My phone had sixty-three missed calls. Forty-seven text messages. Seventeen voicemails.
I deleted them all without reading.
Instead, I pulled up the contract Damien had sent. Scanned through it with the careful eye my mother had taught me. It was exactly what he'd promised generous salary, stock options, clear responsibilities. No hidden clauses, no traps.
Damien Cross played ruthlessly, but he played fair.
Unlike his brother.
I forwarded the contract to my lawyer with instructions to review immediately. Then I opened a new contact in my phone and typed: Thank you for tonight. All of it. See you Monday. - A
His response came seconds later: Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Chen. Rest well. You'll need your strength. - D
I smiled at my phone like a lunatic, then caught my reflection in the hallway mirror.
My hair was messed up. My makeup smudged. I looked thoroughly… satisfied.
And absolutely terrifying.
Perfect.
I had three days until Monday. Three days to prepare for my resurrection as Damien Cross's Chief Innovation Officer. Three days to craft the perfect narrative of how I'd risen from Nathan's betrayal stronger than before.
But first, I needed sleep.
I fell into my bed still wearing the black dress, Damien's scent still clinging to my skin, and dreamed of revenge served cold.
I didn't know yet that in six weeks, I'd be waking up nauseous.
Or that the positive pregnancy test would change everything.
Some revenge plans have unexpected complications.
Mine came with a baby.
Monday morning arrived with the inevitability of a storm I'd been waiting for. I stood in front of my full-length mirror, adjusting the collar of my power suit Armani, midnight blue, tailored to perfection and barely recognized the woman staring back.
Gone was Nathan's accommodating fiancée. In her place stood someone harder. Sharper. Dangerous.
I liked her.
My phone buzzed with a text from Jennifer: Coffee before you start your first day? Need to hear EVERYTHING.
I'd been avoiding Jen's calls all weekend. My best friend since Harvard deserved answers, but I wasn't ready to explain what had happened with Damien. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Rain check, I typed back. Big day. Dinner this week?
Her response was immediate: You better. I'm worried about you. Also the internet is INSANE right now. Have you seen?
I hadn't. I'd deliberately stayed offline all weekend, focusing on reviewing everything I could find about Titanium Holdings, preparing for my new role, and absolutely not thinking about the man whose bed I'd woken up in Friday morning.
Against my better judgment, I opened Twitter.
And immediately wished I hadn't.
#AriaGlowUp was trending.
Someone had posted a comparison photo: me in my white engagement dress, frozen and humiliated at the party, next to a paparazzi shot from yesterday when I'd gone shopping on Fifth Avenue. In the second photo, I was wearing Chanel sunglasses, carrying shopping bags, and looking completely unbothered.
The comments were… mixed.
Queen behavior. She said 'you want to play? Let's play.'
Gold digger already spending Nathan's money probably
Her stepsister is pregnant and she's SHOPPING? Heartless.
Team Aria. That man humiliated her publicly. She owes him nothing.
I heard she's already dating someone new. A billionaire. Good for her.
That last comment made my stomach clench. How did they know? Damien and I had been so careful.
Unless someone had seen us leaving the bar together Friday night. Or worse, someone had seen me leaving his building at dawn.
Damn it.
I screenshot the comment and sent it to Damien: We may have a problem.
His response came within seconds: Already handled. My PR team released a statement an hour ago about your new position.
Business relationship only. Anyone claiming otherwise will face legal action.
Of course he was three steps ahead. The man built a twelve-billion-dollar empire by anticipating problems before they became crises.
Thank you, I sent back.
Don't thank me. Just be brilliant today. Show them who Aria Chen really is.
I smiled at my phone, then caught myself. Rule one: no emotions. This was business. Strategic alliance. Nothing more.
Even if my body still remembered the feeling of his hands on my skin.
I shook my head, clearing the thought. Focus. Today was about reclaiming my power, my identity, my future. Everything else was secondary.
My driver yes, I'd hired my own driver this weekend, because I was a C-suite executive now and appearances mattered was waiting downstairs. The ride to Titanium Holdings' headquarters in Midtown took twenty minutes, giving me time to review my notes one last time.
The building was spectacular. Seventy stories of steel and glass that seemed to slice through the Manhattan skyline like a blade. The lobby was all marble and sharp edges, with TITANIUM HOLDINGS etched into the wall in letters three feet tall.
Subtle, it was not.
I walked through those doors with my head high and my heels clicking against marble with purpose. Several people turned to look apparently news of Nathan Cross's ex-fiancée joining his brother's company had already made the rounds but I ignored them all.
The receptionist, a polished woman in her forties, smiled professionally. "Miss Chen? Mr. Cross is expecting you. Sixty-eighth floor, corner office. Kimberly from HR will meet you at the elevator."
"Thank you."
The elevator ride was smooth and fast, and when the doors opened on the sixty-eighth floor, I was greeted by a young woman with a tablet and an efficient smile.
"Miss Chen! Welcome to Titanium Holdings. I'm Kimberly Zhang, Senior HR Manager. Let me show you to your office, and then we'll go through onboarding."
My office was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the Empire State Building, a massive desk in dark wood, leather furniture that probably cost more than my first car, and enough space to host meetings for a dozen people.
"Mr. Cross wanted to ensure you had everything you needed," Kimberly explained. "Your assistant, Marcus, will be here at nine.
He's been with the company for three years and comes highly recommended. IT will have your computer and phone set up within the hour. And Mr. Cross would like to see you in his office at ten for a strategic planning meeting."
Strategic planning. Right. That's what we were calling it.
"Perfect," I said aloud. "Thank you, Kimberly."