As their celebration reached its peak, a deafening roar rolled in, shattering the yacht's revelry.

A helicopter bearing a golden "Zenith" emblem hovered oppressively above the vessel.

The downdraft sent people stumbling on the deck, champagne glasses smashing to the floor.

Everyone looked up, stunned, unsure what was happening.

The cabin door slid open, and a rope ladder dropped.

A man in a tailored black suit descended with commanding presence.

His steps were steady, his face stern, his gaze slicing through the crowd before locking onto me.

Alec and his team stood frozen by the sudden intrusion.

"Who are you? Who authorized you to approach my ship?" Alec instinctively shielded Rosalyn, his voice sharp with challenge.

The man ignored him.

He walked straight to me, stopping a step away.

He shed his expensive suit jacket and draped it gently, almost reverently, over my trembling shoulders.

"Miss," his voice was low and respectful, tinged with faint concern, "the chairman is worried about you. Let's go home."

Miss? Chairman?

The words stunned everyone present.

Alec's face twisted with shock. He glanced at the man, then at me, his eyes brimming with confusion. "Maeve? What's going on? Who is he?"

I didn't answer.

With the man's support, I slowly stood.

For seven years of marriage, I dimmed myself to protect Alec's fragile male pride, avoiding heels and luxury, living like an ordinary housewife.

But now, I stood tall, looking down at my husband for the first time.

I studied his face, etched with doubt and panic, and Rosalyn behind him, equally bewildered.

I said nothing.

I only curved my lips into a cold smile.

Then I turned to the man. "Andrew, let's go home."

"Yes, Miss." Andrew Roberts nodded slightly and guided me toward the ladder.

"Maeve! Where are you going? Explain yourself!" Alec snapped out of his daze, lunging forward, but two black-clad bodyguards appeared, blocking him.

He could only watch as Andrew escorted me onto the helicopter, a symbol of absolute power and wealth.

In the final second before the cabin door closed, I glanced back at the yacht.

I saw Alec's face, contorted with shock, anger, and loss of control.

I saw Rosalyn behind him, her expression a mix of panic and envy.

I saw the team members I once worked alongside, now staring at me like I was a monster.

I committed their faces to memory.

Then, under their collective gaze, the helicopter lifted off and vanished into the distance.

The next day, a piercing phone ring jolted Alec awake, his head throbbing from a hangover.

His business partner's panicked voice came through. "Alec! We're in trouble! Our biggest investor, Mavis Fund, just pulled all their money! Not a cent left!"

Alec's mind buzzed, the haze of alcohol clearing instantly.

Mavis Fund.

It backed his company from the start, an angel investor that appeared out of nowhere.

For seven years, no matter how lavish his filming plans, they always said, "Go for it, Director Johnson. Money's no issue."

He always believed his talent won them over.

Mavis… Maeve…

A chilling thought, one he never entertained, crept into his mind.

Before he could process it, another call came.

The finance director, voice trembling. "Mr. Johnson! All our bank accounts are frozen! They're saying… commercial fraud and unfair competition!"

"Impossible!" Alec roared.

Then a third call, a fourth, a fifth…

"Director, all our distribution channels canceled their contracts!"

"Director, a joint task force from the tax and commerce bureaus is downstairs!"

"Director, the overseas partners for Ocean's Dream sent a massive compensation demand!"

Each blow hit like a fist, leaving him dizzy and unsteady.

His proud company, his life's work, crumbled within an hour.

Panic gripped him like never before.

He frantically dialed my number.

"Sorry, the user you've called is unavailable."

The cold automated voice pushed him deeper into despair with each try.

He collapsed onto the couch, staring at the chaos around him, my icy, unfamiliar gaze from yesterday replaying in his mind.

Only then did he realize everything he relied on, all his pride and success, came from the wife he underestimated.

The wife he pushed into the deep sea.

Fear grew like wildfire in his heart.

He scrambled like a headless fly, tapping every contact to track me down, to uncover the meaning of the "Zenith" emblem and Andrew's origins.

But his so-called connections clammed up at the mention of "Zenith Corporation," hanging up with flimsy excuses.

Zenith Corporation.

The nation's top business empire, a colossus that could shift fortunes with a flick of its wrist.

And I, Maeve, was the only granddaughter of its founder, Braden Wallace, the hidden heir holding thirty percent of its shares.

This truth crashed down like mountains, crushing Alec's last shred of hope and dignity.

He realized I wasn't throwing a tantrum.

I was coming for his life.

He began messaging me frantically, his tone shifting from accusation and anger to panic and pleading. "Maeve, who are you? Why did you hide this from me? I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have forced you underwater. Please come back. Let's talk."

"Maeve, the company is my life's work. You can't destroy it! Seven years together—does that mean nothing to you?"

"I'm begging you, Maeve, answer my calls. I'll do anything if you come back!"

I stared at the flood of messages on my phone, expressionless, and blocked him.

Anything?

Too late.

The moment they pushed me into the sea, everything was already too late.

I sat in my office on the top floor of Zenith Corporation, a space sealed for seven years, reserved solely for me.

Beyond the vast floor-to-ceiling windows, half the city sparkled.

Andrew stood beside me, handing me a document.

"Miss, Alec Johnson's company has entered bankruptcy proceedings. All his assets, including properties and vehicles, will be frozen and auctioned to settle debts. Additionally, his biggest competitor, Oceanic Visions, has accepted our acquisition offer. Tomorrow at ten, we'll hold a press conference to announce this."

I flipped through the file, my fingers tapping lightly on the words "Oceanic Visions."

"I'll attend the press conference myself," I said evenly.

A flicker of surprise crossed Andrew's eyes, but he quickly grasped my intent.

He nodded slightly. "Understood. I'll make the arrangements."

He hesitated, concern in his voice. "Miss, your health… The doctor said you need rest. This event…"

"I'm fine." I cut him off, my tone unwavering. "I have to be the star of this show."

I wanted Alec, Rosalyn, and everyone who hurt me to watch.

Watch me grind them into the dust, step by step.

...

The press conference announcement hit the industry like a bombshell.

Zenith Corporation's high-profile acquisition of Oceanic Visions, with the group's heir stepping in as the new CEO, made headlines.

This news was the final straw, plunging Alec, already drowning in debt and desperation, into complete ruin.

He knew this was my final judgment.

On the day of the press conference, the venue overflowed with people, camera flashes lighting up the room like daylight.

Alec, somehow, slipped into the crowd of reporters, lurking in the back row.

He wore a crumpled suit, hair disheveled, eyes sunken, unshaven, a shadow of the "genius director," now resembling a desperate gambler facing his end.

His gaze locked onto the empty chair on the stage, marked with a nameplate reading "CEO Maeve Wallace."

Perhaps he clung to a final shred of hope.

Hope that I'd soften, that I'd spare him for old times' sake.

At exactly ten o'clock, amid the host's spirited introduction, I emerged from backstage.

I wore a sharp silver-gray suit, hair pinned up, makeup precise and commanding, my heels clicking with each step, as if treading on everyone's pulse.

My presence was cold and formidable.

I was nothing like the docile, quiet, invisible "Mrs. Johnson" who once trailed behind him.

The room fell silent.

The stark contrast left everyone speechless.

I felt, from the back of the crowd, a gaze heavy with disbelief, regret, and utter despair, piercing my back like thorns.

I didn't look back.

I walked to the center of the stage, sat, and adjusted the microphone.

My eyes swept calmly over the stunned faces below.

For a fleeting second, I met Alec's gaze across the distance.

His body swayed, barely able to stand.

I looked away, offering the hundreds of media outlets a formal smile.

"Good morning. I'm Maeve Wallace."