Courtland stared at the torn pieces of the check. The blood pounded heavily in his temples.

He swung his leg out and kicked the heavy leather chair next to him. The chair crashed backward into the glass wall.

He spun around and sprinted out of the conference room, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway as he tried to catch up to Areli.

He reached the elevator bank just in time to see the metal doors slide completely shut. The digital numbers above the door began to drop.

Courtland whipped his head around and glared at Marcus, who had run out behind him.

"Cancel all of her supplementary credit cards right now," Courtland ordered, his voice harsh and breathless. "Freeze every account attached to my name."

Marcus quickly pulled out his tablet. His fingers tapped rapidly across the glass screen. Ten seconds later, Marcus's face turned pale.

"Sir," Marcus said, his voice hesitant and tight. "She didn't just stop using them. The system shows that every supplementary card had a single one-dollar charity donation processed late last night. After that, we received a formal legal notice from her attorney renouncing all access rights. The physical cards were cut into pieces and left in an envelope at the lobby front desk."

Courtland blinked, his mind struggling to process the information. He pulled at his collar. "Track her cell phone GPS," he demanded. "Find her."

Marcus pulled out his phone and dialed a direct number to an internal contact at the major telecom provider.

Two minutes passed in tense silence. Marcus lowered the phone. "The number has been completely deactivated, sir. They wiped it from the network. They can't even ping the nearest cell tower."

A hot wave of frustration burned in Courtland's chest. He turned and marched toward the exit. He needed to go back to the penthouse.

Thirty minutes later, Courtland pushed open the heavy doors of the master bedroom. He walked straight to the massive walk-in closet and yanked the sliding doors open.

The right side of the closet, which had belonged to Areli, was completely empty. There were no clothes, no shoes, not even a single stray hair left on the shelves. It was as if she had never lived there.

Courtland grabbed his phone from his pocket. He dialed the direct, encrypted line to the most expensive private investigator in the city.

"I will pay you double your normal rate," Courtland barked into the phone. "I want her exact location within twenty-four hours."

Twenty-four hours passed with absolutely no news. Courtland's patience was wearing dangerously thin. He paced the length of his corporate office, checking the heavy watch on his wrist again and again. The silence was maddening. Finally, his private encrypted line rang. He snatched it up instantly.

The private investigator was on the line, his voice tight with confusion.

"Mr. Roman," the investigator said. "I have utilized every high-level contact I have, but she is a ghost. There are no hotel bookings under her name, no flight manifests, no credit card swipes. Nothing."

Courtland let out a roar of anger. He grabbed the heavy crystal whiskey glass from his desk and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, shattering into hundreds of sharp pieces.

The loud crash made the office door swing open. His close friend, Rex Holloway, leaned casually against the doorframe.

"Did your wife finally dump you?" Rex asked, a mocking smile on his face.

Courtland ground his teeth. "She is playing a stupid hiding game," he snapped. "She will run out of cash and come crawling back."

Rex shrugged his shoulders. "A woman with zero money doesn't just vanish from a top-tier PI's radar, Courtland."

The words hit Courtland hard. A cold spike of doubt pierced his arrogance, making his stomach twist into a tight knot.

At that exact moment, across the city in Hollywood, a black Maybach pulled into the secure underground parking garage of Aura Entertainment.

Areli stepped out of the car. She walked into the private elevator and rode it straight to the top floor.

She stepped into the massive CEO office. The Vice President, Donovan Finch, bowed his head slightly and handed her a heavy, black-and-gold name badge.

Areli took the badge. It read 'Miss Stephenson'. She clipped it onto the lapel of her suit jacket.

She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. She looked down at the sprawling, bright lights of the city below.

Her eyes were sharp, filled with cold ambition. She had completely shed the skin of Areli Roman. She was now in total control.

Areli turned away from the window and walked toward the massive glass desk in the center of the office.

She sat down in the leather chair and opened the encrypted laptop resting on the desk.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, black USB drive. She pushed it into the side port of the computer.

Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard. She opened a hidden backup file containing the security footage from the penthouse.

She found the exact timestamp from the night of their anniversary. She clipped the high-definition video showing Holli faking her panic attack.

She opened a secure browser. She routed her connection through multiple overseas VPN servers to ensure the IP address could not be traced. She created a blank, anonymous email.

She dragged the video file into the attachment box. She typed in Courtland's private email address and hit send.

She pulled the USB drive out of the computer. She closed the browser and opened the quarterly financial reports for Aura Entertainment.

A sharp knock sounded at the door. Donovan walked in, carrying three thick manila folders. He placed them carefully on her desk.

Areli opened the folders. Her eyes scanned the pages rapidly, taking in the numbers. She tapped her index finger against the paper, pointing to three specific names of senior executives who were clearly embezzling funds.

"These three are the exact ones my father distrusted the most," Areli said, her voice cold and flat. "It seems his instincts were entirely correct." She closed the heavy folders and pushed them toward the edge of the desk. "Initiate the emergency removal protocols immediately. I have full authorization from the board of directors. Have the legal department and the internal security team move in simultaneously. Freeze all of their corporate access, lock down their servers, and clear out their offices in ten minutes."

Donovan's eyes widened. He was stunned by how fast and brutal she was. He nodded quickly. "Yes, Miss Stephenson," he said, turning to leave.

At the exact same time, inside the Roman Group headquarters, Courtland's phone buzzed on his desk.

Courtland rubbed his tired eyes. He picked up the phone and saw an email from an unknown sender with no subject line. He tapped the screen to open it.

The video started playing immediately. The high-definition camera captured every detail of the penthouse living room.

Courtland watched as Holli fell to the floor. He saw her face clearly. He saw her eyes dart toward him to make sure he was watching.

His chest tightened. The breath caught in his throat. He saw Holli's lips curl up into that cold, calculating smirk while he was yelling at Areli.

A heavy block of ice settled in Courtland's stomach. The realization hit him physically. Areli had been telling the truth.

The heavy wooden door of his office suddenly pushed open. Holli walked in. Her eyes were red, and she was dabbing at her face with a tissue.

Courtland reacted instinctively. He flipped his phone over, slamming the screen face-down onto the desk to hide the video.

Holli walked over to him. "The internet trolls are attacking me again," she cried, her voice trembling. "I feel so unsafe, Courtland."

Courtland looked at her tears. For the first time, a wave of physical nausea washed over him. He felt sick to his stomach.

He stared at her crying face, his mind spiraling into a chaotic mess. How could Holli deceive him like that? Was it possible that Areli had somehow doctored the footage? No, the security system was encrypted, the timestamp undeniable. A sharp ache throbbed in his temples as he closed his eyes. He desperately forced his mind to picture the dark, damp basement from his childhood. He pictured the little girl who had saved him, the cool metal of the necklace she wore. That memory was his only anchor, the absolute truth he had built his life around. He would rather believe his own eyes were failing him than accept that his childhood savior was a manipulative liar. He had to do something to reinforce his crumbling reality, something to prove to himself that she was still the pure girl from his past.

He took a deep breath. "It will be fine," Courtland said. His voice was stiff, lacking any real warmth.

He needed to fix this feeling of losing control. He decided to buy Holli the biggest movie role in the industry as a desperate attempt to solidify his own faith in her.

Courtland pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Marcus, get in here."

Marcus hurried into the room.

"Contact Aura Entertainment," Courtland ordered. "Tell them we want to buy the lead actress role in their upcoming S-tier project for Holli."

Marcus hesitated. He shifted his weight nervously. "Sir, Aura just got a new CEO. She is extremely secretive and very aggressive."

Marcus swallowed hard. "This 'Miss Stephenson' has already rejected investment offers from three major syndicates this week."

Courtland let out a harsh, arrogant laugh. He leaned back in his chair.

"Everyone has a price, Marcus," Courtland said coldly. "Double our standard offer and send it directly to her office."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Yes, sir," he said, knowing the email he was about to send was a terrible idea.

The soft ping of an incoming email echoed in the quiet, top-floor conference room of Aura Entertainment.

Areli sat at the head of the table. She glanced down at the sleek tablet resting in front of her.

She saw the sender's name on the screen: Marcus, Senior Assistant, Roman Group.

She reached out and tapped the screen. Her eyes scanned the text of the proposal quickly.

She scrolled down to the attached files. She opened the document containing Holli's heavily airbrushed acting portfolio and resume. A short, sharp sound of amusement escaped her lips.

Donovan stood near the whiteboard. He looked over at her. "Do you want the legal team to draft a counter-offer with a high-risk return clause?" he asked.

Areli pushed the tablet away. It slid across the smooth table, stopping near the center.

"No," Areli said, her voice completely flat. "Reply with exactly this: Aura does not invest in talentless, negative assets."

Donovan swallowed hard. He pulled out his phone, typed the exact, insulting words into the reply box, and hit send.

Back at the Roman Group headquarters, Courtland was sitting at his desk, tapping his pen against a notebook, waiting for the confirmation.

Marcus practically ran into the office. He didn't even knock. He was sweating, his face pale.

Marcus walked up to the desk and handed the tablet to Courtland. His hands were shaking. "You need to read this yourself, sir."

Courtland snatched the tablet. He read the single line of text. The vein in his forehead throbbed violently.

He slammed his open palm down onto the heavy mahogany desk. The impact rattled the coffee cup, making the dark liquid spill over the edge.

His chest heaved. He felt a burning rage in his throat. This 'Miss Stephenson' was intentionally humiliating him. She was challenging his power.

Courtland reached up and violently yanked his tie loose. He needed a drink to burn off the anger.

He walked out of the office. He ordered his driver to take him to the most exclusive, members-only lounge in Soho.

The inside of the lounge was dark. The air smelled of expensive cigars and aged leather. Low, heavy jazz music played from hidden speakers.

Courtland stood at the bar. He held a cold martini glass in his hand. He turned around and let his eyes wander over the VIP booths in the back.

His gaze suddenly stopped moving. His entire body went rigid.

Sitting in one of the curved leather booths was a woman wearing a stunning, deep-V red couture dress. She turned her head slightly.

It was Areli. The face he had been desperately trying to find for days.

Courtland's heart slammed against his ribs. His first instinct was to walk straight over to her.

But then he saw the man sitting across from her. It was Zane Sterling, one of the highest-paid A-list actors in Hollywood.

Zane leaned forward across the small table. He moved his face very close to Areli's ear and whispered something.

Areli lifted her hand to cover her mouth and laughed. Her eyes were bright, filled with a confident, radiant energy that Courtland had never seen during their marriage.

A hot, suffocating wave of jealousy crashed into Courtland. It burned in his chest and made his hands shake.

His fingers tightened around the stem of the martini glass. His knuckles turned completely white from the pressure.

His arrogant mind immediately jumped to the only conclusion that made sense to him.

He convinced himself that Areli was using her beauty to cling to a man like Sterling, playing the part of a desperate social climber just to provoke his jealousy.

Courtland slammed the glass down onto the bar counter. The liquid splashed over his hand.

He pushed away from the bar. He took long, aggressive strides across the dark carpet, heading straight for their VIP booth.