Three days later, the boardroom of Whitmore Enterprises was buzzing with anxious energy. The company’s stock had plummeted over the weekend following rumors of a massive pullout by their primary financial backer.

Preston’s father, Arthur Whitmore, paced at the head of the long mahogany table. Preston sat near him, looking hollowed out. He hadn’t slept. His tailored suit was wrinkled, and he reeked of desperation.

“We just need to stall,” Arthur told the board of directors, sweating profusely. “Raymond Saint Claire is throwing a tantrum because Preston had a… marital dispute. I will talk to Raymond. We are family. I’ll make Preston apologize, and we’ll smooth this over.”

“A marital dispute?” one of the board members scoffed. “Preston was arrested for allowing his mistress to assault his pregnant wife in the hospital lobby! The press is having a field day, Arthur!”

Preston slammed his fist on the table. “I didn’t know she was a Saint Claire! She lied to me for five years! She manipulated me!”

The heavy oak doors of the boardroom suddenly swung open, hitting the walls with a deafening crash.

Silence fell over the room instantly.

Emily walked in.

She wasn’t wearing her usual modest pastel dresses or comfortable sweaters. She was wearing a sharp, tailored crimson maternity suit. Her hair was styled perfectly, her makeup flawless, and her posture screamed power. She looked every inch the billionaire heiress she had been born to be.

Beside her walked a team of six corporate lawyers, and behind them, Raymond Saint Claire.

“Emily,” Preston choked out, standing up. “Em, please—”

“Sit down,” Emily commanded. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute authority.

Preston’s knees hit the chair automatically.

Arthur Whitmore tried to force a smile. “Emily, sweetheart. There’s no need for lawyers. We are family. Let’s talk about this.”

“We ceased being family the moment your son let a woman kick your unborn grandson and told me to stop embarrassing him,” Emily said, stopping at the opposite end of the table. She didn’t look angry. She looked completely indifferent, which was far more terrifying.

She gestured to her lead lawyer, who began passing out thick red folders to every board member.

“What is this?” Arthur demanded.

“That is a formal notice of hostile takeover,” Emily said smoothly. “The Saint Claire Trust is calling in all of Whitmore Enterprises’ debts, effective immediately. Since you do not have the liquidity to pay the three hundred million dollars you owe us, we are seizing your equity in compensation.”

The board members began frantically flipping through the pages.

“You can’t do this!” Preston yelled. “This is my company! I am the CEO!”

Emily tilted her head. “You were the CEO, Preston. Turn to page four.”

Preston snatched a folder. His eyes scanned the legal jargon, his face turning an alarming shade of gray.

“As the new majority shareholder, holding eighty-five percent of the voting rights,” Emily announced, her voice ringing clear through the room, “my first act is to terminate Arthur Whitmore as Chairman, and Preston Whitmore as CEO. You are fired.”

“You vindictive bitch!” Preston screamed, lunging forward.

He didn’t make it two steps. Two massive security guards—Emily’s personal detail—stepped out from the hallway and shoved Preston hard to the ground.