Aletha stood on the sidewalk outside Soho House, the biting Manhattan wind piercing her thin trench coat. She pulled the collar tighter against her chest.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled out her phone. It was an urgent call from the private lawyer for the Glenn family trust.

“Mrs. Glenn, I have sent you a supplemental document to your prenuptial agreement via email. According to Clause 4B, this specific supplement requires you to print it out in person and submit it to the CEO for signature immediately. This is urgent; you must act tomorrow,” the lawyer stated decisively.

Aletha swallowed the intense humiliation that was stuck in her throat.

"I see."

The next morning, she hailed a taxi and told the driver to go to the Glenn Industries headquarters in Midtown.

She pushed open the heavy revolving glass door and strode toward the huge marble reception desk in the center of the lobby.

“I want to go to the top floor,” Aletha said.

The receptionist looked up from the screen, her polite smile completely perfunctory. “Good morning, Mrs. Glenn,” she said, her tone disciplined yet tinged with a barely perceptible hint of disdain. “I’m sorry, Mr. Glenn is currently very busy. He has given strict instructions not to be disturbed by anyone. I’m afraid I cannot let you up without his direct confirmation.”

Aletha reached into her bag and pulled out her signature black elevator card, which identified her. She swiped it on the security turnstile.

A blinding red light flashed on the scanner. A loud beep of mechanical malfunction echoed through the room.

"Access denied. Card frozen," the machine announced.

Several senior executives walking through the lobby stopped and turned around, casting curious and judgmental glances at the woman who had caused a commotion at the access control.

Aletha bit her cheek hard, tasting the blood. She lowered her head and, as a group of managers swiped their cards to enter, quickly slipped into a regular employee elevator.

The elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor, the highest public access floor. Aletha stepped out, avoiding the patrolling security guards, pushed open the heavy fire door, and entered the emergency stairwell. Her high heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor as she climbed the remaining two floors, her breathing rapid but controlled. She pushed open the heavy door leading to the fifty-second floor and strode towards the CEO's office.

The heavy double mahogany doors were slightly ajar. A warm ray of light fell onto the carpet.

Aletha took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and felt as if her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

Dinah was sitting on the edge of Kristopher's huge mahogany desk, playfully swinging her legs.

Kristopher stood between her knees. He leaned down and gently wiped a smear of latte foam from the corner of Dinah's mouth with his thumb.

The sound of the door opening froze them both. Kristopher looked up. The tenderness in his eyes instantly transformed into a chilling, icy rage.

Dinah took a soft breath, slid off the table, and hid behind Kristopher's broad back.

Aletha forced her legs forward. Each step felt like walking on broken glass. She placed the legal folder on the table.

“The trust lawyer needs you to sign this document immediately. I’ll take it and leave. I won’t stay a second longer,” Aletha said, her voice stiff and fragile.

Kristopher picked up the folder. He didn't even look at its contents. He slammed it into Aletha's face.

The sharp edge of the thick paper grazed Aletha's cheekbone. A thin, warm line of blood immediately seeped through her skin.

Kristopher took a large stride, closing the distance between them. He grabbed Aletha's chin, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw.

“Recognize your true identity as a stand-in,” he warned, his voice a vicious hiss. “You’re not even worth a hair on Dinah’s head. Stop making excuses to bother us.”

Aletha didn't blink. The absolute stillness in her eyes suddenly ignited a strange unease in Kristopher's chest.

He shoved her roughly, releasing her chin. He slammed his hand on the intercom button on his desk.

"Bring the security supervisor up now."

Seconds later, two burly security guards burst into the office. They grabbed Aletha from both sides, each gripping one of her arms with a tight, painful force.

Dinah spoke from behind her desk, her voice filled with feigned sympathy. “Kris, please don’t be so harsh. Perhaps Dr. Ward is just desperate for money.”

The security guards dragged Aletha backward. Her high heels screeched on the expensive carpet.

They dragged her into the elevator, through the crowded first-floor lobby in front of hundreds of employees, and then roughly threw her out through the front door.

Aletha stumbled and fell heavily onto the cold concrete pavement.

She sat there, gazing at the supplementary agreement fluttering in the wind. A tear finally slid down her cheek, landing on the back of her hand and shattering.

Aletha walked aimlessly through the streets of Chelsea, letting the harsh wind dry the wetness on her cheeks.

The phone in her pocket started vibrating aggressively. The screen flashed with Kristopher's name.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Listen to me very carefully," Kristopher's voice came through the speaker, cold and absolute. "You are not to appear within a five-mile radius of Dinah ever again."

Aletha closed her eyes, the street noise fading away.

"I cherish her too much," Kristopher continued, his tone brutally honest. "I can't even bear to touch a single hair on her head. I won't let your toxic jealousy ruin her peace."

Those words acted like a physical blade, twisting into Aletha's chest and shredding the very last, pathetic shred of hope she held for this marriage.

She didn't say a single word. She pulled the phone away, ended the call, and immediately blocked his number.

She looked up and realized she was standing on the corner near the Chelsea Art Gallery. This was the venue where Sloane was hosting the new exhibition.

Aletha pushed open the heavy glass doors. The little brass bell chimed brightly. The warm air and the smell of oil paint and expensive perfume rushed over her.

She took off her trench coat, walked straight to a passing waiter, grabbed a flute of champagne from his tray, and downed it in one gulp.

The alcohol burned a fiery path down her throat, but it did nothing to melt the block of ice sitting in her stomach.

A tall figure suddenly stepped into her line of sight, blocking the crowd. The familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and clean linen washed over her.

She looked up and met Julian's amber eyes. The usual calm, collected demeanor of the Wall Street prodigy shattered the second he looked at her face.

Julian reached out and gently pried the empty glass from her tight grip. His brows pulled together in a deep frown.

"Why are you so pale?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

Aletha tried to force the corners of her mouth up into a polite smile, but the moment she met her childhood friend's gaze, her defenses completely collapsed.

Julian didn't say another word. He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the crowd, and guided her up the stairs to the private VIP balcony on the second floor.

The cold wind whipped across the open terrace. Julian stripped off his custom suit jacket and draped it over Aletha's shivering shoulders.

Aletha leaned heavily against the metal railing. She stared down at the blurry headlights of the traffic below, and a broken sob finally tore from her throat.

She cried until her chest ached. Between ragged breaths, she poured out the suffocating toxicity of her three-year loveless marriage. She told him about the humiliation, the coldness, the feeling of being nothing but a disposable shadow.

She kept her secret-she didn't tell him she was Lan-but she gave him all the pain of being Kristopher's wife.

Julian gripped the metal railing. His knuckles turned stark white. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, and a terrifying, murderous rage boiled in his amber eyes.

He spun around and grabbed Aletha by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

"Say the word," Julian said, his voice shaking with fierce determination. "Just nod your head, Aletha, and I will take you away from him today. Right now."

Aletha offered a bitter, broken smile. She slowly shook her head.

"I can't. The prenuptial agreement... the penalty clauses. My family is tied into his trust. I can't just walk away without destroying everything."

Julian cursed viciously under his breath, calling Kristopher a blind, arrogant tyrant.

He pulled Aletha into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. His large hand rubbed soothing circles on her back, offering her the first genuine warmth she had felt in years.

Aletha closed her eyes, letting her tense muscles finally relax in a space where she didn't have to fight to survive.

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted from the main exhibition hall downstairs, shattering the quiet moment on the balcony.

Julian released her slightly. His eyes narrowed, instantly shifting into a defensive glare as he looked toward the top of the stairs. He sensed the danger immediately.

Aletha wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She took a deep, steadying breath, locking her emotions back behind a wall of ice, ready to face whatever storm was coming.

Aletha and Julian walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the sleek, modern staircase into the noisy main exhibition hall.

The crowd of Manhattan elites automatically parted down the middle, creating a clear path. Camera flashes fired in rapid succession, blindingly bright.

Kristopher walked down the center of the makeshift aisle. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket, his posture radiating the arrogant dominance of a king surveying his territory.

Dinah clung tightly to his arm. She held her chin high, soaking in the envious stares of the crowd like a proud swan.

Aletha's feet rooted to the floor. Her stomach dropped as she watched her husband parade his mistress right into the center of her own domain.

Dinah's eyes scanned the room and locked onto the central display podium.

Resting under a glass case was a breathtaking black haute couture gown. It was the "Black Swan's Song," a one-of-a-kind, not-for-sale masterpiece designed personally by Lan for the Aura studio.

Dinah gasped. She shook Kristopher's arm excitedly.

"Kris, look at it! It's perfect. I have to have it for the gala," she whined, her voice pitching up in a spoiled plea.

Kristopher looked down at her and smiled indulgently. He reached out and ruffled her hair. He snapped his fingers, and the gallery manager practically sprinted over.

"I want that dress," Kristopher said.

The manager wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Mr. Glenn, I apologize, but that piece is strictly not for sale. It belongs to Ms. Sloane's studio. It's just on loan for the exhibition."

Kristopher let out a short, cold laugh. "There isn't a single thing in Manhattan that the Glenn family cannot buy. Name your price."

As he spoke, his sharp gaze swept across the room and landed directly on the staircase. He saw Aletha. And he saw Julian standing right beside her.

The muscles in Kristopher's jaw instantly locked. His eyes turned into dark, dangerous slits.

He left Dinah's side and stalked through the crowd, stopping right in front of Aletha. His tall frame cast a heavy, suffocating shadow over her.

"Call Sloane right now," Kristopher ordered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Tell her to hand over that dress."

Aletha tilted her head up. She stared straight into the eyes of the man she had once loved so desperately.

"Dream on," she said. Her voice was flat, hard, and loud enough to carry.

A collective gasp rippled through the gallery. No one in this city ever dared to publicly defy the tyrant of Wall Street.

Kristopher leaned in closer. The scent of his cologne mixed with pure danger. "Do not test my patience today, Aletha."

Dinah hurried over, her eyes already brimming with fresh tears. She grabbed Kristopher's sleeve.

"Kris, please don't be mad. If Dr. Ward wants to be difficult, I don't need the dress. I don't want to cause trouble," she whimpered.

The surrounding socialites began to mutter, throwing disgusted looks at Aletha for being so petty and ungrateful.

Julian's patience snapped. He stepped directly in front of Aletha, using his broad shoulders to completely shield her from Kristopher.

"Your manners are disgusting, Glenn," Julian sneered loudly. "Bringing your mistress in here to rob someone else's hard work in broad daylight. Have you no shame?"

The word mistress dropped like a bomb in the middle of the high-society crowd. The room erupted into shocked whispers.

Dinah's face drained of all color. She swayed on her feet and collapsed against Kristopher's chest, sobbing into his lapel as if she had just been stabbed.

The temperature around Kristopher plummeted to absolute zero. He stared at Julian, his eyes burning with a promise of total destruction.

"Watch your mouth, Julian," Kristopher said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Don't risk your entire firm just to play hero for a used pair of shoes."

Aletha felt the words hit her chest like a physical blow with a sledgehammer. Her fingernails dug so deeply into her palms that the skin broke.

Julian let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will never let a piece of trash like you bully her."

The two powerful men stood inches apart, the air between them crackling with violent, explosive tension.

Aletha stepped out from behind Julian. Her eyes were as calm and dead as a stagnant pool of water. She was ready for whatever hell came next.