"No pre-approval, and you won't get a single cent from finance." Vivian Moore slammed the folder onto the conference table, tapping her fingertips against the cover. The white tips of her nails made two soft clicks against the surface. Four senior partners sat across the conference table. None of them spoke, their eyes darting back and forth between me and the expense reimbursement form. I stared at the topmost reimbursement form, the numbers stinging like needles: $58,620. That was the full amount I had paid out of pocket with my own card when I flew to New York to relocate a witness during the eight months I spent securing the Kane Nelson case for the country's wealthiest man. Every last expense had been pre-approved verbally in advance, and every single one had an email approval record. All that was missing was the final step: the official stamp for financial write-off. And now, Vivian had blocked that final step.

I clutched the DNA test report in my hand, standing outside the CEO's office at Harris Tower. I'd come to tell Holden Harris that I was the long-lost daughter of the Argent family—Milan's billionaire industrialists, missing for twenty years. But through the crack in the door, I saw him pressing Blair Whitmore—the college girl I'd been sponsoring—against the floor-to-ceiling window, kissing her. "Holden... what if your wife finds out?" she murmured. Holden let out a scoff. "Wife? That marriage license I gave her? Fifty bucks at a downtown fake-ID shop. Total sham. If my Dad hadn't made that rule—get married first, then unlock the fifty-billion-dollar trust—a gutter rat like her wouldn't even qualify to polish our doorknobs." He placed a hand on Blair's stomach, his voice dropping. "But now that you're carrying my son, next week, after the shareholders vote me in as CEO, we'll get married. For real." Blair giggled and kissed him again. "You're the best, Holden. I love you." I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle a sob, then turned and ran. I ran until my lungs burned, until I stumbled and fell to the cold concrete of the underground parking garage. A wheelchair rolled to a stop in front of me. It was Thaddeus Harris, Holden's older brother. A car crash ten years ago had shattered his legs. The family had stripped him of his inheritance and shipped him off to a clinic in Switzerland, written him off for dead. "If he's too blind to see what he has," he said, voice low and rough, "how about you team up with me instead?"

I had been engaged to Louis Carter, the godfather of the mafia, for seven years. Seven years ago, my father was shot and killed while saving him, yet he had never brought up the matter of marrying me. Until that night, when I passed by the study and accidentally overheard his conversation with his advisor. "A mistress's daughter should always be a mistress. She is not worthy to be my wife. Once I go through with the alliance marriage, I can keep her in the suburbs." I gripped my coat, too afraid to breathe, tears streaming down my face as I gritted my teeth. I thought how bitterly unjust my father's death was. On my way to visit my father's grave, Louis called me, saying he had a surprise prepared for me. I sneered inwardly. Before I could even mention calling off the engagement, he had already arrived to pick me up and take me to the villa. "Sofia, the suburbs are quiet. It's perfect for us to have some privacy. No one will bother us. You don't want our lives to be disturbed by others either, do you?" I said nothing and followed him to the suburbs. As soon as he left, I lit the fuse and blew up the villa. When he got the news that the villa had been bombed, Louis called me and asked, "Where are you?" I smirked and said, "I'm getting married in a church."