Arden walked into the massive glass-walled boardroom.

She set her laptop on the mahogany table and efficiently connected the HDMI cable to the overhead projector.

Several senior executives in charge of the cultural tourism division filed into the room.

They looked slightly surprised to see the CEO's wife standing at the vendor's podium, but they nodded with professional courtesy and took their seats.

Just as the meeting was about to begin, the heavy double doors swung open.

The sharp, rapid clacking of high heels echoed into the room, followed immediately by a suffocating wave of heavy, sweet floral perfume.

Brooklyn walked in, wearing a tight, haute couture business dress, flanked by two nervous assistants. She carried herself with the arrogance of royalty.

The executives immediately stood up.

"Good morning, Director Garcia," they chimed in unison, welcoming the newly appointed Brand Strategy Director.

Arden's fingers tightened around her laser pointer.

She hadn't expected Brooklyn's first move back in New York to be parachuting into a senior executive role at Federico's company.

Brooklyn walked to the head of the table and sat down.

She crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand, and shot Arden a highly provocative, mocking glare. "You may begin."

Arden forced her lungs to expand, ignoring the heavy perfume.

She clicked to the first slide and began speaking, her voice steady as she explained the commercial value of integrating high-end art curation with real estate.

Halfway through the presentation, Brooklyn rapped her knuckles loudly against the wood table, cutting Arden off mid-sentence.

"This is completely useless," Brooklyn said harshly, waving her hand dismissively. "It's too niche. There is zero commercial explosive power here. This is a corporate project, Arden, not a college art class."

The executives, sensing the shift in power, immediately changed their tune. They began nodding along with Brooklyn, murmuring their agreement. The atmosphere in the room turned hostile.

Arden kept her face perfectly neutral.

She clicked to a slide filled with market research data. "If you look at the demographic metrics here, Director Garcia, the data proves-"

"I don't care about your little charts," Brooklyn snapped, using her authority to shut down the debate. "I want your team to tear this down and start over. You have one week."

Brooklyn leaned forward, a malicious smile playing on her lips. "If you can't handle the pressure, the Monroe Group can easily find a more competent vendor."

It was a blatant display of workplace bullying.

Arden took a deep breath, smiled politely, and closed her laptop. "We will revise it."

The meeting adjourned. Arden packed her bag quickly and walked out of the boardroom, desperate to escape the toxic air.

She walked to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.

A sign on the standard elevators read Out of Service for Maintenance. She had no choice but to walk over to the executive private elevator.

The metal doors dinged and slid open.

Arden froze. Her feet glued to the carpet.

Federico was standing inside the elevator.

Brooklyn was standing right next to him, her hands intimately gripping his bicep, her face tilted up toward his with a bright smile.

Federico looked up. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes when he saw Arden, but his brow quickly furrowed, and his gaze turned to ice.

Brooklyn gasped, covering her mouth in fake shock.

"Oh, Arden! Did you get lost? This is the executive elevator."

Arden clamped her jaw shut. She refused to back down.

She kept her spine straight, stepped into the confined space, and pressed the button for the lobby.

The doors closed, trapping the three of them in a tight, silent box.

The heavy smell of Brooklyn's perfume made Arden's stomach churn with actual nausea.

Brooklyn leaned her head against Federico's shoulder.

"Rico," she pouted, her voice dripping with fake guilt. "I was a little strict with the vendor during the meeting just now. I hope people don't think I'm a bully."

Federico looked down at Brooklyn. His voice was incredibly soft, a tone Arden hadn't heard in years.

"You are just doing your job as the director. You don't need to apologize to anyone for having high standards."

The words felt like a physical slap across Arden's face.

She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that she felt the skin break.

The elevator reached the lobby.

Before the doors even fully opened, Brooklyn eagerly pulled Federico out by his arm.

As Federico walked past Arden, he paused for a fraction of a second.

"Focus on your work, Arden," he said, his voice dropping to a cold, hard whisper. "Stop playing these pathetic games to get my attention."

Arden watched their backs as they walked away together, shoulder to shoulder.

She stood alone in the elevator, feeling like the biggest joke in the world.

The metal doors slowly closed again.

Arden shut her eyes, swallowing down the thick lump of humiliation in her throat. When she opened them again, every trace of vulnerability was gone, replaced by pure, freezing resolve.

Arden returned to the empty art studio and locked herself inside her small office.

She sat in the dark, staring blankly at the rejected proposal glowing on her computer screen.

Federico's cruel, mocking words from the elevator echoed in her head.

The humiliation burned in her chest, transforming into a hot, driving fuel. Her fingers hit the keyboard.

She pulled up dozens of successful European cultural tourism case studies, analyzing their financial structures. She began rebuilding the entire commercial logic of her pitch from scratch.

Hours bled into each other.

The blue light of the monitor burned her dry retinas. Outside the window, the glittering Manhattan skyline slowly faded into the gray light of dawn.

Arden swallowed her fourth cup of black espresso.

She rubbed the tight, aching muscles in the back of her neck and finally typed the last sentence of the new proposal.

Just as she rested her forehead on the desk to close her eyes for five minutes, the studio doorbell rang in a rapid, aggressive sequence.

Arden frowned, her body heavy with exhaustion.

She walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Federico stood in the hallway. He was wearing casual clothes, his jaw clenched tight, looking extremely impatient.

"Get your things," he ordered, his voice hard. "Grandma Augusta is having heart palpitations. She demanded we both come to the Hamptons estate immediately."

Hearing that Augusta was sick made Arden's stomach drop.

She forgot how tired she was, grabbed her coat and purse, and followed him down the stairs.

They climbed into the back seat of his black Maybach.

The air pressure inside the luxury car was so thick and heavy it made it hard to breathe.

As the car merged onto the Long Island Expressway, Arden leaned her head against the cold glass of the window.

A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly hit her stomach. The acid from the coffee was eating away at her empty stomach lining.

She dug into her purse to find an antacid.

Her fingers brushed against a smooth, heavy paper bag.

It was an Hermes bag. Brenda had aggressively shoved it into her hands last night when she was packing, loudly announcing it was a gift Brooklyn had left in Federico's office.

Arden pulled the orange bag out. She held it out toward Federico without looking at him.

Federico looked down at the bag, his brow furrowing deep. "What is that?"

"Brooklyn's gift to you," Arden said. Her voice was completely flat, devoid of any anger, jealousy, or emotion. "I brought it for you."

Federico's face darkened instantly.

He stared at Arden's calm, uncaring profile. A sudden, violent surge of anger erupted in his chest.

He had expected her to yell, to throw it at him, to show some sign that she cared. Her total apathy made him feel like he meant absolutely nothing to her.

He snatched the bag from her hand.

He ripped the thick paper open, pulling out a dark silk tie. His eyes grew colder.

He violently yanked open the center console. While Arden watched in shock, he shoved the expensive silk tie deep into the dark compartment, crushing the delicate fabric under his heavy fist. He slammed the lid shut with a deafening crack, as if disposing of a disgusting piece of trash that contaminated his space.

"Are you crazy?" Arden asked, her eyes wide. "Isn't that from the woman you love?"

Federico turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't use these cheap tricks to test my limits, Arden."

He leaned closer, his voice a low, vicious snarl. "Do you think if you push me toward Brooklyn, I'll sign the check faster so you can run off with Jude?"

The twisted, backward logic of his accusation actually made Arden laugh.

The laugh triggered a violent spasm in her stomach. A wave of cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

She bent forward, wrapping both arms tightly around her stomach, curling into a tight ball on the leather seat. She bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound.

Federico noticed her sudden movement.

He saw the pale, sickly color of her skin and the sweat on her brow. A flash of genuine panic broke through his anger.

His hand shot out automatically, reaching to touch her forehead to check her temperature.

Arden saw his hand coming.

Even though she was in agony, she jerked her head back, pressing herself flat against the door to avoid his touch.

"Don't touch me," she said, her voice weak but laced with absolute disgust.

Federico's hand froze in mid-air.

He stared at her for a long second before slowly pulling his hand back, curling his fingers into a tight fist.

The car fell into a dead, freezing silence that lasted until the massive iron gates of the Hamptons estate finally appeared.

The heavy oak doors of the master suite swung open.

Arden and Federico walked into the massive, dimly lit room.

Augusta, the matriarch of the Monroe family, was propped up against a mountain of pillows. Her skin looked fragile and pale, but her dark eyes were as sharp and predatory as an eagle's.

Augusta waved her hand, dismissing the private doctor and the butler. The heavy doors clicked shut, leaving the three of them alone.

She completely ignored her grandson.

She reached a shaking hand out toward Arden, gesturing for her to sit on the edge of the mattress. Augusta gently cupped Arden's pale cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray hair.

Suddenly, Augusta reached under her blanket.

She pulled out a thick manila envelope and threw it violently at Federico's chest. It hit him with a loud smack.

It was the divorce agreement Arden had signed.

Federico caught the envelope as it fell. He looked at the seal, his jaw clenching tight.

"How did you get your hands on this? Did you illegally access my private lawyer's files, Grandma?" he demanded, his voice tight with controlled anger.

Augusta slammed her wooden cane against the hardwood floor.

"My legal team was automatically copied on the trust dispute filing, you arrogant fool!" she barked. "You are letting a manipulative, calculating snake cloud your judgment."

She pointed a crooked finger at him. "As long as I have breath in my lungs, Brooklyn Garcia will never set foot in a Monroe house."

Federico stood his ground, his posture rigid.

"Brooklyn is the one who suffered back then. Arden doesn't even want me. Her heart is somewhere else."

"Nonsense!" Augusta snapped, cutting him off. "My eyes work better than yours ever will. Arden is the only woman fit to run this family."

Augusta leaned forward, pulling her ultimate weapon.

"The foundational bylaws of the family trust dictate that the primary heir must maintain a stable marriage. If you push this divorce through, I will use my veto power on the board. I will freeze your thirty percent stake in the Monroe Group."

Federico stared at his grandmother in absolute shock.

He could not believe she was willing to use the highest level of family power to blackmail him over a divorce.

He slowly turned his head to look at Arden.

His eyes were filled with pure, burning betrayal. He was entirely convinced Arden had run to Augusta and manipulated the old woman into doing this.

Arden felt the heat of his glare.

She quickly shook her head, looking at Augusta. "Grandma, no. I agreed to the divorce. You don't have to do this for me."

Augusta patted Arden's hand firmly. "Hush, child. I am handling this."

Federico ground his teeth together. He was a businessman first; he could not afford to lose control of his shares right now.

"Fine," he said, his voice like cracking ice. "The legal proceedings are paused. But my mind is not changing."

He turned around and stormed out of the bedroom, the air vibrating with his suppressed rage.

Once the door closed, Augusta let out a long, tired sigh. Her face softened.

She looked at Arden with deep, knowing eyes. "He is just trapped in the past, Arden. He cares for you more than he realizes."

Arden offered a sad, hollow smile. She didn't argue, but in her heart, she thought the old woman was simply delusional.

Augusta picked up the landline phone next to her bed. She dialed the head of the family's PR team.

Her voice turned back to iron. "Leak a story to the press immediately. I want photos of Federico and Arden. Emphasize that the Monroe marriage is rock solid."

She paused. "And send a private, formal warning letter to Brooklyn Garcia. Tell her to stay in her lane."

Listening to Augusta ruthlessly protect her, a strange warmth spread through Arden's chest. This fierce old woman was her only shield in this cold family.

After making sure Augusta was resting comfortably, Arden left the room.

The hallway was empty. Federico was nowhere to be seen.

She walked down the long corridor toward the outdoor balcony, needing the cold ocean breeze to settle her rolling stomach.

As she stepped near the open French doors, she heard loud, angry voices coming from the gardens below.

She peeked over the stone railing.

Federico was standing on the grass, arguing fiercely with his father, Cornelius.

The wind carried Cornelius's vicious words up to the balcony.

"That woman is a parasite!" Cornelius yelled. "Are you really going to repeat Jude's mistakes and let her destroy you too?"