Chapter 2

Claire slowly pried open her heavy eyelids, raising her right hand to shield her eyes from the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The sharp smell of cheap disinfectant filled her nose. She was lying on a narrow iron bed in a cramped, peeling general ward-a deliberate insult compared to the luxury VIP suites the Valenzuela family always used.

The ward door was shoved open without a knock. Four Wall Street corporate lawyers in dark suits walked in carrying leather briefcases. The lead attorney tossed a thick stack of bound paper onto the thin blanket covering Claire's legs.

"Ms. Claire, Mr. Valenzuela drafted these divorce papers himself."

At the mention of Alexander's name, Claire's stomach twisted into a tight knot. She forced herself to sit up against the metal headboard and looked down at the bold black letters on the cover: Prenuptial Agreement Enforcement Order.

The lead lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose, looking down at her without a trace of emotion.

"Given the irreversible physical harm you caused Ms. Everlee, Mr. Valenzuela has invoked the strictest fault-based penalty clause."

With trembling fingers, Claire flipped open the document, her eyes scanning the dense legal terms down to the asset division section. Every joint account was frozen. Her marital trust fund was wiped to zero. Not only was she being thrown out with nothing, she was also saddled with a massive penalty fee for breach of contract.

Claire looked up, the rims of her eyes burning red, though she refused to let a single tear fall.

"Where is Alexander? Tell him to come say this to my face."

The lawyer let out a cold chuckle.

"Mr. Valenzuela is on the top floor keeping Ms. McDowell company in the VIP suite. He left strict instructions that he never wants to see your face again."

The words hit Claire like a bucket of ice water poured straight over her head, leaving her shivering from the inside out. She lowered her gaze, her eyelashes fluttering as her hand slid under the thin blanket to touch her flat stomach. Nobody else knew that a tiny life had just begun growing right there. To protect this baby from becoming a pawn in a ruthless billionaire family, she had to sever every tie right now.

Claire didn't hesitate for another second. She uncapped the heavy fountain pen lying on the folder and signed her name across the bottom of the last page, pressing so hard the nib nearly tore through the paper. She grabbed the signed document and threw it straight against the lead lawyer's chest, her voice raspy and cold.

"Take it and get out."

The lawyers exchanged a brief glance, collected the papers, and walked out of the cramped room without looking back.

Claire reached over and ripped the IV needle straight out of the back of her hand. She didn't bother pressing a cotton swab to the puncture, letting bright red droplets splatter onto the white bedsheet. Stripping off the hospital gown, she put on her dusty trench coat from the night before. She twisted the pigeon-blood ruby diamond ring off her left ring finger and dropped it onto the metal nightstand. It landed with a sharp clink.

Pushing open the ward door, Claire slipped out through the hospital's back service exit without taking a single cent from the Valenzuela family. Outside, a torrential late-autumn rain poured down from the gray Manhattan sky. Claire walked alone down the freezing pavement, her clothes plastered to her shivering frame, both hands pressed tightly over her lower abdomen as she disappeared into the storm.

Three years later, bright morning sunlight reflected off the towering glass facades along Fifth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan.

A black Maybach pulled up smoothly to the curb in front of the Fischer Corporation headquarters. The rear door opened, and a pair of long legs in three-inch red-bottom heels stepped out onto the pavement. Claire wore a sharply tailored charcoal pantsuit, her light blonde hair twisted into a neat updo, a pair of silver-rimmed blue-light glasses resting on the bridge of her nose.

Holding two cups of black coffee in a carrier with one hand and a thick leather folder under her arm, she walked briskly through the revolving glass doors. The lobby security guards and receptionists immediately bowed their heads.

"Good morning, Ms. Claire."

Claire gave a brief nod, swiped her clearance badge at the executive turnstile, and stepped into the private elevator heading straight for the sixty-eighth floor. The polished steel doors reflected her calm, sharp face. Three years of grinding work had buried the weak ex-wife forever.

The elevator chimed at the top floor. Claire walked into the massive CEO office and set one cup of black coffee precisely on the upper right corner of the mahogany desk.

The high-backed leather chair swiveled around. Donovan Fischer, the arrogant heir to the Fischer empire, sat with his long legs crossed, eyeing her with a critical smirk. He picked up the cup, took a sip, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's half a degree too cold, Claire. Did your professionalism sleep in today?"

Claire flipped open her digital schedule without changing her expression.

"I'm your assistant, boss, not a thermometer. The guest list for tonight's charity gala at the Waldorf just changed. You need to review it now."