The phone traced an arc through the air.

Zoe Riveron could have caught it, but deliberately let it slip from her fingers.

The screen shattered with a crisp crack, spiderweb fractures spreading across the glass.

She bent to retrieve the device, her knuckles whitening.

Not from distress over the phone—Sophia's words had cut deeper than any blade.

Years in the corporate world helped her mask the fury, though a sneer still curled her lips. "The divorce papers are still filed at City Hall, Ms. Laurent. Sleep with him a hundred times, he'll still be your ex."

Sophia's laughter rang clear.

This unveiled version of Zoe was almost preferable.

No more pretense required.

"Divorce doesn't erase love. As long as his heart belongs to me, he's mine." Sophia extracted a stack of bills from her wallet. "But you, Ms. Riveron—why settle for being second choice when you could have the throne?"

The money grazed Zoe's hand before fluttering to the ground.

"You think restoring a few paintings makes you special?" Zoe's icy gaze locked onto Sophia. "Uncle Victor promised—once Ethan marries me, he'll hand over the Asia-Pacific division."

Sophia's smile brightened.

"Then you should worry more." She leaned close, her whisper lethal. "After your family's land deal concludes, you'll be the next Isabella Valentine."

Zoe's face drained of color.

Footsteps approached.

Instantly, she donned a saccharine mask. "Ethan, Ms. Laurent and I were just having the loveliest chat."

Ethan Sullivan strode past her without acknowledgment, his fingers tangling in Sophia's hair.

Silent solidarity.

Sophia suddenly wrapped an arm around his waist, smirking at Zoe. "My man's here to take me home."

She emphasized the possessive pronoun.

Amusement flickered in Ethan's eyes.

His usually gentle kitten brandished her claws with devastating charm.

"Every woman looks the same to me—except my wife." He tightened his grip on Sophia's shoulder, denying Zoe even a glance.

Zoe's smile froze into a grotesque porcelain mask.

The shower's spray ceased.

Sophia was toweling her hair when strong arms lifted her off her feet.

"Your injury—" She prodded the scabbed wound on his torso.

Ethan pressed her into the downy bedding, nipping her earlobe. "You promised to take responsibility last time."

Her ears burned crimson.

That frantic moment in the ancient town's hospital flooded back.

"I only meant to— mmph—"

All protests dissolved under his searing kiss.

Guiding her hand downward, his voice roughened beyond recognition. "Your reign continues, my queen."

Moonlight filtered through sheer curtains, painting their entwined silhouettes on the wall—

A dance of tenderness and tempest.

A silent duel of devotion.