Chapter One: The Conference Room On The 48th Floor
The conference room on the 48th floor of the Sterling Dynamics tower was cold, tailored, and smelled faintly of lemon polish and aggressive cologne.
Outside, the Manhattan skyline was a jagged jaw of steel and glass chewing on gray October clouds.
Inside, the atmosphere was even more hostile.
Harrison Sterling checked his Patek Philippe watch for the third time in two minutes.
He didn’t have time for this.
He had a lunch reservation at Le Bernardin with Jessica, his executive assistant, and the primary reason he was currently sitting across from the woman he had vowed to love forever only seven years ago.
“Can we speed this up?”
Harrison tapped his fingers on the mahogany table.
“I have a board meeting at two. This needs to be done.”
Saraphina sat perfectly still.
She wore a charcoal dress that Harrison had always hated. He said it made her look like a governess.
Her hands were folded in her lap. Her face was pale and unreadable.
She looked small in the high-backed leather chair.
To Harrison, she looked defeated.
That was exactly how he liked his opponents.
“We are just reviewing the final addendum regarding the Hamptons property, Mr. Sterling.”
Saraphina’s lawyer was an older man named Arthur Penhalagan, wearing a suit that looked like it had been purchased during the Nixon administration.
Harrison’s own legal team—three sharks from Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom—looked at Penhalagan with barely concealed disdain.
“Keep the Hamptons house.”
Harrison laughed—a sharp, barking sound.
He picked up the heavy document.
“It’s a money pit anyway. Consider it a parting gift. I’ll keep the penthouse on 57th and the portfolio as agreed.”
“As agreed,” Penhalagan said softly.
He slid the papers across the table.
Harrison didn’t even read them.
Why would he?
He was the CEO of Sterling Dynamics. He negotiated mergers with hostile foreign governments. He had crushed competitors into dust.
Saraphina was a librarian he’d met at a charity gala.
She was quiet, unassuming, and frankly boring.
She had no fight in her.
That was why he married her. She was safe.
And that was why he was leaving her. She was invisible.
He uncapped his pen.
The nib hovered over the signature line.
“You’re sure about this, Harrison?”
Saraphina spoke for the first time.
Her voice was low. Devoid of tears.
It wasn’t a plea. It sounded almost like a warning.
Harrison looked up, a cruel grin stretching his face.
“Saraphina, darling, I haven’t been this sure about anything since I shorted the housing market in 2008.”
He leaned forward.
“I’m doing you a favor. You can go back to your books and your cats. I need a partner who can keep up with the world I live in.”
He signed his name with a flourish.
Harrison J. Sterling.
He pushed the papers back, leaning in his chair, chuckling.
“There. Done. Free man.”
One of his lawyers, a sharp-faced woman named Collins, gathered the papers quickly.
“We will file these within the hour. The divorce will be finalized by close of business.”
“Perfect.”
Harrison stood up, buttoning his Tom Ford jacket.
He looked down at Saraphina.
She hadn’t moved.
She was staring at his signature, a strange look in her eyes.
Not sadness.
It looked like pity.
“Don’t look so tragic, Sarah,” Harrison mocked.
“You’re walking away with five million dollars. That’s more money than your father made in his entire life.”
“My father,” Saraphina said, standing up slowly, “was a man of principles. Something you wouldn’t understand.”
“Principles don’t buy Gulfstreams.”
Harrison shot back, checking his phone.
Jessica had texted: Champagne is on ice. Hurry.
“Goodbye, Saraphina. Have a nice life.”
He turned on his heel and marched out of the conference room, his lawyers trailing him like a school of remora fish.
He was laughing as he hit the elevator button.
He felt lighter.
He felt invincible.
He had shed the dead weight.
