. And yet, you still couldn't swallow the empire I built."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He seized her chin, his grip unyielding. "Be careful. I'm not the man I was five years ago. Even if you come back now, you may not be able to keep up."

"So what you're saying is. you only caught up because I was gone?" She laughed softly, stretching her neck like a proud swan, even as her pulse fluttered under his thumb. "You could say thank you. I'd accept it graciously."

Rage simmered in his eyes. He drew a slow breath, then released her. She took a half-step back but didn't leave the shelter of his umbrella.

"You've always been sharp with that tongue of yours. Pity you never used it on that family of yours." His tone was mocking, and Mirena went still. He had struck a nerve-and the flicker of satisfaction in his chest was edged with something darker, something like anger.

"That's none of your concern," she said coldly, her hands curling into fists.

"Oh, but it is," Alexander countered smoothly. "When my greatest rival takes a fall, of course I'll come to watch the show."

"Then let's see if you've earned the right to watch," she shot back-and this time, it was her hand that closed around his throat. He didn't look startled. If anything, a trace of approval flashed in his gaze. Good. Five years wasted, but she hasn't gone soft.

He waited, watching her, challenging her next move.

But before she could speak again, her steps faltered. She swayed-and collapsed against his chest.

He stiffened at the sudden contact, glancing down with a furrowed brow. "What are you-"

Before he could finish, her body went limp against his, slipping downward. His arms closed around her just before she hit the ground.

"Mirena?"

No response.

He reached out, the back of his gloved hand pressing against her forehead. Even through the leather, her skin burned.

He pulled back with a low, irritated click of his tongue. His gaze swept the rain-drenched street before settling again on her unconscious form. A heavy sigh escaped him.

Effortlessly, he scooped her into his arms with one swift motion while retrieving his phone from his coat pocket. His fingers moved across the screen, and within seconds, he was speaking into the receiver, his voice low and commanding.

"Be at the Pierce Estate in thirty minutes or forget your job."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply and turned toward the car, Mirena held securely against his chest.

"Drive fast," he ordered the driver as he settled into the backseat, his voice tight with an unfamiliar tension.

~~*~~

Upon getting home, Michael House, his personal doctor, was already waiting by the door.

He stared at Alexander like he'd suddenly grown two heads as he watched him carry a limp woman into his personal bedroom.

Once he'd set her on the bed, Alexander took a step back. "Are you waiting for an invitation to do your job?"

That was all it took. Michael moved swiftly, his practiced hands checking vitals, assessing her condition with quiet efficiency.

Half an hour later, he stepped away, shaking his head slightly.

"Well?" Alexander's voice was clipped. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets, his back to the light.

"Severe mental strain, prolonged reliance on antidepressants, and physical exhaustion," Michael reported, then added under his breath, "It's a miracle she's lasted this long. She must have incredible resilience-"

"Resilience?" Alexander cut him off, the word dripping with irony. "She held an empire in her hands and traded it for people who never valued her. Does that sound like strength to you-or profound foolishness?"

Michael studied him for a moment, then ventured carefully, "You don't seem particularly pleased, Mr. Pierce."

Alexander's gaze slid toward him, cold and assessing. "Taking up psychology now, Michael? Enjoy analyzing people?" His tone was deceptively smooth, edged with warning. "Keep it up, and I'll withdraw all medical equipment funding next year."

That shut Michael up. With a nervous chuckle, he added, "Her condition is stable. Call me if there's any change." He gathered his belongings with a respectful nod and left without another word.

The door clicked shut, leaving a heavy, weighted silence in its wake.

Alexander turned toward the bed, his gaze lingering on Mirena's still form.

Against the stark sheets, her face looked unnaturally pale. Her brow was furrowed, lashes trembling as if wrestling with some unseen torment. A single tear traced a path from the corner of her eye, followed by a soft, broken whimper.

He moved to her side with silent grace and rested his hand against her forehead. Almost instantly, the tension in her features eased, her breathing deepening into something more peaceful.

He watched her, unmoving, for a long moment. But as he began to withdraw his touch, the room's stillness was shattered by the shrill ring of her phone.

His eyes cut to the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen-George-darkened his expression in an instant.

In one fluid motion, he snatched the device, powered it off without a second thought, and tossed it carelessly onto the bed.

A nuisance like George had caused enough damage.

Let him wait. His reckoning will come.

Mirena woke to a dull throbbing in her temples. She blinked slowly, her vision hazy as she scanned the unfamiliar room.

As her surroundings sharpened into focus-the elegant furnishings, the subtle scent of sandalwood, and something distinctly masculine-she bolted upright.

This wasn't her room. Nor any place she recognized.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the sound of running water cut off. The bathroom door swung open.

Out stepped Alexander, wearing nothing but a loosely tied robe, water still glistening along the lines of his chest.

For a moment, Mirena froze. Then, the memories of the previous day washed over her-the humiliation, the rain, his voice.

She was about to curse herself for showing such weakness in front of the one man who least deserved to see it, when instinct took over. Her eyes darted across the sheets, checking her clothes, searching for any sign she'd been touched.

Finding herself fully dressed, she released a quiet breath.

A low, knowing chuckle cut through the silence.

"Relax," Alexander drawled, running a towel through his damp hair. "In your current state, you're hardly in any condition to tempt a man."

Mirena's eyes narrowed. What Alexander didn't know was that throughout her five-year marriage, her mother-in-law and sister-in-law had constantly taunted her for lacking the charm to keep George's attention. Having her appeal questioned had become a raw nerve-and Xander was now dancing all over it.

She kicked off the covers and strode toward him without a word.

Alexander turned, expecting a sharp retort. What he didn't expect was for her to reach out without hesitation and tug hard on the tie of his robe.

In an instant, the fabric fell open, pooling at his feet. Mirena tilted her head, letting her gaze travel over him with deliberate, unhurried scrutiny.

"Hmm," she hummed, feigning disappointment. "Seems we're in the same boat. From the look of things, you don't have much to tempt a woman either, do you?"

A vein throbbed at Alexander's temple. His composure shattered. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between them, pinning her firmly but not painfully to the bed.

"Careful, Mirena," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't forget who picked you up off the streets yesterday when you were nothing but a drenched, helpless puppy."

His face was dangerously close, the fury in his eyes unmistakable-yet Mirena didn't flinch. She met his gaze steadily, her breath even, her composure unshaken.

"Is that so?" She arched a brow, a sly curve playing on her lips. "I don't recall asking for your help. Wasn't it your own choice to bring me here?"

For a moment, Alexander looked as if he wanted to strangle the ungrateful woman. "If it weren't for me, you'd be lying dead in some alley."

"And?" She tilted her head. "What do you want, then? For me to repay you with my body?"

He stiffened, then released her abruptly as if she'd burned him. "Did five years as a housewife rot your brain? A stubborn woman like you holds no appeal. Even if you were the last woman on earth, I'd rather die than share a bed with you."

Mirena's smile only sweetened. "Are you sure?" In one fluid move, she caught his wrist as he tried to turn away. In the next heartbeat, their positions reversed-she was above him, pinning him down.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

"You'd rather die than sleep with me," she murmured, leaning in until her lips hovered just a breath from his. Her gaze, however, remained cool and clear. Alexander clenched his fists, fighting to steady the sudden wild rhythm in his chest.

She held him there, suspended in tension, watching him closely. Just as he began to sway toward her, she pulled away.

"Not bad," she remarked, her tone regaining its familiar pride as she released him. "It seems you do have some self-control. And just so we're clear-the feeling is entirely mutual. So it's good to know I'm perfectly safe around you."

Without looking back to see the storm on his face, she slid off the bed and walked calmly toward the bathroom. As she went, she let her dress slip carelessly from her shoulders and pool on the floor. Now that she had confirmed his lack of interest, she felt secure in her own skin.

As longtime rivals, they knew each other too well to ever cross that line.

The moment she stepped into the bathroom, a loud crash echoed behind her-the bedroom door slamming shut with enough force to shake the walls.

Mirena refused to let that bother her. What she needed now was the solace of a hot bath.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the steam, the faint, lingering scent of Alexander's cologne still hanging in the air. As she faced her reflection in the mirror, a memory surfaced-sharp and unbidden.

Five years ago, just before her wedding to George, she had made a wager with Alexander. If she could make George fall in love with her within five years, she would win thirty percent of Nexus Global-the crown jewel of New York's investment scene, and one of Alexander's most prized companies. If she lost, she would owe him thirty percent of Octa Investments, the firm she had built from nothing.

Like every challenge before it, Mirena had thrown herself into the bet, determined not to lose.

But now, with a quiet sigh of defeat, she picked up her phone and initiated the transfer.

She had lost to Alexander. Again.

The truth left a bitter taste in her mouth. She clicked her tongue, studying her own face in the glass. As much as she hated to admit it, the woman staring back was no longer the one people once respected without question. Years of playing the subdued housewife, the placeholder, had dulled her edges-had made her someone she barely recognized.

But that chapter was over. No more clipping her own wings for a family that didn't value her, a husband who didn't see her worth.

It was time to reclaim the throne she'd left behind.

With renewed resolve flashing in her eyes, she dressed quickly and threw one of Alexander's long coats over her shoulders.

Then she strode out of the room, ignoring the stunned stares of the household staff as an unfamiliar woman emerged confidently from their master's private suite.

Once outside, she dialed George's number and pressed the phone to her ear.

He picked up on the fifth ring. "Mirena, do you have any idea how many times I've-"

She cut him off cleanly, her tone icy and controlled. "You want a divorce, don't you? Then meet me at the Hills. Let's settle this now."

Mirena strode into the Hills exactly one hour after leaving the Pierce Estate.

The restaurant was as pristine as she remembered-floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline and the scent of aged wine mingling with faint citrus polish.

As she slid into one of the chairs, she glanced at her watch and scoffed silently.

She'd arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed time. George, however, was nowhere to be seen.

However, twenty minutes later, he finally walked into the restaurant. But he wasn't alone.

Hanging off his arm like some cheap handbag, was none other than the lady who'd turned her entire life upside down in less than a night.

Camille.

Of course, she thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the sight of them. She was his first love, of course he wouldn't hesitate to show her off to the world.

Unlike her.

Something about that thought left a dull sting that she immediately brushed off, crossing her legs elegantly as she watched them walk towards the table like some fairy-tale couple drunk on their own illusion.

As they drew closer, George finally looked away from Camille and for a second, something flickered in his eyes, before it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar look of disdain.

That look morphed into tenderness as he stopped to pull out a chair for Camille with that same gentlemanly precision he'd never used on her.

Seeing that, Mirena gave a bitter laugh dripping with mockery.

"What's this?" She asked calmly, dragging her eyes from George to Camille who still clung to his arm. "We're here to discuss something important and you brought along your mistress?" She arched one of her brows. "Did you mistake this restaurant for a brothel?"

That got the couples attention, pulling them out of their fairy-tale illusion at last.

When George turned to look at her, his eyes frosted over and his voice lacked the tenderness it had held just seconds before.

"You've always had a way with words, Mirena, never stopping to think before you speak. It's no wonder I could never fall for you."

"Georgy!" Camille chided beside him, her voice and composure embodying the very best of demure innocence. "Don't say that to Mirena. It's not her fault if being an honest person makes her unattractive."

After saying that, she turned to look at Mirena, spotting a guiltless smile as she added. "Aren't I right, sister?"

The mockery in her tone pulled at the corners of Mirena's lips.

She chuckled lightly and leaned back in her chair. "Camille," she stared, mimicking Camille's sweet tone. "If I wanted someone who built her self-esteem between men's sheets to defend me, I would have asked you."

The smile on Camille's face faltered almost immediately. Suddenly, a loud sound echoed in the space around them.

"Enough Mirena," George warned, palm pressed flat against the table. "Don't cross the line."

She tilted her head and met the glare he was sending her way. In the past, she would have played the good wife, lowered her head and apologized immediately.

Gone were those days.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" she asked, her tone dripping in sarcasm.

Suddenly, she leaned forward, placing her chin against the back of her palm and examining Camille like she was something incredible.

The sight of her, all innocent and dulled up, hurt Mirena's eyes to stare at. But she had to admit.

"Mistress material indeed," she blurted out without hesitation.

George's expression hardened. A muscle in his jaw ticked and the hand laying flat on the table folded into a ball.

"You don't like that title, do you?" Mirena asked the moment she noticed his reaction. "Then sign the divorce papers as soon as possible and save her the embarrassment."

Surprise flashed in George's eyes.

Upon coming here after getting Mirena's call, he expected her to apologize for the scene she caused yesterday, for ignoring his calls all throughout the night; he expected her to beg, cry-cling like the woman who once waited for him every night, no matter how late he came home.

But this version of Mirena? Cold, composed, unrecognizable. It pinched something in his chest.

"Fine," he said, dragging a document from his briefcase and sliding it across the table. "Here. The divorce agreement. At Camille's insistence, I added a generous settlement for you."

Mirena picked up the document, eyes gliding over the figures after flipping it open.

After a second, her lips curved.

"You call this generous?" She tossed the agreement back on the table like it was a joke. "That's not even enough to buy a penthouse of my standard." She muttered.

Her words pulled an amused laugh from George. Someone who had never seen more money than groceries money, was rejecting five million dollars.

Was this her new way of trying to get his attention?

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Mirena slapped a file of her own on the table.

His eyes drifted down to it. "What's this?"

"Divorce Agreement," she announced, her voice cool, almost cordial. "Except on my terms."

"Your terms?" He parroted.

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, an air of arrogant confidence surrounding her as she spoke. "I waive all compensation. I don't want your chicken cent."

Both George and Camille blinked, taken aback.

"However," she continued, tone softening to something far more dangerous, "I am reserving my right to take legal action against you and the Sterlings for slandering me-accusing me of fraud, remember? Of impersonating." she paused and glanced at Camille, addressing her with a nudge of her head. "That."

A smile kissed the corners of her lips when Camille's eyes twitched and the edges of her ears turned red with contained fury.

George however, scoffed. "Still putting on a show. You always loved the drama." His tone held s heavy note of dismissal.

"Go on, act out, put on a show and entertain me for once in your life. I'll clap for you once you've gotten tired of this act."

He rose after saying that, grabbing Camille's hand with one hand, and the divorce agreement with the other.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer. Millie, let's go, we don't want to be late."

With that, they both walked out of the restaurant. Mirena watched their backs, then her eyes dropped to their entwined hands and she scoffed.

How romantic, she sarcastically thought, reaching into the pocket of Alexander's coat and pulling out her phone.

Her fingers glided across her screen before hovering above one number for a few seconds.

Then, with a sigh, she clicked on the number and pressed the phone against her ear.

On the second ring, the phone was answered and surprise dripped from the voice that filtered through the other end.

"Mirena? Rena, is that really you?"

A smile crossed Mirena's lips at the familiar voice of Ada Campbell, her best friend.

"It is," she said softly. "How have you been, Ada?"

"Mirena!" Ada exclaimed, sounding every bit of the bundle of joy Mirena remembered her to be. "You finally called after all these years! You finally remembered us."

"Mhm," Mirena hummed, turning her gaze to the window. "I finally realized that it's time I stop giving my attention to the wrong set of people. I apologize for going incognito all these years. I'll make it up to you by catching you up on everything. Bills on me."

"If you insist then," there was a mischievous pause in her words and briefly, Mirena regretted saying those words. "I know just the place for us to meet up."