At 8:45 AM, the glass-and-steel monolith of Vale Meridian’s Midtown headquarters gleamed under a grey Manhattan sky.

I walked through the lobby wearing a sharp, tailored ivory suit, my dark hair pulled back into a flawless bun, carrying my leather briefcase. To the security guards and receptionists bowing their heads respectfully as I passed, I was still the formidable, unshakeable First Lady of Vale Meridian.

The private executive elevator carried me to the fifty-fourth floor.

When the doors opened, Sloane Bennett was standing near the grand marble reception desk, holding an iPad and a cup of organic green tea. She wore a sleek black pencil dress and a gold pendant necklace—a necklace I had personally recommended to Adrian for her three-year service anniversary.

When her eyes met mine, a microscopic flicker of panic crossed her smooth, polished features before she quickly masked it with a professional smile.

"Nora!" Sloane stepped forward, her voice bright and melodic. "We didn't expect you in until noon. Adrian said you were still resting after the Baltimore negotiation."

I looked at her—at her perfectly styled hair, her calm demeanor, her effortless composure. The image of her lying against my husband's bare chest in my own bed burned across my mind, but my face remained an unreadable mask of ice.

"The Baltimore deal was wrapped up early, Sloane," I replied smoothly, walking past her toward the boardroom doors. "A good executive never leaves loose ends."

Sloane hesitated, falling into step half a pace behind me. "Adrian is already inside with the senior board members. Should I take your coat?"

"No," I said, stopping outside the double oak doors, turning to look her straight in the eye. "I'll keep it. Tell me, Sloane… did the night security report come through to your terminal this morning?"

Sloane’s breath caught slightly. "Night security? Yes… standard logs. Everything was quiet."

"Fascinating," I murmured, a faint, razor-sharp smile touching my lips. "Marcus Bell usually notes every visitor who enters the residential penthouse after ten o'clock. I'll have to remind him to update his records."

Sloane’s cheeks drained of color instantly. Her fingers tightened around the edges of her iPad, but before she could speak, I pushed the heavy boardroom doors open and stepped inside.

The room was silent.

Seated around the massive thirty-foot mahogany table were twelve of the most powerful corporate directors in New York. At the head of the table sat Adrian Vale.

He looked striking—wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, his silver-dusted dark hair perfectly groomed, his sharp jawline projecting the cool, dangerous authority that made men in this city bow to his will.

When he saw me enter, a genuine look of surprise and warmth flashed across his face.

"Nora," Adrian stood up immediately, stepping around the table, extending his hand to pull me into a customary professional embrace. "You should be sleeping. You saved the European agreement single-handedly over the weekend."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my cheek.

The faint scent of my own luxury soap—the soap from our master bathroom—lingered on his skin. It took every ounce of my willpower not to pull back and strike him across the face.

"I couldn't sleep, Adrian," I said softly, stepping back just far enough to break his hold. "There was an urgent compliance matter that required my immediate attention."

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Adrian’s brow furrowed slightly, his dark eyes searching my face with sharp intuition. "A compliance matter? With the Baltimore deal?"

"No," I said, walking to the head of the table, placing my briefcase squarely in front of the board members. "With Harbor Nine."