The Bride Who Never Left

The executive lounge of Sterling Tower smelled of aged mahogany and the ozone tang of a server room pushed to its breaking point. Arthur Sterling stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his silhouette a jagged shard against the sprawling, indifferent lights of the city. He did not turn when the heavy glass doors clicked shut behind Elena and Julian.

“A partnership,” Arthur murmured, his voice a dry, parchment-thin rasp. “How quaint. You’ve replaced a contract of convenience with one of sentiment, and in doing so, you’ve handed the board the very lever they need to pry you apart.”

Julian moved, his hand finding the small of Elena’s back—a gesture that had once been a calculated display of ownership, but now felt like a barricade. He didn’t flinch. “The board is in disarray, Arthu

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