Chapter 3

Estella walked into Conrad's family office at nine o'clock sharp the next morning. She had stayed up all night; the dark circles under her eyes were concealed with concealer, and her hair was tied up in a tight, serious bun. She wore a simple black dress—no jewelry, no perfume.

Conrad sat behind his enormous mahogany desk, looking as if he had just showered, his clothes impeccably dressed. Beside him sat a man in a gray suit, expressionless and businesslike. A lawyer.

“Estella,” Conrad said, leaning back in his chair. He interlaced his fingers, fingertips touching, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “You look terrible. Didn’t sleep well?”

She ignored his sarcasm. She walked to two leather chairs facing the desk and sat down, crossing her legs. "Let's finish this quickly."

The lawyer cleared his throat and pushed a thick manila folder across the desk. “Mrs. Neves, my client wishes to expedite the process and minimize friction. This is the proposed divorce agreement.”

Estella opened the folder. The papers were pristine, filled with legal jargon, but the numbers were clearly visible. Zero. She would have nothing.

“According to the prenuptial agreement you signed,” the lawyer continued, “you are not entitled to any assets that Mr. Neves accumulated during the marriage because you have not made any financial contributions to the family.”

Estella turned a page. Her gaze swept over the terms. No alimony. No property. No shares.

“In addition,” the lawyer said, “Mr. Neves is willing to provide you with three months of temporary assistance as a gesture of goodwill, provided that you move out of the apartment within forty-eight hours.”

Conrad chuckled, his voice low and sarcastic. "To be honest, Estella, you haven't worked in ten years. What are you planning to do? Find a secretarial job? You don't even know how to use Excel."

The lawyer shifted uncomfortably. "Considering the current situation, these terms are already quite generous."

Estella looked up from her documents. She looked at Conrad, really looked at him. The man for whom she had cooked, dressed him every morning, and managed his obsessive-compulsive disorder for ten years. He was a stranger. A cruel, arrogant stranger.

“I won’t sign this,” she said calmly.

Conrad's smile vanished. "What did you say?"

“I won’t sign this,” she repeated, closing the folder. “I don’t want your three months of charity. I won’t leave with nothing.”

“You had no choice,” Conrad’s voice hardened. “The prenuptial agreement was final. You signed it.”

“I know what I signed,” Estella said. Her thoughts drifted back to about a year ago when she was organizing her family’s digital photo album. She stumbled upon a picture that sent a shiver down her spine. She reached into her small handbag and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen a few times, then placed it screen-up on the table.

Conrad leaned down to look. His face instantly turned pale.

It was a photograph. A few years ago, at a party at Lowe's Estate. Jana was there too; she had just turned eighteen and was wearing a dress that was far too mature for her. Conrad was in the background, his hand on her lower back—a gesture far from that of a brother towards his sister.

"Where did you get this?" Conrad asked hoarsely.

“It’s in the cloud,” Estella said. “When I was organizing the family photo album last year, I thought it was just a weird angle. Now I understand.”

The lawyer's face turned pale. "Mr. Neves, that's—"

“Nothing,” Conrad interrupted sharply, but his jaw was clenched and his muscles bulged.

“If this photo leaks out,” Estella said calmly and steadily, “along with the timeline of your relationship with my sister…then the board of directors of the Neves Group probably won’t approve of the CEO having a relationship with a minor, even if it’s just a technical minor. The media will report it extensively.”

"Are you blackmailing me?" Conrad roared, slamming his fist on the table. "You crazy woman!"

“I’m negotiating,” Estella corrected, without backing down. “You’ve taken up ten years of my life. You’ve humiliated me. You’ve made me a laughingstock. I want a return.”

Conrad glared at her, his chest heaving. He looked at his lawyer, who shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. The lawyer knew. Such a scandal could cause a stock market crash.

“What do you want?” Conrad asked through gritted teeth.

“The house,” Estella said.

Conrad blinked. "What?"

“Willow Creek Estate,” Estella said. The dilapidated suburban estate Conrad had bought as a “property in need of repair,” only to abandon it after a weekend. “Transfer the title deed to me. Include a confidentiality clause in the agreement. I’ll keep quiet, and you can keep your CEO position.”

Conrad stared at her, then burst into a shrill laugh. "That piece of junk? It's a bottomless pit. The roof's already collapsed. You want that?"

“Yes,” Estella said.

“Fine,” Conrad said, grabbing a pen. He scribbled something in the blank space of the agreement, then scribbled his name across it forcefully. “Take it. It’s worse than the garbage dump you’ll be living in later. Now, get out of my sight.”

Estella stood up. She picked up a pen, signed her name below his signature, and then picked up the folder. She didn't look at him as she walked out of the office. She didn't look back as she walked out of the penthouse.

She had a house. It was a dilapidated, useless house, but it was hers.