"Mommy, why is your picture in the newspaper?"

Leo's innocent question makes me look up from my coffee to find him studying the New York Times spread across the breakfast table. There I am on the society page, Ethan's arm around my waist, both of us smiling for the cameras at the charity auction. The headline reads: "Knight's New Queen: Mystery Wife Dazzles at Hospital Benefit."


"Because people are curious about Daddy and me," I explain, setting down my cup. "They want to know about our family."

Leo frowns, his small finger tracing the outline of my face in the photo. "But why does it say 'mystery wife'? You're not a mystery. You're my mommy."

From across the table, Ethan chuckles. "That's just newspaper talk, buddy. They like to make everything sound more exciting than it is."


"Like when my dinosaur books say T-Rex was the most fearsome predator ever?" Leo asks, making the connection in his uniquely childlike way.

"Exactly like that," Ethan agrees, ruffling our son's hair as he rises from the table. "Speaking of exciting, are you ready for your first day at your new school tomorrow?"


Leo's expression shifts from curious to anxious in an instant. "Do I have to go? I liked my school in Singapore."

"This school has an amazing science program," I remind him gently. "With a real laboratory where you can do experiments. And a dinosaur fossil in the library."

"Really?" His eyes widen with interest.

"Really," Ethan confirms. "I've seen it myself. And I'll tell you a secret—I went to this same school when I was your age."

This revelation captivates Leo completely. "You did? Did they have the dinosaur fossil then too?"

"They did," Ethan says solemnly. "In fact, I think it might be the very same one."

Leo's anxiety visibly melts away, replaced by excitement at this connection to his father's childhood. It's a masterful bit of parenting from a man who's only known he's a father for two weeks—an instinctive understanding of how to ease Leo's fears without dismissing them.

"I need to head to the office," Ethan says, checking his watch. "Board meeting at nine. Will you be alright taking Leo to his school orientation?"

"Of course," I reply. "We've got it all planned out, don't we, sweetheart?"

Leo nods enthusiastically. "And then ice cream after!"

Ethan laughs. "Ice cream at ten in the morning?"

"It's a special occasion," I defend with a smile. "First day at a new school deserves a treat."

"Can't argue with that logic," Ethan concedes, leaning down to kiss the top of Leo's head. "Be good for your mother. I'll see you this evening."

He straightens and our eyes meet over Leo's head. For a moment, I think he might kiss me goodbye as well—a natural gesture for a husband leaving for work. Instead, he gives me a small nod, respecting the boundaries of our arrangement even as something like regret flickers in his eyes.

"Have a good day," I say, filling the slightly awkward moment.

"You too," he replies, and then he's gone, leaving Leo and me to finish breakfast.

As I help Leo get ready for his school orientation, my phone buzzes with a text from Marcus: "Meeting confirmed with C. Morgan at 2 PM. Surveillance photos from last night attached."

I wait until Leo is occupied with choosing which dinosaur toy to bring to orientation before opening the attached photos. They show Diana Morgan entering the Pierce family mansion late last night, followed by Nathaniel an hour later. The final image shows Maxwell Pierce arriving around midnight—an unusual hour for a business meeting.

Something is definitely brewing there. I need to find out what before it interferes with my plans.

After dropping Leo at his new school for orientation—a process that goes remarkably smoothly thanks to the promised dinosaur fossil and a teacher who immediately engages him with questions about his favorite prehistoric creatures—I head to my office at Ascendant Group's New York headquarters.

The office is a statement piece, designed to impress—corner suite on the 50th floor of a midtown skyscraper, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city, minimalist furniture in shades of white and pale gold. Power and taste combined, just like everything else in my carefully constructed new life.

My assistant, Rebecca, greets me with a tablet in hand. "Good morning, Mrs. Knight. Your 10:30 with the acquisition team is set up in the conference room. Mr. Zhang called to confirm your 2 PM meeting with Cassandra Morgan. And these just arrived for you."

She gestures to an enormous arrangement of white roses on the credenza—at least three dozen blooms in a crystal vase.

"Thank you, Rebecca," I reply, taking the tablet to review my schedule. "Who sent the flowers?"

"Your husband," she answers with a small smile. "The card is there."

I wait until she leaves before approaching the flowers. The card, in Ethan's bold handwriting, reads simply: "For my wife, who handles chaos with grace. —E"

A reference to last night's drama with Cassandra and the Fabergé egg, no doubt. The gesture is unexpected—part of our public performance as a devoted couple, yes, but there was no need for such extravagance in my private office where few visitors would see it.

Unless Ethan is beginning to blur the lines between our arrangement and something more genuine. A complication I can't afford right now.

I tuck the card into my desk drawer and focus on preparing for my meetings. The acquisition team has finalized our offer for Morgan Group's Asian division—a generous but carefully structured deal that will give us controlling interest while appearing to save them from their financial troubles. The board votes tomorrow, and according to my sources, it's likely to pass despite Cassandra's objections.

Which explains my 2 PM meeting with her. No doubt she wants to make a last-ditch effort to block the acquisition—or perhaps to feel me out, to determine why I seem so familiar to her.

The morning passes quickly in a flurry of meetings and calls. At 1:30, I text Marcus to confirm our plan for the meeting with Cassandra. At 1:45, Rebecca announces that Ms. Morgan has arrived early.

"Send her in," I instruct, straightening the papers on my desk and adopting the cool, professional demeanor of Olivia Knight, business executive.

Cassandra enters like she owns the place, dressed in a red power suit that's slightly too tight to be truly professional, her makeup perfect, her smile sharp as a knife.

"Mrs. Knight," she greets me, extending a manicured hand. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Ms. Morgan," I reply, shaking her hand briefly. "Please, have a seat."

She settles into one of the visitor chairs, crossing her legs and letting her gaze wander around my office, taking in the expensive furnishings, the view, the massive flower arrangement.

"Lovely roses," she comments. "Special occasion?"

"Just a gift from my husband," I reply casually. "He's thoughtful that way."

A flash of something—envy? resentment?—crosses her face before she masks it with another smile. "How nice. You two seem quite... devoted... for such a new relationship."

"Sometimes you just know," I say, deliberately vague. "But I doubt you came here to discuss my marriage. How can I help you, Ms. Morgan?"

Cassandra leans forward slightly. "I'll be direct. This acquisition you're proposing—it's not in Morgan Group's best interests."

"The board seems to disagree," I counter. "Based on the preliminary votes, they're strongly in favor."

"The board doesn't understand the long-term strategy," she insists. "The Asian division may be struggling now, but we have plans to turn it around."

"Plans that require capital you don't have," I point out. "Morgan Group's debt-to-equity ratio is concerning, to say the least. Our offer provides immediate liquidity while allowing your company to maintain operational involvement."

Cassandra's eyes narrow. "You seem remarkably well-informed about our financial situation."

"It's my job to be informed," I reply smoothly. "Just as I'm informed about your personal campaign to block this deal despite its obvious benefits to your company."

"My father built this company," she says, a hint of genuine emotion breaking through her polished exterior. "I won't see it dismantled piece by piece."

The irony of Cassandra claiming my father's company as her birthright is almost too much to bear. I take a moment to compose myself before responding.

"No one is dismantling anything," I say calmly. "We're offering a partnership that saves a failing division while preserving jobs and shareholder value. Your father understands this, which is why he supports the deal."

"My father is getting old," Cassandra dismisses. "He doesn't always see the bigger picture."

"And you do?" I challenge, unable to resist pushing her. "Your track record with the Asian expansion hasn't exactly inspired confidence, Ms. Morgan."

Her face flushes with anger. "You don't know anything about me or my capabilities."

"I know enough," I reply coolly. "I know about the failed ventures in Shanghai and Singapore. The regulatory problems in Hong Kong. The executive turnover that's plagued your division for years."

Each point is a deliberate jab, reminding her of her failures—failures that occurred after she orchestrated my removal from the company. Had I been there, had I been allowed to implement my original expansion plan, the Asian division would be thriving now instead of drowning in debt.

"Those issues were inherited problems," Cassandra defends weakly. "From the previous management."

"Of course they were," I agree with false sympathy. "It's always someone else's fault, isn't it?"

Her eyes flash dangerously. "You know, Mrs. Knight, there's something about you that seems familiar. Have we met before? Perhaps in Singapore?"

The question is casual but loaded with suspicion. I maintain my composure, though my heart rate accelerates slightly.

"I don't believe so," I reply. "I would remember."

"Would you?" she presses. "Because I have an excellent memory for faces, and yours... there's something about your eyes."

"I have one of those faces," I deflect. "People often think they've met me before."

Cassandra doesn't look convinced. "Where did you say you were from originally?"

"I didn't," I reply, standing to signal the end of our meeting. "And fascinating as this conversation is, Ms. Morgan, I have another appointment in fifteen minutes. Unless you have an actual counter-proposal to discuss?"

Frustrated by my evasion, Cassandra stands as well. "This isn't over," she says, her tone hardening. "The board vote isn't until tomorrow. A lot can happen in twenty-four hours."

"Is that a threat?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"A statement of fact," she replies. "Business is unpredictable. You never know what information might come to light at the last minute."

Now it's definitely a threat, though a vague one. What does she think she knows? What is she planning?

"I look forward to tomorrow's vote," I say calmly. "Regardless of the outcome."

As I show her to the door, Cassandra pauses for one final parting shot. "By the way, I wanted to apologize again for the unfortunate incident with the Fabergé egg last night. Such a shame about the damage. I hope there weren't any... sentimental attachments."

The emphasis on "sentimental attachments" sends a chill down my spine. Is she implying something about my mother's collection? Does she somehow know about my connection to Fabergé pieces?

"Just the monetary value," I reply smoothly. "Which your father has graciously agreed to reimburse."

"Yes, he's always been generous that way," Cassandra says with a tight smile. "Especially with... family."

Another loaded comment, another fishing expedition. I maintain my neutral expression, refusing to take the bait.

"Good day, Ms. Morgan," I say firmly, holding the door open.

After Cassandra leaves, I text Marcus immediately: "Meeting over. She's suspicious. Increase surveillance. Need to know their next move."

His reply comes quickly: "On it. Diana spotted entering Nathaniel's apartment an hour ago. Still there."

The pieces are moving faster now, the game accelerating. I need to be prepared for whatever they're planning before tomorrow's vote.

My phone rings—Ethan's private line. I hesitate before answering, still unsettled by Cassandra's probing questions and veiled threats.

"Hello?"

"Olivia," Ethan's voice comes through, warm and concerned. "How did Leo's orientation go?"

The mundane question, so normal and domestic, momentarily throws me. I've been operating in revenge mode, strategizing and countering threats, and now I'm suddenly pulled back to my role as mother and wife.

"It went well," I reply, softening my tone. "He loved the dinosaur fossil, just as you said he would. The teacher seems excellent."

"Good," Ethan says, sounding genuinely relieved. "I was thinking—if you're free, perhaps we could take him out to dinner tonight to celebrate? There's a restaurant near Central Park with animatronic dinosaurs that I think he'd enjoy."

The invitation is so thoughtful, so perfectly tailored to delight our son, that I find myself agreeing before I can overthink it. "He'd love that."

"Great. I'll make a reservation for six. I should be done here by five-thirty." He pauses, then adds, "Did you receive the flowers?"

"Yes," I admit. "They're beautiful. Thank you."

"You deserved them after handling last night so gracefully," Ethan says. "Not many women would have maintained such composure in the face of Cassandra Morgan's tantrum."

If only he knew the history behind that "tantrum"—the years of rivalry and resentment, the ultimate betrayal that destroyed my life.

"It was nothing," I say instead. "Just another society drama."

"Well, I was proud to have you on my arm," Ethan replies, his voice dropping slightly. "Everyone was talking about how stunning you looked in that black dress."

The compliment, delivered in that low, appreciative tone, sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach. This is happening more frequently—these moments of genuine connection, of attraction that has nothing to do with our business arrangement and everything to do with the chemistry between us as man and woman.

"I should go," I say, pulling back emotionally. "I have another meeting."

"Of course," Ethan replies, his tone shifting back to casual. "I'll see you at home around five-thirty."

Home. There's that word again, with all its complicated implications.

"See you then," I agree, ending the call.

I stare out at the Manhattan skyline, trying to refocus on my priorities. The board vote tomorrow. Cassandra's suspicious questions. Diana's secret meetings with the Pierces. These are what matter—not Ethan's thoughtful gestures or the way his voice softens when he talks about our son.

My phone buzzes with another text from Marcus: "Diana left Nathaniel's apartment. Heading to Morgan Tower. Surveillance following."

Whatever they're planning, it's happening now. I need to be ready.