Chapter 1
It was ten in the morning at the Riverdale courthouse.
Claire stood in the hallway of the family court, gripping the final decree. The vibrant leather cover felt like cold, dead weight in her palm.
"Claire, is this really what you want?" Michael Landon asked.
He stood before her in a bespoke suit, his Patek Philippe gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. His young assistant, Vivian Lynn, stood close behind him in a designer blazer, her diamond ring stinging Claire's eyes.
It was the ring Claire had been eyeing for three years, but never had the heart to buy.
"The settlement's already signed. What's the point of asking now?" Claire's voice was flat, like a dial tone.
Michael narrowed his eyes, unsettled by her composure. "You're walking away from all your shares in Landon Holdings, leaving me the house and the car, and only asking for 150 thousand dollars. Claire, what is this, some kind of noble act?"
"I just don't want anything to do with you," Claire said, her gaze lifting to Vivian behind him. "Your new assistant is very pretty, Mr. Landon."
Vivian paled and instinctively stepped back behind Michael.
"Drop the sarcasm," Michael said, stepping closer, his voice low. "Claire, I admit I've put you through a lot these past three years. But in business, these things happen. Did you really have to take it this far, all the way to divorce?"
"Business?" Claire let out a sharp laugh, pulling a stack of photos from her bag and slamming them down in front of him. "Was it business at those Instagram-worthy traps? Or at those luxury boutiques?
"Michael, while I was drinking myself half to death to land your clients, were you busy with your 'business'?"
The photos spilled across the floor. Every single one showed Michael and Vivian entangled—embracing, kissing, even one taken in the bed they once shared as husband and wife.
People waiting in the hallway for their paperwork turned to look, their attention snapping to the scene.
Michael's face drained of color, then flushed with anger. "You had someone follow me?"
"Do I need to?" Claire bent down, picked up the most damning photo, and tapped it lightly. "You said you were on a business trip last month, but the hotel bill came straight to my phone.
"For three years, your secondary card has been linked to my number. Did you forget?"
Michael went rigid.
Vivian spoke in a low voice, "Mr. Landon, the board is still waiting..."
"Get out!" Michael snapped.
Vivian bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.
Claire watched it all unfold, and suddenly it felt absurd.
Three years ago, when Michael's startup collapsed and he was drowning in a million dollars of debt, she sold the house her parents left her and stayed by his side. Now the company was worth billions, and she had become the unreasonable ex-wife everyone dismissed.
"I'm leaving," she said, slipping the divorce decree into her bag and turning away.
"Wait," Michael called after her. "Next week is Grandpa's 80th birthday. You know how much he cares about you. Don't tell him about the divorce yet."
Claire paused, but didn't turn back. "Michael, we're divorced."
"Just this once," his tone softened. "His heart isn't in good shape. He can't handle the shock. After the party, you can announce it however you want."
Claire stood still for a moment.
"Fine," she said at last. "But I'm bringing someone with me."
"Who?" Michael asked.
"You don't need to know," Claire replied.
*****
Rain poured over Riverdale the moment Claire stepped out of the courthouse.
She hadn't brought an umbrella, so she took shelter under the awning, clutching an old suitcase. Inside were a few clothes, some books, and a five-year-old laptop. Everything she owned fit in that battered case.
The 150 thousand dollars had already hit her account—the price of her "nobility" was exactly 150 grand.
A black Maybach pulled up, the window slid down, and Michael leaned out. "Get in. I'll give you a ride."
"No," Claire said flatly.
"Claire, don't make a scene," Michael frowned. "You only have 150 grand. Where will you go? How will you rent a place? You haven't worked in three years. Who would hire you now?"
His words cut deep, hitting exactly where it hurt most.
Three years ago, she was the youngest finance lecturer at the university, with three major publications to her name. She had sacrificed her tenure track for Michael's startup, steadying the helm while he chased his dream. Now, at thirty, she was nothing more than Michael's ex-wife.
"That's my business," Claire said, pulling her suitcase into the rain.
The downpour soaked her hair and clothes instantly. Her white shirt clung to her skin, revealing her fragile frame. In three years, she had lost fifteen pounds to ulcers, insomnia, and anxiety—illnesses Michael dismissed as "rich person's problems."
It was absurd.
The Maybach followed at a crawl, a silent humiliation trailing her every step.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—it was an unknown number.
"Hello?" Claire asked.
"Is this Ms. Claire Jennings?" came a refined male voice. "This is Charles Sterling from Starlight Capital. We've reviewed your resume and were wondering if you're available for an interview at three this afternoon. Would that work for you?"
Claire froze.
A resume? She hadn't sent one to anyone.
"Uh, what position is this for?" Claire asked.
"Director of the Investment Department," Charles said. "We can discuss salary and benefits in person. I'll text you the address shortly. I look forward to meeting you."
After the call ended, Claire stood motionless as the rain streamed down her face.
She opened her email and found an unread message from Starlight Capital. The subject line read "Interview Invitation." It was brief and professional, with her resume attached.
It was a resume she had never written.
It detailed every contribution she had made to Landon Holdings over the last three years—financial planning, funding negotiations, team building, even the key projects she had quietly secured for Michael.
The final line read: "Marital Status: Divorced (as of 10 AM today)."
Claire's fingers trembled.
She checked the timestamp—the email had been sent at 3 AM.
That was exactly when she had been packing her suitcase, waiting for the sun to rise so she could finalize the divorce.
At 2:50 PM, Claire arrived at the Starlight Capital building in the heart of the financial district.
She wore a tailored black suit, her hair styled and pulled back, her makeup subtle but sharp. She was still far too thin, but her eyes had regained a certain spark.
The receptionist, a polished young woman, smiled the moment she saw her. "You must be Ms. Jennings. Mr. Sterling is expecting you on the 28th floor."
"Thank you," Claire said.
As the elevator rose, Claire watched her reflection in the mirrored walls.
She couldn't help but remember three years ago, standing in buildings just like this one, trailing Michael as they chased investors—enduring slammed doors, sneers, and cold shoulders.
Back then, Michael had gripped her hand and promised, "Claire, once the company takes off, I'll make you vice president."