Allison pushed through the heavy revolving glass doors of the Lee Group's Manhattan headquarters.

She brought a rush of freezing December air into the lobby with her.

She marched straight toward the elevator banks.

A burly security guard stepped into her path, holding up a thick hand.

"Excuse me, miss. I need to see your executive appointment record," the guard said, blocking her way.

Allison stopped. She looked him dead in the eye.

"My name is Allison Lee," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "I am the first-in-line heir to the Edmond Lee estate."

The receptionist behind the massive marble desk heard her.

The woman's face paled. She immediately picked up the phone and dialed the direct internal line to the top-floor executive suite.

A minute later, the private executive elevator chimed. The polished steel doors slid open.

Judd walked out.

He was wearing an incredibly expensive Tom Ford suit, but the tailoring was wrong. It bunched at his shoulders, making him look like a child playing dress-up in a dead man's clothes.

Cheryl followed closely behind him.

Her sharp red stiletto heels clicked aggressively against the marble floor. Her eyes locked onto Allison, filled with deep contempt and heavy suspicion.

Judd stopped a few feet away. He crossed his arms and let out a loud, arrogant laugh.

"You're wasting your time, Allison," Judd sneered. "You've already been permanently kicked out by the family trust committee. You have nothing."

Cheryl stepped forward. She wore a fake, sympathetic smile that made Allison's stomach churn.

Cheryl reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a piece of paper.

She held it out to Allison. It was a check for fifty thousand dollars.

"Take this, sweetie," Cheryl said, her tone dripping with poison. "Consider it charity. Go buy yourself something nice and leave the adults to run the business."

Allison didn't even look at the check.

She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a thick, folded document. It bore the heavy, raised steel seal of the New York City Hall.

She slammed the photocopy of her marriage certificate down onto the receptionist's marble desk.

The slap of the paper echoed loudly across the quiet lobby.

Judd's eyes darted to the document.

He read the names. He read the effective date stamped clearly at the top. It was dated this very morning.

The color instantly drained from Judd's face. His skin turned the color of old ash. He stumbled backward, his heel catching on the marble floor.

Cheryl snatched the document off the desk.

She held it close to her face. Her eyes darted back and forth across the page. She read it three times, desperately searching for any sign of forgery.

Allison took a step forward. Her voice rang out, loud and clear.

"According to the hidden clause in my father's will addendum," Allison recited perfectly from memory, "upon my legal marriage, fifty percent of the trust's liquid assets are immediately unlocked and placed under my direct control."

Wall Street executives and junior analysts walking through the lobby stopped in their tracks.

They turned their heads, openly watching this brutal display of corporate family warfare.

Judd clenched his fists. The veins in his neck bulged.

"You're lying!" Judd shouted, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You just found some homeless bum on the street and paid him to fake a marriage for the money!"

The heavy glass doors of the lobby pushed open again.

Martin Croft walked in. He carried a massive leather briefcase stuffed with asset division demands.

Martin walked straight to the marble desk.

"I assure you, Mr. Lee," Martin said, his voice carrying the heavy weight of legal authority. "According to the agreement, Mr. Elliot Dillard's comprehensive financial background check will be submitted to the trust committee within seventy-two hours of the marriage. We have absolute confidence he will exceed all standards. Right now, however, what you need to sign is the preliminary fund release agreement based strictly on the factual occurrence of the marriage."

Cheryl let out a sharp gasp of pure rage.

She gripped the fifty-thousand-dollar check in her hands and ripped it into tiny, jagged pieces. She threw the scraps onto the floor.

Allison stepped right into Judd's personal space.

"Sign the release forms," Allison demanded, her voice low and lethal. "Release my half of the liquid funds. Right now."

Judd backed away, sweating profusely.

"No," Judd stammered. "I need the legal department to run a full background check on this guy. It will take at least a month."

Allison didn't blink. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

"Fine," Allison said. "Then I will call the Securities and Exchange Commission right now. I will report the highly irregular fund transfers you attempted to make twenty minutes ago."

Cheryl's eyes widened in sheer panic.

She lunged forward and grabbed Judd's wrist. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into his skin. She shot him a terrifying look, silently ordering him to surrender before he ruined everything.

Judd swallowed hard. His chest heaved.

He humiliatingly reached out and took the Montblanc pen that Martin offered him.

His hand shook as he signed the fund release agreement. He pressed down so hard that the metal nib nearly tore straight through the thick paper.

Allison reached out and smoothly pulled the document out from under his hand.

She flicked the edge of the paper with her fingernail, knocking off an invisible speck of dust. She offered him a cold, victorious smile.

"This is just half the money, Judd," Allison warned, her eyes turning dark. "I am coming for absolute controlling power of this company. Count on it."

Judd glared at her back, his eyes burning with pure hatred. He swore under his breath that he would dig up every single dirty secret about her cheap new husband.

Allison turned on her heel and walked out of the building.

She stepped onto the sidewalk and took a deep breath of the freezing, liberating Manhattan air. Her lungs expanded with the taste of victory.

Suddenly, her phone started ringing violently in her hand.

She looked at the screen. It was her college roommate, Zoe.

Allison swiped to answer. Zoe's voice blasted through the speaker, screaming about a disgusting new problem involving Trevor. Allison's grip on the phone tightened, her momentary peace shattered.

Allison sat in the back of a yellow cab as it sped uptown.

The cab jerked to a stop outside the iron gates of Columbia University's Morningside Heights campus.

Allison paid the fare, shoved her wallet into her bag, and pushed the heavy car door open.

The moment her boots hit the pavement, she saw him.

Trevor, her ex-boyfriend, was leaning against the brick wall near the dormitory entrance. He was smoking a cigarette.

Trevor spotted her. He immediately dropped the cigarette onto the concrete and crushed it under his expensive sneaker.

He plastered a sickeningly deep, affectionate look onto his face and walked quickly toward her.

"Allie, baby," Trevor said, reaching his hand out.

He tried to grab her fingers.

Allison felt a wave of pure physical nausea hit her stomach. She twisted her torso sharply to the side, completely dodging his touch.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

Trevor let his hand fall, looking hurt. "Allie, please. What happened with Kenzie was a mistake. It was just a frat party. I was drunk. It meant nothing."

Allison let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

"A mistake?" Allison asked, her voice rising. "You paid for the room at The Plaza Hotel using my secondary credit card, Trevor. That's a very expensive mistake."

Trevor's face stiffened. The fake affection vanished, replaced by a defensive scowl.

"Well, maybe if you weren't so obsessed with your family's company, I wouldn't have looked elsewhere!" Trevor shot back, stepping closer to intimidate her. "You completely ignored my emotional needs!"

The sheer audacity of his victim-blaming made the blood roar in Allison's ears.

Her eyes turned as cold as the December wind.

She pulled her left hand out of her heavy wool coat pocket.

She held it up right in front of his face, extending her ring finger.

The plain platinum wedding band caught the dull afternoon sunlight.

Trevor stared at the ring. His brow furrowed.

"What is that?" Trevor scoffed. "Did you buy a prop ring to save face? You're pathetic."

Allison looked at him with absolute deadpan calm.

"I got legally married this morning," Allison announced. Her voice didn't shake. It was a statement of absolute fact.

Trevor threw his head back and laughed loudly.

"That is the most ridiculous lie I have ever heard in my life," Trevor mocked, wiping a fake tear from his eye.

The heavy wooden doors of the dormitory suddenly banged open.

Zoe stormed out.

She was holding a massive plastic cup of iced coffee with a double shot of espresso. The ice cubes rattled loudly as she marched down the steps.

Without breaking stride, Zoe swung her arm forward.

She aggressively hurled the entire cup of freezing coffee directly onto Trevor's limited-edition sneakers.

The dark brown liquid splashed violently over the white leather and soaked into his expensive socks.

Trevor let out a high-pitched scream. He jumped backward, frantically shaking his wet feet.

"Are you crazy?!" Trevor screamed at Zoe, his face turning purple with rage.

Zoe didn't back down. She turned to the growing crowd of students walking past the gates.

"Hey everyone!" Zoe yelled at the top of her lungs. "This guy is a cheating loser who uses his girlfriend's money to pay for his hotel rooms!"

Several business school students stopped in their tracks. They pointed at Trevor's ruined shoes and immediately pulled out their phones to record the scene.

Trevor's face burned with extreme humiliation. He looked around wildly at the cameras pointed at him.

He glared at Allison, his eyes full of venom.

"You are going to regret dumping me, Allison," Trevor threatened, his voice shaking with anger.

Allison didn't say a word. She calmly pulled out her phone and started dialing the campus security emergency number.

Trevor saw the numbers on her screen. He cursed loudly, turned around, and sprinted away down the sidewalk. His wet shoes made pathetic squeaking sounds with every step.

Zoe grabbed Allison's left arm.

She pulled Allison's hand up to her face, her eyes wide with shock as she inspected the very real, very heavy platinum band.

"Holy crap," Zoe whispered.

Allison pulled her hand back and swiped her student ID card at the door scanner. The light flashed green.

They walked into the lobby and stepped into the cramped, slow-moving elevator.

The doors slid shut, sealing them inside.

"Who is the poor bastard that agreed to this?" Zoe demanded, her eyes practically sparkling with gossip.

"He's just some guy in the finance sector," Allison said vaguely, staring at the floor numbers ticking upward. "My lawyer introduced us. It's strictly to solve my property inheritance issue."

The elevator dinged and stopped at their floor.

They stepped out and walked down the long hallway lined with ugly blue carpet.

Zoe suddenly changed the subject, her energy shifting rapidly.

"Oh my god, did you hear the news that blew up the department today?" Zoe asked, waving her hands excitedly.

"No," Allison said, her mind already drifting back to the corporate audit she needed to run tomorrow morning.

"We got a new Advanced Finance professor," Zoe gushed. "Everyone says he looks like a Hollywood actor, but he is completely ruthless. A total ice king."

Allison nodded absentmindedly. She didn't care about academic gossip.

"The crazy part is," Zoe emphasized, leaning in close, "his last name is Dillard. And someone saw a wedding ring on his finger today."

Allison's hand froze on the brass doorknob of their room.

The surname hit a very specific, very sensitive nerve in her brain.

Dillard.

Her husband's name was Elliot Dillard.

But she quickly pushed the thought away. Dillard was a common name in New York. She had personally reviewed Elliot's background files before signing the prenuptial agreement. His resume was a relentless timeline of investment banking, hedge funds, and private equity. There was absolutely zero mention of any academic experience. It was an unsettling coincidence, but she simply didn't have the time or the mental bandwidth right now to stress over a million-to-one statistical anomaly.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open, completely unaware of the trap she was walking into.

Allison pushed the dorm room door open.

Her other roommate, Claire, was sitting cross-legged on the cheap rug, typing furiously on her laptop.

Allison's desk was covered in glossy brochures and thick application packets for the London School of Economics.

Allison walked straight to her desk.

She didn't hesitate. She scooped up the entire pile of expensive, carefully prepared application materials and shoved them forcefully into the plastic trash can.

The heavy paper hit the bottom of the bin with a loud thud.

Claire's head snapped up. She pushed her thick black-rimmed glasses up her nose.

"Are you insane?" Claire asked, her eyes wide with shock. "You've been working on those for six months."

Allison pulled out her desk chair and sat down. Her posture was rigid.

"I'm not going to Europe for grad school," Allison announced. Her voice was terrifyingly calm.

Zoe closed the door behind them and leaned against it.

Allison looked at her two best friends. She gave them a highly sanitized, surface-level summary of her brutal confrontation with Judd at the company today. She left out the marriage, but she made it clear she was going to war.

Zoe walked over to the mini-fridge. She pulled out a freezing can of Diet Coke, popped the tab, and handed it to Allison.

"We are behind you one hundred percent for this Manhattan revenge tour," Zoe said fiercely.

Allison took a sip of the cold soda. The carbonation burned her throat.

She opened her laptop and logged into SSOL, Columbia's notoriously terrible course registration system.

The screen loaded slowly.

"I need to move all my classes to the early morning and late evening," Allison muttered, her fingers flying across the trackpad.

"Why?" Claire asked.

"Because I need my core daytime hours completely free to intern at the Lee Group's Wall Street headquarters," Allison explained. "I have to be inside the building to find the financial rot."

Claire slid across the rug and looked over Allison's shoulder at the glowing screen.

"Look," Claire pointed at a row of text. "The Advanced Finance Seminar has exactly one spot left."

Allison stared at the screen.

"That class is worth a massive amount of credits," Claire warned. "And it's basically the golden ticket into top-tier investment banks."

Allison's eyes moved to the instructor column.

It read, in cold, black pixels: E. Dillard.

Allison remembered the conversation in the hallway just three minutes ago.

"Hey, Zoe," Allison called out without looking away from the screen. "What is Professor Dillard's full first name?"

Zoe shrugged, tossing her jacket onto her bed.

"Nobody knows," Zoe said. "The university website only lists his first initial. They haven't even uploaded a faculty photo yet."

Allison chewed on her lower lip.

The coincidence was strange, but New York was full of elite men with the last name Dillard. It meant nothing.

She moved the cursor and aggressively clicked the 'Register' button. She claimed the final, highly coveted seat in the class.

Instantly, a bright red warning box popped up on the center of her screen.

WARNING: This course maintains a zero-tolerance attendance policy. One unexcused absence will result in an automatic failing grade.

Allison scoffed. She confidently clicked 'Accept'.

She firmly believed she had the perfect time management skills to balance a hostile corporate takeover and a demanding Ivy League schedule.

She closed the laptop with a sharp snap.

She walked over to her narrow closet and pulled the folding doors open. She needed armor for her first official day infiltrating the company.

She pulled out a sharp, impeccably tailored black Tom Ford suit. She hung it carefully on the back of her door.

Suddenly, her phone chimed.

She picked it up. It was an encrypted text message from an unknown number.

Remember the confidentiality clause in section four of our agreement.

The message was brutal in its brevity.

Allison knew immediately who it was. It was Elliot, her cold-blooded contract husband.

She typed back a single 'OK' emoji.

She saved his number in her contacts under the name Cold-blooded Partner.

Hours later, the dorm was pitch black.

Allison lay in her narrow twin bed. She stared at the ceiling. Her brain was hyperactive, refusing to shut down.

Images flashed behind her eyelids. The dense text of her father's will. The cold, sharp line of Elliot's jaw as he sat across from her at City Hall.

She tossed and turned, tangling her legs in the thin sheets.

At exactly 6:00 AM, her alarm went off. The shrill electronic beeping cut through the quiet room like a knife.

Allison sat up violently.

Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were wide open, burning with raw ambition and a desperate hunger to conquer the Wall Street battlefield.