Chapter 3

Morning sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows as I watered a new leafy houseplant.

Ben and Bella were sprawled out on the soft rug, building blocks scattered everywhere, their laughter bright and clear.

My phone buzzed. It was my lawyer calling.

"Ms. York, everything's going smoothly. Their lawyer got our paperwork, and Mr. Sterling... well, he's freaking out," my lawyer said.

'Freaking out? Guess he finally realized he's been played,' I thought.

I replied coolly, "Understood. Stick to the plan."

After hanging up, I opened my tablet and started scrolling through today's financial news.

Leaving Edward, I didn't walk away with the kids and my dignity. I took my golden finger as a transmigrator: insider knowledge of how the global economy will unfold for years to come.

That's my real trump card.

Edward thought he had total control over my finances, but he had no clue I'd already paved my own way out.

That afternoon, I arranged to meet someone.

The place was a quiet café.

Sitting across from me was a young man in his early twenties, wearing a crisp white shirt. He looked clean-cut and handsome, but his eyes carried a kind of melancholy and bitterness that seemed far too heavy for someone his age.

His name was Julian Rivers, a brilliant fashion designer, and in the story I'd transmigrated into, an underrated genius supporting character.

In the original plot, he had no connections, so a major corporation stole his designs. In the end, he became disillusioned and walked away from the world of fashion.

And the one who stole his designs was actually a brand director under Sterling Corp.

"M-Ms. York," Julian stammered, his hands gripping the coffee cup in front of him. "Are you really... willing to invest in my studio?"

"It's not an investment," I corrected him with a smile. "It's a partnership. I've seen your designs, you've got talent, and you need a platform."

I handed him a document. "Here's the contract I drafted. I'll fund your independent brand, take a forty percent stake, but keep fifty-one percent of the decision-making rights. I only have one condition: your designs need to be on the runway at Milan Fashion Week in three months."

Julian's eyes lit up instantly, like a spark had ignited inside him.

Julian leafed through the contract, his hands shaking with excitement. "I... I promise I won't let you down!"

'Julian, don't get too attached. For me, this is another crucial piece in my future plans,' I thought.

Once Julian left, I felt pretty good.

The joy of chasing my own ambitions is something marriage could never offer.

Back at the apartment, I got a call I really didn't expect.

It was Emelia Sterling, Edward's mother, the kind of mother-in-law who always acted like she was royalty. "Isabelle, what on earth are you doing? Bring the kids back here right now!" she barked the moment I answered.

I held the phone away from my ear, waited for her tirade to end, then replied calmly, "Mrs. Sterling, I'm no longer part of your family. That order to 'come back' doesn't apply to me anymore."

"So you think you're tough now, huh? Let me make this clear: as long as I don't give my blessing, you can forget about getting a divorce! And don't even think about taking the my grandchildren away," Emelia snapped.

Here we went again, same old rich family threats.

I let out a light chuckle. "Mrs. Sterling, first off, divorce is up to the court, not you. Second, as for custody, with Edward's drinking, cheating, and all those scandals, who do you think the judge will hand the kids to? And third, if you really want to drag this into court, I won't hesitate to air out all of Edward's dirty laundry, one by one. You know better than anyone what that'll do to Sterling Corp's stock price."

The line went dead silent.

After a long moment, Emelia finally spat, "You... you dare threaten me?"

"I'm stating the facts," I said, pausing as my voice turned cold. "And from now on, please call me Isabelle, or Ms. York. We're not that familiar."

With that, I hung up. The world was finally quiet again.

Later that night, my lawyer called again, sounding a bit off. "Ms. York, Mr. Sterling... he's lifted all the financial freezes on you, and he wants to meet with you in person."

Ha, so the tough act didn't work, and now he was switching tactics and trying to play it soft?

I leaned back on the couch, gazing out at the city lights, a cold smile tugging at my lips. "Tell him he can talk to me. Tomorrow at three, at the café downstairs from my new company. And tell him to come alone."