Everyone assumed my world had ended that evening—until the shareholders received an urgent alert.

The reality of his ruin hit Julian like a physical blow. He staggered back from the table, his breathing ragged.

“You can’t do this,” he choked out. “The prenuptial agreement... it guarantees me a fifty percent split of all marital assets.”

“And it does,” I said, pulling up a financial document on the boardroom projector. “Fifty percent of all assets acquired under the name Julian Rossi or Victoria Rossi during the marriage. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The screen lit up.

“The primary residence in Beverly Hills? Owned by a Vanguard trust. The private jet? Leased through Vanguard Aviation. The yachts, the cars, the vacation home in Aspen? All Vanguard.”

I looked at him, my expression completely void of pity. “Your personal marital assets consist of a joint checking account containing eighty thousand dollars, your wardrobe, and a 2018 Range Rover. You are legally entitled to exactly half of that. I’ll be generous and let you keep the car.”

Julian’s knees buckled. He grabbed the back of a leather chair to keep from collapsing. The executives in the room, men he had ordered around and bullied for years, watched his destruction with a mixture of terror and dark satisfaction.

“Victoria, please,” Julian whispered, the arrogance finally shattering. The mask was gone. He was begging. “I made a mistake. Lexi means nothing to me. I was stressed. The expansion... it got to my head. Please, don't do this. We can fix this.”

“The only thing broken was my illusion of who you were,” I said, standing up. I buttoned my blazer, looking down at the man I had spent a decade building up, only to realize he was a hollow shell. “Vance will escort you to the lobby. Your belongings from the penthouse have already been packed and loaded into your Range Rover.”