The wind cut through Ruth's hoodie as she pedaled down Kensington High Street, the delivery bag strapped tightly across her chest. Her legs ached, but she ignored it. Pain was nothing new.
She glanced at the digital clock on her cracked phone screen. 4:17 PM. Only two more deliveries to go before her shift ended. Then she could crawl back to her cramped bedsit, peel off her wet clothes, and collapse into dreamless sleep.
But sleep hadn't come easily these past few nights.
Every time she closed her eyes, they were there—ghostly fragments of Rameena's life.
The scent of lavender oil in a nursery. The cool weight of diamond jewelry against her throat. The sound of laughter echoing through marble halls, followed by Michael's cold voice like ice cracking underfoot.
Ruth tightened her grip on the handlebars, her knuckles white.
This wasn't her life. She wasn't a woman born to wealth and betrayal. She was Ruth Whitmore—an orphan scraping by on minimum wage jobs and Mirabel's occasional, reluctantly accepted handouts.
Except… that wasn't entirely true anymore.
---
She made her next stop at a modest law firm tucked between luxury boutiques. The staff barely acknowledged her as she handed over the takeout order, their eyes fixed on glowing computer screens.
"Thank you," Ruth murmured, even though none of them looked her way.
Back on her bike, she exhaled sharply and started down the street again. She'd almost passed Sterling Towers without realizing it.
The towering glass structure loomed ahead, gleaming like a monument to ambition. Gold letters spelled out the name boldly across the entrance. Sterling Holdings: the empire that had once been hers—no, Rameena's.
Her throat tightened.
For a moment, she wanted to stop, to tilt her head back and take it all in. The sleek black cars pulling up. The uniformed doormen greeting powerful men and women as they strode through the revolving doors.
And then—she saw him.
It was brief. A flash.
Michael Sterling, stepping out of a black Bentley with Elliot a half-step behind him. Michael's hand brushed Elliot's arm in a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture. Elliot responded with the faintest smirk before his polished shoes carried him up the steps.
From this distance, Ruth doubted anyone else would've noticed. But she did.
Every muscle in her body went rigid. Heat flared in her chest, followed by a cold wave of nausea.
It was real.
They were real.
Together.
Her grip on the handlebars tightened until her palms hurt.
Don't stop. Don't let them see you.
She forced her legs to keep pedaling, head down, hoodie pulled tight against the drizzle. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from something deeper. Something sharper.
She wasn't ready yet. But she would be.
---
Across the street, Michael and Elliot entered the lobby, oblivious to the woman watching from afar.
Inside the privacy of his penthouse office later that evening, Michael loosened his tie and leaned back against the couch. Elliot poured them both whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he moved with his usual, graceful precision.
"Finally free," Michael murmured, accepting his glass.
Elliot sank beside him, close enough for their knees to touch. "You've been free for months. You just haven't allowed yourself to enjoy it."
Michael's lips curved faintly. "Maybe you're right."
Elliot took the glass from his hand and set it aside before pulling Michael into a kiss. It was unhurried, claiming.
"Grandfather's out of the picture. The board's under your control. And her…" Elliot's fingers ghosted along Michael's jawline. "…she's nothing but a memory now."
Michael chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Elliot's lips. "Good riddance."
Elliot's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Don't you ever think of her? Not even a little?"
"Why should I?" Michael leaned back, his expression unreadable. "She was never real. Just an accessory. Beautiful. Convenient. Replaceable."
Elliot's smirk returned as he leaned in again. "Then let's make sure I'm never replaced."
Michael's answering grin was sharp. "Never."
---
Back in her bedsit, Ruth sat cross-legged on her mattress, her notebook open before her.
The page was covered in neat bullet points:
.Acquire capital.
.Build connections.
.Target Sterling Holdings indirectly.
.Establish a public identity powerful enough to shield against them.
Her pen hovered above the paper. She had no money. No contacts. Not even decent clothes for a job interview. But she had Rameena's memories. Her knowledge. Her ruthlessness.
Step by step, she would climb out of this pit.
She'd study the Sterling world like a scientist with a lab rat—observe their moves, learn their weaknesses, exploit their vanity. And when the time was right, she'd strike. This time, I won't be the helpless one.
---
The city outside glittered with wealth and power—worlds Ruth had been locked out of all her life. But not anymore.
As she watched the distant skyscrapers from her cracked window, a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"Enjoy your freedom, Michael. Enjoy your lover. Enjoy your kingdom."
Her voice was low, steady, unshaken.
"Because when I return, I won't come as a wife. I'll come as your destruction."