MY HUSBAND PRONOUNCED ME A WORTHLESS PARTNER AND PUT ME UP FOR AUCTION TO 400 ELITE GUESTS—UNTIL A $5 MILLION BID SILENCED THE ENTIRE ROOM.

Monday morning. My first official day as President of Innovation at Thorne Global.

I traded my dull gray gowns for a tailored, emerald-green power suit. When I walked into the lobby of the Thorne skyscraper, heads turned. I wasn't the invisible wife anymore; I was the $5 million acquisition.

My new office was twice the size of Richard's, encased in glass and overlooking the financial district. I barely had time to log into my dual monitors when my assistant, a sharp young man named David, buzzed the intercom.

"Ms. Sterling? Richard Sterling is in the lobby. He's causing a scene and demanding to speak with you. Security is asking how you'd like to proceed."

I leaned back in my ergonomic chair. "Send him up to Conference Room B. Let Marcus know, too."

Ten minutes later, I walked into the conference room. Richard was pacing frantically, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled. He looked like he hadn't slept in three days. Marcus Thorne was already sitting at the head of the table, sipping espresso.

"Claire!" Richard lunged forward, but a security guard stepped between us. Richard backed off, glaring at Marcus. "You can't do this. That software belongs to Sterling Architecture! It was developed under my roof!"

"It was developed on my personal laptop, between the hours of midnight and 4:00 AM, while you were entertaining clients at steakhouses," I corrected calmly, taking a seat opposite him.

"I'll sue you! I'll tie this up in court for a decade!" Richard screamed, slamming his hands on the glass table.

Marcus calmly set his espresso cup down. "Mr. Sterling, Thorne Global's legal department has a budget larger than the GDP of a small island nation. If you attempt to sue us, we will countersue for the $4.2 million loan you owe your wife, plus damages for the public defamation you subjected her to at the gala. We will freeze your firm's assets by Friday."

Richard paled. "Loan? What loan?"

I slid a beautifully bound folder across the table. "The payroll I covered for the last three years. I didn't gift it to the company, Richard. I loaned it. The promissory notes—which you signed without reading because you were 'too busy being a visionary'—are all in there."