Emma barely slept.
Not because of work.
Not because of Whitmore.
Because Laura Reed had walked into her house last night wearing a diamond engagement ring and enough audacity to start a war in someone else’s living room.
And somehow Emma still made it to Blackwoods before eight in the morning.
The lobby shifted the second she entered.
Not dramatically.
Subtly.
Assistants who once gave her sympathetic smiles now straightened professionally. Conversations lowered. Executives acknowledged her presence carefully instead of awkwardly pretending not to recognize Dominic Sterling’s ex-wife.
Interesting.
Respect looked very different from pity.
Emma stepped out of the elevator on the executive floor wearing a fitted ivory blouse tucked into charcoal trousers, her hair tied back neatly,
