Three weeks had gone by since Emma walked out.
The boardroom on the top floor of Victor's Wall Street headquarters looked out over the Manhattan skyline through floor-to-ceiling glass. A dozen old-money titans sat arranged on either side of a long mahogany table, and a multi-billion-dollar acquisition was minutes from its final vote. Victor occupied the seat at the head of it all.
Then, without a flicker of warning, a bolt of pain lanced through the center of his skull.
His temples hammered in time with his pulse. The bipolar disorder he had inherited through his bloodline picked this exact moment to detonate.
For three straight weeks he had been grinding through every day on nothing but raw willpower, white-knuckling it without Emma and her steady hands. That streak just snapped clean
