My wedding day humiliation was yesterday’s news. Today was about reclamation.

The ride across the bridge into downtown Boston was smooth and silent. We pulled up beneath the towering glass-and-steel facade of Sterling Tower—a fifty-story monolith that dominated the financial district.

Inside, security guards nodded respectfully as the private elevator whisked me straight to the forty-fifth floor, bypassing the general reception area entirely.

Nathan was waiting in a sprawling glass-walled conference room overlooking the harbor. He wore a crisp charcoal suit, his sleeves rolled up slightly as he reviewed a thick stack of documents. When the glass door opened, he looked up, and for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes softened in clear, unmistakable appreciation.

“Morning, June,” he said, standing up. “You look like you're ready for war.”

“I’m dressed for an audit,” I corrected, walking over and placing my mother’s ledgers on the polished mahogany table. “And I brought the receipts. Graham used three different fake vendor accounts to drain my shop’s emergency funds over the last four months. I traced the routing numbers this morning.”

Nathan walked over, flipping through the pages with sharp, analytical speed. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “You’re a forensic accountant trapped inside a florist’s body.”

“I’m an auditor who fell for a liar,” I replied coolly. “Big difference. Where is he?”

“Downstairs,” Nathan said smoothly. “Or rather, he’s trying to get into the building. Vale Development has been trying to secure a commercial real estate partnership with Sterling Holdings for six months. Graham scheduled a high-priority meeting for this morning, assuming he’d walk in here as a successful developer marrying into the Sterling family, holding the deed to a prime South Boston retail property.”

“And instead?”

“Instead,” Nathan said, walking over to the glass wall and looking down at the street below, “my security team intercepted him at the lobby turnstiles and redirected him straight to this floor. He thinks he’s meeting with the senior investment partners. He has no idea who is actually sitting at this table.”

The heavy oak doors at the end of the conference room clicked open.

Footsteps echoed across the carpet.

Graham Vale walked in, looking sharp in his custom tailored suit, carrying a sleek leather portfolio. He had that familiar, charming, arrogant smile plastered across his face—the smile I had foolishly believed in for two years.

“Good morning, Mr. Sterling,” Graham began smoothly, not looking at the end of the table. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with Vale Development on such short notice. As you know, our upcoming merger with the Sterling family estate positions us uniquely for—”

Graham stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes traveled from Nathan standing by the window, past two grim-faced corporate lawyers in gray suits, and landed squarely on me sitting at the head of the table.

The color drained entirely from Graham’s face. His mouth parted, his practiced corporate smile shattering into jagged pieces of panic.

“J-June...?” Graham stammered, grabbing the back of a chair for support. “What are you doing here? How did you—why are you dressed like that?”

“Good morning, Graham,” I said, my voice cutting through the silent room like a razor. I leaned forward, resting my hands flat on the mahogany table, and gave him the exact same condescending smile he had given me when he told me our marriage paperwork was just ‘boring stuff.’ “Sit down. We have a lot of numbers to go over.”