Vance stared at the table, his face turning a shade of purple that clashed with his tie. He reached out to pull the pen free, but the nib was buried deep in the grain.

"You are making a mistake," Vance hissed. "Arthur is gone. The family won't support you. This is your only lifeboat."

Gloria walked back to the table. She grabbed the document, tearing it free from the pen with a violent rip.

She held the paper up to the light.

"Clause 14," she read aloud. "Alimony capped at fifty thousand dollars. Total release of all marital claims."

She looked at Vance. "My dry cleaning bill is fifty thousand dollars."

It was a lie, but a necessary one. She needed to be the greedy, high-maintenance wife he expected, but with a twist.

"You have debts, Gloria," Vance said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We know about the casinos. We know about the sharks. The men who don't ask twice for their money. You need this cash today."

Her stomach twisted. He was right. The sharks were real, and they broke legs.

But fifty thousand wouldn't save her legs. It would just prolong the agony.

She glanced up at the smoke detector in the corner of the room. A tiny red light blinked rhythmically.

In the novel, it was revealed later that Arthur Sterling had surveillance in every room of his empire. Even from the grave-or wherever he was hiding-he was watching.

She had an audience.

"My husband isn't dead," Gloria announced. She made sure her voice carried to the microphone she knew was hidden in the ceiling.

Vance rolled his eyes. "The search was called off yesterday."

"Arthur Sterling doesn't die in a snowstorm," Gloria said. "And I am not a beggar."

She took the torn contract in both hands.

Riiip.

The sound was satisfying. She tore the thick paper in half again. And again.

Jones watched, mesmerized. He had never seen anyone destroy a legal document with such precision.

Gloria gathered the pieces in her hand. She walked around the table until she was standing right in front of Vance.

He looked up at her, fear flickering in his watery eyes.

She threw the confetti into his face.

The paper scraps fluttered down, landing on his shoulders, his hair, and floating into his water glass.

"Get out," she said.

"This is my office!" Vance shouted.

"This is a Sterling building," Gloria corrected him. "And last I checked, my name is on the marriage license."

She turned away from him and walked toward Jones.

The boy flinched as she approached. He pressed his back against the leather chair, bracing for impact.

Gloria stopped inches from him. She could smell the faint scent of fear on him, mixed with teenage deodorant. His tie was crooked, the knot pulled too tight to the left.

She reached out.

Jones squeezed his eyes shut.

Gloria's fingers brushed his collar. She undid the knot deftly and retied it, smoothing the silk fabric down his chest.

"Open your eyes," she commanded softly.

Jones opened them. They were grey, just like his father's.

"We are Sterlings," she whispered, low enough that Vance couldn't hear. "We don't get scammed by men in cheap suits."

Jones stared at her, searching for the lie. He was looking for the angle, the trick. But Gloria's face was unreadable.

"Security!" Vance was yelling into the intercom now. "Send security to Conference Room B!"

Gloria checked her manicure. The red polish was chipped on her thumb. She would have to fix that.

"I suggest you don't do that," she said to Vance without looking at him.

"You are trespassing!"

"I am waiting for my husband," she said.

Vance scoffed. "He's not coming through that door, Gloria."

Ding.

The elevator bell in the hallway chimed. It was a soft, melodious sound that cut through the tension like a knife.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble floor outside. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Gloria's heart hammered against her ribs. She knew that walk. She knew the timing.

In the book, Arthur walked in five minutes after Gloria signed the papers. He found his wife celebrating her payout and his son crying in the corner. That was the moment he decided to divorce her and destroy her.

But she hadn't signed.

She sat down in the chair next to Jones, crossing her legs at the ankle. She forced her spine to be straight.

The door handle turned slowly.

Vance let out a sigh of relief. "Finally. Security."

Gloria gripped the armrest.

"Not quite," she murmured.

The heavy oak door swung open with a groan of hinges that hadn't been oiled in years.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees instantly.

Arthur Sterling stood in the doorway.

He was alive.

He was taller than Gloria remembered from the character descriptions. He wore a charcoal grey suit that fit him like a second skin, tailored to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. His face was gaunt, unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and high altitudes. He leaned against the doorframe for a fraction of a second, a subtle shift of weight that betrayed a profound exhaustion before he straightened, his posture once again immaculate.

But his eyes were sharp. Terrifyingly sharp.

Vance turned pale. His mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled onto a dock.

"Mr... Mr. Sterling?" Vance squeaked.

Arthur didn't look at the lawyer. His gaze swept the room, taking in the scene with the efficiency of a crime scene investigator.

He looked at the confetti of paper covering Vance's lap.

He looked at the Montblanc pen still standing erect in the center of the table.

Then, his cold gaze shifted to Gloria.

Gloria suppressed the urge to tremble. The man radiated power. It was a physical force, pressing against her lungs.

She stood up. This was the performance of her life.

"Arthur!" she exclaimed. She pitched her voice to sound relieved, breathless. "You're back!"

She took a step toward him, then stopped.

In the past, Gloria would have thrown herself at him, faking tears and smearing makeup on his shirt.

But the new Gloria knew Arthur hated public displays of emotion. He hated being touched without permission.

She clasped her hands in front of her chest instead, keeping a respectful distance.

Arthur noticed the hesitation. His eyes narrowed slightly. He had expected the tackle.

"Dad?" Jones whispered. The boy stood up, his legs shaky.

Arthur nodded at his son. It was a minimal acknowledgment, barely a tilt of the chin, but for Jones, it was everything.

Arthur walked into the room. He moved with a predator's grace, silent and lethal.

He stopped at the table and gripped the pen. With a single, fluid motion, he yanked it free.

Wood splinters clung to the nib.

He examined the pen, turning it over in his long fingers. Then he looked at Gloria's hand.

"You have a strong grip," he commented. His voice was like gravel grinding together-deep, rough, and utterly devoid of warmth.

Gloria shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Stress relief."

Vance found his voice. "Sir, I was just... we were just protecting the assets. Standard protocol given the... uncertainty."

Arthur raised a hand. Vance shut up immediately.

Arthur looked at the shredded paper on the floor. "Asset Renunciation?"

"She wouldn't sign," Vance said quickly, trying to shift the blame. "She became violent."

"I see," Arthur said.

He turned to Gloria. "Why are you here, Gloria?"

The question was a trap. If she said she came for the money, she was dead. If she said she came to save the company, he wouldn't believe her.

"I was shopping nearby," she lied smoothly.

She kicked a piece of the contract under the table with the toe of her stiletto.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Shopping?"

"Yes," she said. Her mind raced. What did you shop for in a business district? "For... school supplies."

The silence stretched.

"School supplies," Arthur repeated flatly. "In a corporate law firm."

"They have excellent... pens," she gestured to the Montblanc he was holding. "Clearly."

Jones looked at her. He knew she never bought school supplies. He knew she didn't even know what grade his brother was in.

Gloria widened her eyes at Jones. It was a silent plea. Don't kill me.

Jones hesitated. He looked at his father, then back at the woman who had just defended his inheritance.

"She was getting a backpack," Jones said. His voice was quiet. "For Gustavo."

Gloria let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Arthur stared at his son. He sensed the lie. He sensed the silent communication passing between his wife and his son. It was new. It was strange.

"Get out," Arthur said to Vance.

"Sir?"

"Leave the firm. Leave the building. You're fired."

Vance didn't argue. He grabbed his briefcase and fled, trailing paper scraps behind him.

Arthur didn't watch him go. He was still watching Gloria.

"My office," he said. "Now."

Arthur didn't wait for them. He turned and walked down the hallway toward the executive suite.

Gloria followed, her heels clicking on the marble. Jones trailed behind like a ghost.

As she passed Arthur to enter his office, she caught the scent of him. Sandalwood and ice. It was intoxicating and terrifying.

Inside, the office was a cavern of glass and steel. Arthur sat behind a desk that was large enough to land a helicopter on.

He didn't invite her to sit.

Jones sat on the edge of the leather couch, looking ready to bolt.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "School supplies."

He wasn't letting it go.

Gloria stood in the middle of the room. "Yes."

"For Gustavo," Arthur added.

"He needs a new backpack," Gloria said.

"Gucci or Prada?" Arthur asked. The sarcasm dripped from his words.

Gloria thought of the absurd luxury items the old Gloria bought for the five-year-old.

"Bulletproof," she replied.

Arthur paused. He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You can never be too safe," Gloria said, keeping her face deadpan. "American schools, you know."

A corner of Arthur's mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but it was a reaction. The old Gloria was vapid; she didn't make dark jokes about school safety.

"You were meeting with Vance to discuss the settlement," Arthur said, dropping the pretense. "You thought I was dead."

"I knew you weren't dead," Gloria countered.

"How?"

"Because you're too stubborn to die," she said. "And because I haven't spent all your money yet."

Arthur leaned forward. "So you admit it. You're here for the money."

"That lawyer tried to steal your money, Arthur," she said, stepping closer to the desk. "He tried to trick me into signing away the estate for pennies."

"And you defended my money?" Arthur asked, skeptical.

"It's my money too," she said shamelessly.

Arthur actually smirked. It was a cold, cynical expression, but it was familiar territory. He understood greed. He could work with greed.

"At least you're honest about your parasitism," he muttered.

Gloria checked her watch. She needed to get out of here. Her head was still throbbing, and being in the same room as Arthur felt like standing next to a nuclear reactor.

"I have a headache," she announced. She grabbed her purse from the chair where she had left it.

"We aren't finished," Arthur said.

"I am," she said. "I have to check on Gustavo. The nanny said he's... spirited today."

"Spirited," Arthur repeated. "That's code for 'destroying the west wing'."

"Probably."

She looked at Jones. "Jones, are you coming?"

Jones looked at his dad. He wanted to stay. He wanted to talk to the father he thought was dead.

But Arthur was already pulling a stack of files toward him. He was back in work mode. The emotional reunion was over.

Arthur nodded at Jones without looking up. "Go with her. I have a board meeting in twenty minutes."

Jones's face fell. The rejection was subtle, but it cut deep.

Gloria felt a pang of sympathy. "Come on," she said to Jones, softer this time.

She walked out of the office, her back straight. She could feel Arthur's eyes drilling into her spine until the door clicked shut.

In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and exhaled. Her knees felt like jelly.

Jones followed her out. "Why did you lie?"

Gloria put on her oversized sunglasses, hiding her eyes.

"About the backpack?"

"About everything," Jones said.

Gloria pressed the elevator button. "Because the truth is boring, darling. And your father hates boring."

The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside. Gloria caught her reflection in the mirrored walls. She looked like a woman in control.

Inside, she was screaming.