Chapter 4

Elena's POV

The email from HR sat on my screen like a ticking bomb.

My thumb hovered over it for a long moment before I finally forced myself to open it.

Dear Ms. Vance, per the request of our primary investor, Mr. Sterling, you have been granted one week of paid administrative leave effective immediately. Please coordinate with your team lead regarding project handoffs. We appreciate your understanding.

I read it three times, each pass making my blood run hotter.

Arthur had gone behind my back.

He hadn't asked me, hadn't consulted me, just made a unilateral decision about my career like I was some kind of asset he could shuffle around on a spreadsheet.

I didn't even think.

My fingers were already pulling up my contacts, scrolling to Marcus's number.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Mrs. Sterling." His voice was carefully neutral, professional. "How can I help you?"

"I need to see Arthur," I said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Now."

There was a pause on the other end.

"Mr. Sterling's schedule is fully booked through next week. Perhaps I could arrange—"

"Marcus." I cut him off, my voice sharp.

"I don't care about his schedule. Tell him it's urgent. Tell him I'm coming to his office whether he makes time or not."

Another pause, longer this time.

"Let me... let me check with him. I'll call you back in two minutes."

He hung up before I could respond.

I paced the marble floor, my heels clicking sharply with each step.

How dare Arthur make decisions about my life without consulting me first?

How dare he treat me like some kind of helpless—

My phone rang. Marcus.

"Mr. Sterling can see you in one hour," he said. "I'm sending a car to pick you up now. It should arrive in five minutes."

The car arrived exactly five minutes later—a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows that screamed corporate expense account.

The driver got out and opened the rear door without a word.

We pulled into traffic, heading downtown toward the Financial District.

The car pulled up to a glass and steel monolith that looked like it cost more than most people would make in ten lifetimes.

The driver came around to open my door, and Marcus was already waiting at the curb, his expression professionally neutral.

"Mrs. Sterling," he said, gesturing toward a private entrance I hadn't noticed at first. "This way, please."

I followed him through a side door that required a keycard to access, bypassing the main lobby entirely.

We took a private elevator, just the two of us in a space that was all polished steel and recessed lighting. Marcus stood with his hands clasped in front of him, staring straight ahead, and I wondered what he thought of all this.

Did he know about the contract?

Did he know I was just another business transaction to his boss?

"Mr. Sterling asked me to apologize for the short notice," Marcus said as the elevator climbed. "He had to move several meetings to accommodate this."

"I didn't ask him to rearrange his schedule," I said, sharper than I'd intended. "I asked him not to rearrange mine."

Marcus didn't respond to that.

We stopped at a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. Marcus knocked once, then opened it without waiting for a response.

"Ms. Vance to see you, sir."

Arthur's office was exactly what I'd expected: massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lower Manhattan, furniture that probably cost more than most cars, and that same aggressive minimalism that characterized the rest of the building.

But what caught me off guard was Arthur himself.

He was standing at the window with his back to me, hands in his pockets, and for a moment he looked almost... tired. Then he turned, and the mask was back in place, his expression neutral and unreadable.

"Elena." He dismissed Marcus with a slight nod, and the door closed behind me with a soft click that felt way too final. "I wasn't expecting you to come here."

"No, you were expecting me to just accept whatever decisions you make about my life without question, right?" I didn't bother with pleasantries, didn't bother hiding my anger. "What the hell, Arthur? You put me on leave without even asking me?"

He didn't react to my tone, didn't even blink. "You ran into Julian this morning."

The implication was clear: he knew everything, controlled everything, and I was just playing a game where he'd already written all the rules.

"So that's it?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "You found out I saw Julian and decided I needed to be removed from the situation like some kind of problem that needs managing?"

"You need time to adjust," Arthur said, his voice maddeningly calm. "I need you to take this week to learn what it means to be my wife. There will be questions, speculation, attention you're not prepared for. Social obligations you need to understand how to navigate."

"So this is about training me?" I said incredulously. "Like I'm some kind of project that needs to be polished before you can show me off?"

"It's about preparation," he corrected, his tone still frustratingly even. "And in return, I'll arrange a career transition for you. Something better than what you have now at Aegis Tech."

That stopped me cold. "What are you talking about?"

He moved to his desk, pulling up something on his tablet.

"I've reviewed your patents, your research proposals that Aegis keeps rejecting. You're wasted in that position, Elena. I can set you up with your own lab, proper funding, a team of your choosing. You could actually build something instead of watching your manager take credit for your innovations every quarterly review."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

He'd looked into my work.

He knew about the rejected proposals, about how my team lead always somehow ended up presenting my breakthroughs to the board while I sat in the back of the room.

And he was offering me exactly what I'd been fighting for—real resources, real autonomy, the chance to actually make something meaningful.

But the way he said it, like it was a transaction, like my career was just another line item he could negotiate...

It would mean my career—the one thing I'd built entirely on my own, the one piece of myself that had nothing to do with who I'd married or who I'd slept with—would become just another part of this transaction.

 I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the choice pressing down on me.