Down in the lobby, Joseph stormed out of the elevator, aggressively yanking his tie loose.

Sitting on a velvet sofa was Kassandra Baird.

Seeing him, she immediately stood up, swaying her hips as she walked over.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.

"Did she cry a lot?" Kassandra asked, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.

Joseph scowled, his pride bruised. "That woman is just putting on a brave face. She's nothing without me."

A vicious gleam flashed in Kassandra's eyes. She decided she needed to deliver the final blow herself.

"I left my sunglasses upstairs," Kassandra lied smoothly. "I'll be right back, baby."

She pressed the button for the penthouse elevator.

Upstairs, Gemma was in the master bedroom, shoving her clothes into a large suitcase.

The sound of the front door keypad beeping echoed in the hallway. Anticipating the inevitable, Gemma's hand tightened on the phone in her coat pocket. Her thumb instinctively swiped the screen, blindly opening the recording app she had prepped the moment Joseph issued his threats.

Kassandra strutted into the apartment, her stiletto heels clicking loudly against the wood floor.

Gemma stopped folding a sweater. She stared at the intruder with ice in her veins.

Kassandra looked around the room, her eyes judging the expensive decor as if she already owned the place.

She walked over to Gemma's vanity and picked up a limited-edition perfume bottle. She sprayed it into the air, inhaling deeply.

Gemma walked over, snatched the heavy glass bottle from Kassandra's hand, and dropped it straight into the trash can.

Kassandra's face twisted in anger. But she quickly forced a mocking smile and placed a hand over her flat stomach.

She leaned in close. "I'm pregnant with the Roberson heir."

Gemma didn't even blink. "Congratulations. You finally used your uterus to climb the ladder."

Kassandra's smile vanished. She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.

She shoved the phone in Gemma's face.

It was a photo from last night's gala. It showed Gemma looking disheveled and disoriented, being steered away by a strange woman.

"That champagne you drank?" Kassandra whispered maliciously. "I made sure you had a very memorable night."

Gemma's pupils shrank. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms.

"If you try to take one extra cent in the divorce," Kassandra threatened, "my PR team will send this to every tabloid in the city. The narrative they'll build around you won't be kind."

Gemma fought the violent urge to rip Kassandra's hair out. Her brain worked in overdrive.

Suddenly, Gemma let out a soft laugh.

The sound was so cold it made Kassandra take a step back.

Gemma slowly pulled her hand out of her pocket, revealing her phone. The screen was already lit up, showing a voice recording app. The timer was ticking.

She waved it in front of Kassandra's face.

Kassandra's eyes widened in pure horror. She lunged forward to grab the phone.

Gemma stepped sideways, dodging the attack.

With her free hand, Gemma raised the phone and pressed play. Kassandra’s own voice, sharp and malicious, echoed in the room: "I made sure you had a very memorable night." The sound was more shocking than any physical blow.

Kassandra screamed, clutching her head as she stumbled backward.

"If that photo leaks," Gemma said, her voice deadly quiet, "this audio will expose your true intentions to everyone who matters."

Kassandra trembled with rage and fear. She had no leverage left.

Clutching her purse, she turned and ran out of the apartment like a beaten dog.

The door clicked shut.

Gemma leaned against the vanity, her heart hammering against her ribs. She needed to pack faster. She needed to disappear.

Gemma zipped up her suitcase, the sound loud in the quiet bedroom.

She had already backed up the audio file to three different secure cloud servers.

She walked over to the wall safe hidden behind a painting. She punched in the code to grab the deed to her late mother's art gallery.

As her fingers brushed against the cold metal keypad, a strange, phantom lightness hit her left hand.

Gemma froze.

She slowly lifted her left hand, her eyes locking onto her ring finger.

It was empty.

This wasn't just a wedding band. It was the antique diamond ring that contained the microscopic key-code engraving-the only physical key to the Swiss safe deposit box holding the core documents of the Roberson family trust fund.

Her lungs stopped working. Her brain frantically rewound the last twenty-four hours.

The memory hit her like a physical blow.

The dark hotel bathroom. She had taken the ring off to splash cold water on her burning face.

A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. If she lost that ring, the divorce would be stalled, and the family lawyers would sue her for millions.

She grabbed her phone and dialed the K.M. Club's concierge.

"I left a ring in the penthouse suite last night," Gemma said, her voice shaking.

"I apologize, ma'am," the polite voice replied. "That suite is a lifetime private lease. Without the owner's explicit permission, even our cleaning staff cannot enter."

Gemma hung up, her stomach dropping to the floor. She quickly texted Armida, begging her to use her connections to find out who owned that suite.

Across Manhattan, inside the towering glass walls of the Roberson Group headquarters, Joseph was losing his mind.

He slammed a financial report directly into his assistant's chest.

"Why is the stock crashing?!" Joseph screamed, his face red.

The assistant trembled. "A massive, anonymous fund from Wall Street is aggressively shorting our shares, sir."

Before Joseph could yell again, the heavy office doors swung open.

Arthur Roberson, Joseph's father, walked in, leaning heavily on his cane. His face was dark with fury.

He slammed the cane against the marble floor.

"Jakob Fuentes is back," Arthur announced, his voice echoing in the large room.

Joseph's face drained of all color.

Jakob. His illegitimate, exiled older half-brother.

"He brought top-tier Silicon Valley capital with him," Arthur continued coldly. "He's taking over our biggest merger."

"That's my project!" Joseph yelled, his voice cracking.

"The board only cares about money," Arthur snapped. "Unless you can stabilize the family trust structure, you're out. You and Gemma will attend the family dinner at the Hamptons estate this weekend to kill the divorce rumors."

Joseph felt a cold dread settle in his stomach.

He had just thrown the divorce papers at Gemma.

If she didn't show up, he would lose the entire company.

Joseph pulled out his phone and frantically dialed Gemma's number.

Outside the apartment building, Gemma dragged her suitcase onto the sidewalk. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She looked at the screen. Joseph.

She let out a dry laugh, hit decline, and immediately blocked his number.

In his office, Joseph heard the dead tone. He threw his phone against the bulletproof glass window.

"Find her!" Joseph roared at his assistant. "I need her to understand the urgency of this situation!"

Meanwhile, deep in the underground parking garage of Wall Street, a black Maybach idled silently.

Behind the tinted glass, Jakob Fuentes watched the stock ticker on his tablet.

He had the ring. And soon, he would have her.

The afternoon sun hit the glass storefront of Gemma's mother's art gallery in downtown Manhattan.

Gemma had barely reached the front door when two massive bodyguards stepped into her path.

A silver Porsche slammed on its brakes against the curb. Joseph practically fell out of the driver's seat, sweating through his expensive shirt.

He marched up to Gemma, his presence a wall of barely contained fury.

"Get in the car," Joseph demanded, his breathing heavy.

Gemma stood her ground, her skin crawling at his proximity. "The divorce agreement is signed, Joseph."

"I haven't filed it yet," Joseph sneered, stepping closer. "You are still Mrs. Roberson."

He lowered his voice, his tone turning vicious. "If you don't come to the Hamptons and play the perfect wife tonight, I will pull the financial guarantee on this gallery tomorrow. Your mother's legacy will be bankrupt by noon."

Gemma stared at the beautiful paintings displayed in the window. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that she almost drew blood.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

"Fine," Gemma said, her voice dead. "But the minute this dinner is over, you file the papers."

Joseph smirked and gestured sharply toward the backseat of the Porsche.

Two hours later, the car pulled through the massive iron gates of the Roberson estate in the Hamptons.

Security guards patrolled the manicured lawns with Dobermans.

Before Gemma could open her door, Joseph grabbed a heavy diamond necklace from a velvet box and forced it around her neck.

The cold stones covered the red marks left by the stranger.

"Smile," Joseph ordered, instantly shifting his face into the mask of a loving husband.

Gemma linked her arm through his. She walked into the grand ballroom, her face a perfect, emotionless mask.

For thirty minutes, she endured the fake smiles and hollow conversations of the elite.

Suffocating, she excused herself to the restroom and slipped down a quiet hallway.

She pushed open the glass doors leading to the back garden, desperate for the cold ocean air.

In the shadows near the stone fountain, the red cherry of a cigarette glowed in the dark.

Gemma wasn't paying attention. She stepped forward, her heel catching on the uneven stone, and stumbled directly into a solid, hard chest.

A large, warm hand immediately shot out, gripping her elbow to steady her.

A heavy, intoxicating scent of bergamot and cedarwood washed over her face.

Gemma's body went completely rigid. Her breath caught in her throat.

She snapped her head up.

The dim garden lights illuminated sharp jawlines, deep, dark eyes, and a mocking smirk.

Jakob Fuentes.

Gemma gasped, stumbling backward. "Tyrant?" she blurted out, using his old college nickname.

Jakob dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his expensive leather shoe. He took a slow, deliberate step toward her.

He looked down at her. His eyes swept over her conservative dress, a flicker of something akin to impatient scrutiny in their depths. It was the uniform of the constrained woman she seemed to have become, and he absolutely hated it.

"Playing the good little housewife?" Jakob's voice was a low, cruel rumble. "This performance is tiresome."

Gemma forced her spine straight, ignoring the strange panic fluttering in her chest. "My life is none of your business, Jakob."

Jakob didn't stop moving until he was inches away from her.

His gaze was a physical weight, dropping to the heavy diamond necklace at her throat and lingering there.

Gemma's stomach did a violent flip.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above her ear.

"Is it?" Jakob whispered, his voice dark and heavy. "Because I have a feeling there's more to you than this carefully constructed facade."