Annabelle had always been one of Patrick Jordan's admirers—unfortunately for her, she had never managed to win his heart. To Patrick, she was simply a capable employee whose value he could exploit. Annabelle dressed for attention as often as she dressed for the office, favoring blouses so fitted that the buttons looked ready to give. She was sharp and competent at work, but hopelessly naive when it came to men.

Patrick clearly preferred the Charley Jenkins type—and later, Elina Taylor—women who fit the modest, understated mold he liked. Annabelle's blatant seduction attempts, complete with those overworked shirt buttons, only made her less appealing in his eyes.

Of course, Noelle Kelley wasn't exactly in a position to judge Annabelle's lack of self-awareness. Even though she understood Patrick's preferences perfectly, she'd never been able to capture his attention either. Patrick's disdain for her wasn't something she could just charm away with a few kind gestures.

Standing with her back ramrod straight and a dismissive look on her face, Annabelle said to Noelle, "Mr. Jordan is busy. He's not seeing anyone right now."

Annabelle had joined the Jordan Group straight out of college and quickly climbed her way into Patrick's favor. From the moment she started working for him, she'd been well aware of Noelle Kelley—the pampered heiress supposedly head-over-heels for Patrick. Noelle, a student at a top university, never took her studies seriously. She'd skip class to show up at Patrick's office, just to gawk at the handsome executive. She'd pressured him into marriage, then dropped out entirely to become a full-time housewife.

To Annabelle, a devoted career woman, being a housewife was the ultimate cop-out. All that talk about doing it for the family or the kids? Excuses. Pure laziness. Despite Noelle's money and background, Annabelle saw her as nothing more than a frivolous homemaker. Noelle had supposedly wasted her days on dusting and on remembering whether Patrick liked his steak medium-rare or well-done. Annabelle dismissed that as pointless domestic fussing. Did she really think a woman's worth could be measured by how well she cooked a steak? Noelle might never have run a kitchen, but that hardly made her less capable than a Michelin-starred chef.

Annabelle thought Noelle was just a pretty face, riding on her youth and looks. No wonder Patrick wasn't interested.

Adjusting her sunglasses, Noelle shot Annabelle a wide smile. She hadn't seen her in a while. But Annabelle's reign wouldn't last—soon, Elina Taylor would swoop in and take her spot as Patrick's favorite assistant. Facing someone like Annabelle, who was only tough on the surface, Noelle stepped forward. She was done being pushed around. "Patrick may not like me," she said coolly, "but he still has to treat me with respect. You don't have the authority to stop me, Annabelle."

In the old days, Noelle would've been terrified of Annabelle because of her close ties to Patrick. She'd worried that ticking off Annabelle would only make Patrick despise her more. As a result, even Patrick's other secretaries had felt bold enough to disrespect Noelle. Annabelle's sneers mirrored Noelle's own regret—the regret of throwing away good opportunities for a love that was never reciprocated.

Caught off guard by Noelle's sudden assertiveness, Annabelle frowned. Who did Noelle think she was? Just because Patrick married her, she thought she was queen of the Jordan Group? Dream on.

Annabelle's voice turned stern. "I only answer to Mr. Jordan. If you want, you can try your luck with the security guards upstairs."

She was confident Patrick would never scold her for blocking his wife. Noelle meant nothing to him.

Noelle raised an eyebrow.

Was that a threat? Too bad for Annabelle—Noelle was over Patrick. His little minions didn't scare her anymore.

"Annabelle," Noelle said slyly, stepping closer, "you might stop a wife from seeing her husband. But let me ask you something." Her tone was light, almost playful. "I've heard that executive-level secretaries here are supposed to have a graduate degree. Is it true that you bought your MBA certificate, Annabelle?"

Annabelle's face went white. Her skin prickled with panic.

How... how did she know?

She'd never told anyone. Not even her parents, who were still back home bragging about their daughter's fancy degree. How had Noelle—the woman she'd always pegged as naive—stumbled onto a secret like this?

At a university recruitment fair, Annabelle had been hooked on Patrick at first sight. She'd spent heavily to obtain the credentials she needed, making sure she could land a position close to him. She'd worked her ass off to become head secretary. And if Patrick ever found out her credentials were fake... would he ever forgive her?

Annabelle couldn't afford that risk.

Her voice shook with fury and humiliation. "Have you been investigating me?"

"Aha," Noelle smiled. "So it's true."

She remembered how, when Elina eventually ousted Annabelle, rumors had floated around that Elina had uncovered evidence of Annabelle's fake credentials. But hardly anyone believed it. Annabelle's work performance was solid—matched her supposed education perfectly. Who would suspect the head secretary of such a glaring vulnerability?

After years of juggling work and study, anyone should have been able to earn a legitimate degree. Why risk everything on a fake one?

But Noelle believed it.

Annabelle's packed schedule left zero room for part-time classes. Lucky for Noelle, her guess had been spot-on.

"..." Annabelle realized, too late, that she'd been outsmarted by the woman she'd considered a fool.

"Move!" Noelle shoved Annabelle aside, her voice ice-cold. "If you block me again, I'll tell Patrick about your fake degree. But if you cooperate with me? Maybe I'll let it slide."

A threat? Two could play that game.

Annabelle clenched her fists, but she couldn't stop Noelle as she marched toward Patrick's office.

Just before entering, Noelle turned back and winked at Annabelle, tossing out a piece of advice. "Annabelle, when you have time, go earn that graduate certificate. Just because I won't expose you doesn't mean someone else won't. Patrick will only ever see you as a workhorse. Stop building your life around men. Investing in yourself is the real answer."

Those words were as much for herself as they were for Annabelle.

Not that Annabelle saw it that way. To her, it was just another threat.

Back at her desk, Annabelle buried herself in work. She couldn't let her guard down—the second she did, the junior secretaries would snatch her position. She had to find a way to make sure Noelle kept her secret. Did that mean she had to obey Noelle's every order? Annabelle wasn't buying it.

*

Patrick heard the door open and assumed it was his secretary. "Just leave the signed documents on my desk."

"It's me."

Patrick looked up from his work, his gaze landing on Noelle with obvious disapproval. "Who let you in?"

His distaste was written all over his face. He was about to dismiss her when Noelle spoke up.

“Noelle Kelley,” she announced with a playful grin, already letting herself in. She glided around the massive desk and settled into the chair across from him, radiating a careless confidence. Her blouse cinched in at her waist, showing off every curve. With an easy air, she crossed her legs. “I asked you to meet me at the courthouse at ten for the divorce. Where were you?”

Patrick Jordan looked up, caught off guard. Was this really the wife he always ignored at home? The woman before him carried herself with the poise of a true heiress. She wasn't speaking to him like the husband she once worshipped; she was speaking to him like a junior employee who had failed her.

Patrick felt the shift. Gone was the timid, whiny woman he remembered. She was as radiant as the day he’d first met her—the kind of woman who could light up a room and keep it.

A shame, really, how her pathetic infatuation and spinelessness had turned her into someone he’d be embarrassed to take anywhere. But this Noelle? She seemed almost unreal, like a mirage.

Patrick rubbed his temples, weary. “Noelle, I don’t have time for this charade.”

“Who’s playing games?” Noelle asked, dead serious.

She was starting to wonder if Patrick had even read the divorce agreement she’d slipped across his desk, or if he’d simply tossed it aside.

No doubt, Patrick was sharp—he’d turned the Jordan Group’s fortunes around. He could repay the Kelley family’s billion-dollar loan if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to part with that cash flow. Smart money made more money.

So Noelle had suggested they divorce first, settle the finances later. She’d laid it all out plainly, making the agreement impossible to misunderstand.

When she finished, Patrick’s eyes went dark, cold and mocking. He couldn’t believe she actually wanted a divorce. This was some attention scheme—a way to make him look at her. A pampered heiress like her, waiting at the courthouse all morning? Please. This was just her newest act. Still, he had to admit—she’d upped the stakes this time. At least she’d produced an actual divorce agreement, dripping with fake sincerity.

Divorce... An inexplicable irritation itched at Patrick. Maybe it was the mountain of work on his desk. Or maybe it was Noelle being a nuisance, wasting his time. Either way, he shoved all his frustration onto her. “Do you see this desk? Do I look like I have time for your little games?”

“Games?” Noelle shot back with a cold laugh. “You’re the one who’s been playing me from day one.”

Patrick didn’t have a comeback.

“You used the Kelleys’ money to shut me out of your life. You took our investment to save your precious company, then blew the profits on Charley Jenkins, playing the big shot.” Her voice rose with every word. “Why didn’t I see sooner what a scumbag you were? Pay back that money, Mr. Jordan—and fast! Even if I threw a billion dollars at a gigolo, at least I’d get some happiness out of it.”

Patrick’s face burned crimson.

Elina Taylor—Patrick’s newly hired assistant—caught the entire scene while gathering files from the table, and a grudging respect for Noelle took root. The office gossip always said Noelle wasn’t good enough for Patrick. From where Elina stood, it looked like Patrick was the one who should be ashamed.

Watching the man she’d once revered like a god go silent gave Noelle no satisfaction. Instead, a heavy weight settled in her chest.

She’d been given a second chance at life, and she’d decided to let go of her first love. But that didn’t mean she could erase the scars on her heart. Letting go felt like slicing out a piece of her own soul—and only she knew how deep that wound went.

What Patrick had done to the Kelley family was just the tip of the iceberg compared to what he’d put her through. The memories came flooding back—every betrayal, every heartbreak. Noelle didn’t want to waste another second on Patrick, or the past.

“You still have time to reach the courthouse before the clerk's office closes,” she said, her voice steady.

Patrick’s face clouded over again. “No time.”

Usually, no matter what scheme Noelle cooked up, she’d cave eventually. The once-adored heiress was firmly under his thumb. The minute he stopped giving her attention, she ought to have known better than to push her luck. But this time, Noelle seemed dead set on seeing it through.

She pressed on. “I don’t care how busy you are. If you’re not at that courthouse this afternoon, the Kelley family’s debt starts accruing interest from today.”

Patrick scoffed. What else did she have besides money? This was all noise. She had no real intention of leaving him.

He shot back, a threat laced through his words. “Noelle, let me be clear: you’ll only see the Jordan Group strapped for cash once in your lifetime. I truly don’t have time for you. Keep pushing, and I’ll clear my schedule to finalize the divorce—and then there’ll be no one left for you to cry to.”

Noelle straightened her spine, resolute. If anyone was going to draw a line, it was her. She wouldn’t break down over him—she’d light up fireworks instead.

“You’re a grown man. Can’t you just be straight about the divorce? Or can’t the Jordan Group pay its debts?” Noelle demanded.

The shock in Patrick’s eyes was unmistakable, even as he tried to mask it. Had she lost her mind, challenging him head-on? He searched her face for any sign of regret—and found none.

Patrick, who had always held the upper hand, was suddenly off balance. “Who’s dragging their feet? You’re the one clinging to the title of Mrs. Jordan.”

Noelle rolled her eyes. She’d heard that line a thousand times.

Without missing a beat, she stood. “Got it—that title means nothing for you, it’s all about Charley Jenkins, right? Keep it. I’ll see you at the courthouse Monday afternoon.”

Patrick’s brow furrowed, annoyed. “I’m busy Monday.”

“Then next Monday afternoon,” Noelle offered, giving her final inch.

She knew there was a Jordan family event next Monday night. He’d magically find the time by then.

Last time, she’d watched Charley cling to Patrick’s arm at that same event—and it had cut her to the bone.

Patrick watched her with amusement, wondering how long she could genuinely keep this up. “Fine. Next Monday afternoon,” he agreed, a flicker of curiosity in his voice.

Noelle walked out with purpose. Her blouse and sleek high-waisted trousers made her legs look a mile long. Her red stilettos only added to her commanding presence—she could easily outshine any businesswoman in the room. Jordan Group employees couldn’t help but stare as she swept past.

Patrick was no exception. Later that night, his desk was still piled with untouched paperwork, his day utterly shot.

Patrick Jordan glanced at his phone, barely masking his indifference. Charley Jenkins had pinged him with a dinner invite on messaging app, but he couldn’t muster a single ounce of enthusiasm. His mind was still tangled up in the mess Noelle Kelley had made earlier at the office. If he didn’t come home tonight, who knew what she'd pull next? He told himself it was safer to just go home—keep the peace, keep control.

He’d barely settled into the backseat and told his driver to head home when Charley’s video call flickered through.

"Patrick, are you busy? Did you miss my message earlier?" Her voice dripped with that familiar, coaxing warmth that had carved out a soft spot in his heart years ago—thanks to some childhood memory he could never shake. He'd never been able to say no to her. Never wanted to let her down.

"Hmm," he answered, noncommittal.

Before she could push further, he cut in, "Charley, I’ve got a meeting tonight, and I’m already running late. Make sure you rest after work."

"Okay," she replied with a tight smile, failing to hide the disappointment creeping into her face. She hadn’t gotten a reply to her earlier text, so she’d decided to call a few of Patrick’s contacts to find out if he had dinner plans. Every single one had said no.

Now her mind was spiraling. Was Patrick dining with strangers? Or worse—was he heading home to Noelle? She couldn’t focus on the shoot. Feigning illness through her assistant to the director, she set out to stake out the area near Patrick’s villa.

Her assistant, already worn thin, was less than thrilled. The job was brutal enough—and playing babysitter to Charley’s mood swings, doing her laundry, running her errands, was all part of the gig. She hated meddling in other people’s family affairs, but as an assistant, she didn’t exactly have a choice. So she swallowed every complaint.

Patrick walked into a dark, silent living room. Where was everyone? No matter how late it got, Noelle always waited for him in that room—sometimes even asleep at the table, and he’d be the one to gently wake her and guide her upstairs.

He shrugged off his jacket, hung it by the entrance, and announced himself to the empty house. "I’m back." Silence.

A moment later, Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, hurried in from another room, startled. "Mr. Jordan—you’re home tonight?"

Clearly, everyone had assumed he wasn’t coming back. So much so that no one had even bothered to wait up for him. He asked about Noelle.

"She mentioned she talked with you, said she was going to her parents’ house," Mrs. Smith replied, looking confused.

Patrick frowned. Left? Was she actually serious about the divorce?

He pictured the halls without her presence—empty, silent, no trace of her. The thought stirred an unexpected irritation in his chest. He dialed her number immediately.

Meanwhile, Charley’s car sat parked in the shadows nearby, her hopes pinned on the chance that Patrick had just popped home to change. She gripped the wheel, watching the villa like a hawk. If he’d gone inside, he wasn’t coming back out.

Noelle, meanwhile, had made it back to her family’s house, heart hammering in her chest. Facing them again filled her with dread—and shame over the wreckage of her past choices, when she’d kept going to her grandfather for money to prop up Patrick, a man who’d ultimately swallowed the Kelley family’s assets whole.

She wanted to see her family, but she was also relieved to find that the elders were all away on business. A small mercy.

Living a second time around, Noelle was painfully aware of how the world had shifted. Women were increasingly standing on their own—valuing their beauty, their wealth, and most of all, their own capability over romantic fantasies. The Kelley family looked solid on the surface, but they were always under threat—from betrayal within, pressure from without.

This time, Noelle was determined to fortify herself, to shield her family. She picked up a real estate proposal left on the table—the "Majestic Estate" project. She remembered it well: a villa development in a small town, modest in scale. Her grandfather had originally meant it as a training ground for her, but she’d been too caught up in chasing love to pay it any mind. The project had fallen into the hands of distant relatives—and later became a total mess.

"Noelle’s home!" Her grandfather, Walter Kelley, burst in with a delighted shout, returning from his trip earlier than expected. Overwhelmed, Noelle threw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face—tears of regret for all her past mistakes.

In her previous life, she hadn’t been there during his final days. She’d been too tangled up in arguments with Patrick, her phone switched off for days, unreachable.

Walter patted his beloved granddaughter, sensing her distress. "What’s happened, Noelle? Did that boy Patrick bully you again? Grandpa will handle him."

Noelle shook her head, reassuring him. "He won’t bother me anymore."

Her phone buzzed with an unknown number. She ignored it, and announced instead, "I’m divorcing Patrick. The Jordan Group will pay back every cent they borrowed. The Kelley family won’t lose a dime."

Walter sighed, his expression heavy with concern. "How can you call that no loss? My precious granddaughter..." Her first marriage was over before it had truly begun.

Then he reconciled himself. "Better to leave an unhappy marriage. Grandpa will take care of you, always."

Noelle managed a smile, her eyes steady. "I’m going to grow fast, Grandpa. I promise. You’ll have a peaceful retirement."

Walter patted her head lovingly. "Seeing you happy every day is peace enough for me."

Noelle lifted the project proposal from the table. "Grandpa, can I take on this project?"

"Of course—it was always meant for you," Walter said, then instructed his secretary, "Announce tomorrow that Noelle will lead the 'Majestic Estate' project."

He walked her through the project’s core challenges, stressing, "Understand the relocation policies inside and out. Learn from the experienced staff tomorrow."

"Got it!" Noelle nodded.

Her phone buzzed again—this time, it genuinely annoyed her.

Walter glanced at the screen. "Who is it?"

"Just spam!" Noelle dismissed, blocking the number on the spot.

But learning from the company’s veterans wasn’t as easy as it sounded. They were friendly on the surface, yet kept her at arm’s length.

The executives were busy analyzing the situation, careful not to pick a side too soon or offend the wrong people. Nobody was sure if Noelle genuinely wanted to reclaim her place in the Kelley family, or if her sudden return was just a little spat with Patrick that would blow over in a few days.

If it was the latter, and Noelle bailed halfway, leaving the project to her relatives—well, anyone who’d coached her would be digging their own grave. So the seasoned executives offered her nothing of substance.

Damir Palmer caught wind through his inside source that Walter planned to hand the "Majestic Estate" project to Noelle. He couldn’t just sit back and let that happen. He’d already pocketed half the relocation fees. Shifting the project to her could put his embezzlement front and center. He soothed himself with the thought that Noelle—who’d always put romance before responsibility—would be clueless about the project’s inner workings.

When he reached the office and saw her, he faked surprise.

"Well, if it isn’t Noelle! What brings you here?" Damir exclaimed, still trying to play her for the naive girl she’d once been.

But Noelle was ready. She’d organized the project files into clearly color-coded sections for easy reference, and now she confronted him calmly.

"Damir, I have a few questions. First—why hasn’t the project, scheduled to start this month, shown any progress? Second—why hasn’t the relocation work, which began last year, moved forward at all? Third—how is it that more than half the relocation budget has been spent with zero results? Where’s the money?"

With each question, Damir's smile faded. He had underestimated her.