Amy Sinclair was Alexander Blackwood's wife, and he would never dare lay a finger on her. The only vulnerable target was the defenseless old man. Though Nathan Prescott had spewed venom about Amy in front of Alexander, he wasn’t foolish enough to actually harm her. Even when kicking a dog, one had to consider its master’s wrath.

This time, Amy and her allies refused to back down, and causing a scene would only backfire on him. Nathan, though reckless, wasn’t completely witless. Weighing the consequences, he knew he had to bide his time. Losing his shot at inheriting Prescott Industries wasn’t an option. That damning apology letter was still in Amy’s possession, and he couldn’t afford another misstep.

Nathan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Victoria, just endure a little longer. Rumor has it Alexander and Amy are filing for divorce after the holidays."

Victoria’s breath hitched. "Divorce?"

"Exactly. Amy’s using your illness and my apology letter to extort ten billion from him. Alexander was so furious he’s decided to end it."

Victoria’s eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you certain? How reliable is this?"

Nathan had eavesdropped on fragments of Alexander’s conversation with Gregory. The gaps? He filled them with his own embellishments. "One hundred percent," he assured her.

Victoria inhaled sharply, struggling to contain her elation. "So, after the holidays, they’ll finalize it?"

"Yes. I confronted Alexander, and he confirmed it himself," Nathan scoffed. "Though it’s just the cooling-off period. Who knows if she’ll backtrack once it’s over? Ten billion is a hell of an incentive."

The mention of that sum made Victoria’s chest tighten. How dare Amy walk away with Alexander’s fortune? That money rightfully belonged to her!

A sly smile curled her lips. "Nathan, I have a plan to ensure she leaves empty-handed."

With divorce looming, Victoria became the picture of obedience in the following days. Theodore Whitmore deliberately assigned her grueling tasks—fetching tea, sorting herbs—yet she bore it all without protest.

Theodore eyed her warily, murmuring to Amy, "Something’s off. What’s she plotting?"

Amy glanced at Victoria, now meticulously organizing herbs. "Probably waiting for us to lower our guard so she can stage a dramatic collapse for Nathan and Alexander."

Theodore snorted. "Let her try. I’m not afraid of her theatrics."

Amy hesitated before confessing, "Theodore, I’m finalizing the divorce tomorrow at City Hall. I might be late."

Theodore, already briefed, nodded. "Better to end this farce sooner rather than later."

After exchanging a few more words, Amy checked the time and left with Oliver Kingsley.

The next morning, Amy arrived at City Hall armed with her ID, documents, and the incriminating letter. This time, she wasn’t naive enough to arrive early—just five minutes ahead. If Alexander dared to be late, she’d shred the letter without hesitation.

At 9:58, a sleek black Bentley glided to a stop beside her. The door swung open, and out stepped a man whose commanding presence could silence a room—Alexander Blackwood.