From the Peninsula Hotel's suite, floor-to-ceiling windows framed Harbor City's glittering nightscape.

I swirled my wine, watching headlights snake far below. In my past life, I'd been a prisoner of the Sanchez family's kitchen and laundry room. Even lifting my head to see the sky had been a luxury.

My phone vibrated relentlessly on the table.

Transaction Declined.

Transaction Declined.

The notifications kept coming. Henry was ruthless—we'd barely signed the divorce papers, and he'd already cut off every supplementary card.

He expected me to starve. To lose my roof and crawl back in tears, begging forgiveness.

Unfortunately, he'd severely underestimated me. I was no longer the fragile vine that needed a man to survive.

I opened my laptop and logged into a discreet asset platform. One by one, I listed the "garbage" properties I'd quietly acquired under my own name over the years—assets Henry had turned his nose up at.

Within thirty minutes, everything liquidated.

My balance swelled by five million dollars. To Sanchez Group, pocket change. To me? Ammunition. Startup capital.

I ordered a lavish seafood spread from room service. Just as I tucked into a lobster tail, my phone rang.

Henry's assistant. His tone dripped with borrowed arrogance.

"Miss Pruitt, Mr. Sanchez has a proposition. Return immediately and kneel to apologize to Miss Harding, and he's willing to negotiate."

A pause for effect. "The previous twenty thousand in child support can be raised to thirty. Furthermore, he'll let you stay in the servant's quarters—so you won't have to sleep on the street."

I laughed, nearly choking on my wine.

"Tell Henry to keep his spare change," I said coolly. "He'll need it for his own coffin."

I moved to hang up, then added, "Oh—and tell him to watch the morning news. Hope his heart can handle it."

I ended the call and blocked the number.

Early next morning, Harbor City's landscape shifted irrevocably.

A government announcement dropped like a bomb.

Breaking: City Planning Department officially designates West City wasteland as the new CBD core!

Hundred-billion-dollar development launched! West City wasteland to become Harbor City's future landmark!

The city went into a frenzy. Meanwhile, the land deed for that exact core area sat quietly in my handbag.

I sipped my coffee, watching the live broadcast.

Moments later, the compensation plan was released. Because the location was the absolute heart of the new zone, combined with policy incentives, the payout was astronomical.

Two billion dollars in cash.

Plus ownership of ten Grade-A office buildings upon completion.

A fortune had literally fallen into my lap.

I opened my calculator app. Two billion cash. Annual rent from ten skyscrapers—at least another billion yearly. The mighty Sanchez Group that Henry was so proud of barely scraped that much in annual profit.

My phone buzzed again.

Not a decline this time. Victory.

Your account ending in 8888 has received $2,000,000,000.00.

I stared at the string of zeros. No giddiness. Just cold, refreshing clarity.

At the same time, in Sanchez Group's CEO office—

Crash!

A priceless antique vase exploded against the wall.

Henry stood panting, eyes bloodshot, glaring at the television.

"That was a wasteland!" he roared. "How could it possibly become the CBD?"

The composed, icy CEO was gone. He paced like a caged animal, stride growing frantic. The debris scattered across the floor mirrored his shattering sanity perfectly.

Henry had thrown that land at me like scraps to a stray dog—pure humiliation.

Now? It was a goldmine worth billions.

Amelia sat frozen on the sofa, her face bloodless. Her manicured nails dug into her palms hard enough to draw blood. She hadn't expected my luck to be this monstrous.

"Henry, Anna knew!" she shrieked. "She refused to divorce just for this land! That bitch played us!"

Tears streamed down her face—a well-rehearsed performance. It worked. Henry's temper exploded.

"I knew she wouldn't leave easily! She dug the pit and waited for me to jump!" He snatched the phone from the table, hands shaking. "I'm going to kill her!"

He dialed. This time, I answered.

"Anna Pruitt! You fraud! That land belongs to the Sanchez family!" His roar nearly blew out my speaker. "Return the deed now! Or I'll make sure you never show your face in Harbor City again!"

I held the phone away from my ear, unbothered. I was sitting in an upscale salon, studying my reflection. The long, heavy locks were gone—replaced by a sharp bob that framed my jaw like a blade.

The timid stand-in was dead.

"Mr. Sanchez, the divorce agreement is signed in black and white," I said coolly. "Property division is final. If your memory's failing due to early-onset dementia, I can burn you a copy—like an offering to the dead."

He was hyperventilating now.

"Anna Pruitt! That's two billion! You think you can swallow that without choking?!"

I laughed softly, smoothing a stray hair into place.

"Mr. Sanchez, thank you for your generosity. Consider it a service fee for your... performance these past three years. Though frankly, your skills in bed were mediocre at best." I paused. "But I'm not short on cash. Consider it a generous tip."

I hung up and blocked his number again.

The woman in the mirror smiled back—radiant and dangerous.

Henry Sanchez, this is only the beginning.

The real show hasn't even started.

With two billion in my account, I moved fast.

Pruitt Capital was born overnight. The name was a declaration of war—I wanted all of Harbor City to know the Pruitt bloodline wasn't extinct.

My first target: the Deep Bay project.

The Sanchez Group was fighting tooth and nail for it. Their lifeline for the fiscal year. Henry had already leveraged half his fortune greasing palms to secure the deal. If he lost this, the Sanchez family's capital chain would snap clean in half.

Night fell, and with it came a lavish gala where Harbor City's elite gathered to preen. Rumor had it Henry was bringing Amelia to announce his victory with Deep Bay.

I couldn't miss the chance to offer my congratulations.

I donned custom haute couture—crimson red, deep-V, completely backless. Around my neck hung a pink diamond worth eighty million, fresh from the auction block.

My outfit alone cost more than Sanchez Group's profits for the last six months.

At the entrance, I spotted them. Sycophants swarmed Henry and Amelia like flies. She wore pure white, playing the innocent saint to perfection. Henry looked haggard, barely holding his composure as he forced smiles for the cameras.

"Henry, surely Deep Bay is yours?" a guest simpered.

"Naturally," another chimed in. "Who in Harbor City dares compete with Mr. Sanchez?"

The bootlicking was deafening. Amelia clung to Henry's arm, gazing up at him adoringly.

"My, isn't this lively?"

I pushed the heavy doors open. My stilettos struck marble—sharp, rhythmic.

The chatter died. Every eye locked onto me.

Whispers rippled through the banquet hall as I made my entrance.

"Who is that? Since when does Harbor City have someone like her?"

"My God, is that Anna Pruitt? The stand-in?"

"Impossible. Her entire aura has changed."

I ignored the noise, gaze fixed ahead as I cut through the crowd.

Henry spotted me instantly. His pupils constricted, stunned amazement curdling into rage.

"Anna Pruitt." He stepped into my path. "What are you doing here? This isn't a place for someone like you." His voice rose. "Security! Since when do we let trash through the front door?"

Amelia was quick to join. She covered her mouth in feigned shock. "Annie? Did you blow through your demolition money already? Here hunting for a new... sponsor?"

Sugary tone. Venomous implication: I was here to sell myself.

Low chuckles rippled through the crowd.

Before I could retort, a strong arm circled my waist, pulling me against a firm chest.

"Ms. Pruitt is my distinguished guest." The deep voice silenced the room. "Do you have an objection, Mr. Sanchez?"

I turned and found myself drowning in eyes as dark as the ocean.

Caleb Delgado.

The apex predator of Harbor City. The man at the very tip of the pyramid. Henry's mortal enemy. And, as I'd learned too late in my past life, the silent benefactor who'd protected me from the shadows until the bitter end.

Henry's face drained of color. In this circle, wealth was power, and no one dared disrespect Caleb Delgado.

"Mr. Delgado," he stammered. "Why... why are you here?"

Caleb didn't spare him a glance. He lowered his head, his cold gaze softening as it settled on me. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

My heart skipped. Good actor, I thought. But I know an opportunity when I see one. If the most powerful man in the city was offering his arm, I wasn't letting go.

I leaned into him, hooking my arm through his as I arched a brow at Henry.

"Mr. Sanchez was just asking why I'm here." A cold smile played on my lips. "Nothing major. I came to notify you that I've signed the Deep Bay project."

The blood left Henry's face completely. His Adam's apple bobbed, but no words came.

"Impossible!" he finally shrieked. "I already discussed that with Aiden Lambert!"

I reached into my handbag and produced a contract copy, waving it before his eyes.

"My offer was thirty percent higher, paid in full." My voice was crisp. "Aiden Lambert knows which side to choose."

The hall erupted.

Paid in full. Tens of billions in liquid assets.

The crowd's gaze shifted. Mockery vanished, replaced by shock and awe.

Henry stared at the contract, eyes bloodshot. That project was his lifeline—and I'd snatched it without breaking a sweat.

Sensing the shift, Amelia grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing waiter and sashayed toward me.

"Annie is really amazing." Her voice trembled. "Let me toast to your success."

As she reached me, she stumbled—deliberate, calculated. The glass tilted, dark red liquid flying toward my chest.

The same old trick. She'd used it countless times to humiliate me while playing the clumsy innocent.

But I was no longer the Anna Pruitt who stood still and took it.

I sidestepped with practiced ease. As the wine hit the floor, I drove my heel into her knee.

"Ah!"

Amelia shrieked and dropped. Glass shattered. The wine she'd meant for me splashed across her pristine white dress.

She looked like a disaster.

"Oh my, Amy." I looked down with mock concern. "How careless. There's no need to kneel—I really can't accept such a grand gesture of submission."

Henry saw red. He rushed forward, hands raised. "Anna Pruitt! You did that on purpose!"

Before he could touch me, Caleb stepped forward, blocking his path like an immovable wall.