“I… can’t,” Selene whispered, eyes fixed on the sink.

“I’ll be back when the private investigator brings you the evidence you need to be strong. See you soon, Selene.”

When she lifted her head, the figure was gone.

Selene stared at her reflection for a long moment, chest heaving. Then she took a deep breath, straightened, slipped out of the bathroom, and dressed quietly. Cole was still asleep, breaths slow and steady.

She slid into bed. He instinctively curled closer, arm over her waist. Her hand twitched, ready to shove him off—but she didn’t. Let him have this. If Damien was right, it would be the last warmth she ever gave him.

She picked up her phone. Eileen had already sent the investigator’s details. Michael Jobs. Without hesitation, Selene typed out an email, attaching files and pouring every suspicion into neat, clipped sentences. She wasn’t waiting anymore.

By the time she set her phone down, it was past 2 a.m. Cole had curled closer in his sleep, clinging to her as if he hadn’t shattered her heart. Selene studied his face for a long second, inhaled deeply, then closed her eyes. For the first time in weeks, sleep came without nightmares.

The alarm broke the silence at seven. Cole reached out, turned it off, then leaned toward her. “Wake up, love. You’ve got to go to the office.”

Selene blinked her eyes open and slowly sat up.

“Good morning, my love,” Cole murmured, kissing her cheek.

Revulsion. Nothing but revulsion. Pure and cold coiled through her. She forced a smile. “Good morning… love. And thank you… for yesterday.”

He chuckled lightly, then stood up from the bed. “Come on, chop chop, we’ve got places to be. I’ve got golf with the guys today, remember?”

“Will you be there all day?” Selene asked casually, rising from the bed.

“Of course. That’s how it always is,” he grinned.

They walked into the bathroom together. Selene used to enjoy these little moments—brushing side by side, sharing their morning routine. Now, every corner of their room, every mirror and towel rack, felt heavy with betrayal. The memories made her feel sick.

By the time they went downstairs, Maria had set the table. Cole ate quickly, showered, then returned dressed in his golf attire, swinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m heading off, dear,” he said cheerfully.

“Hmm. Have fun,” Selene replied, sipping her juice.

“I love you,” he added, kissing her forehead.

“I love you too,” she answered softly, her chest aching with the lie.

She watched him walk away and when the door shut, she turned to Maria. “Fetch my phone from upstairs. Quickly.”

Within moments, Maria handed it over. Selene dialed a number without hesitation.

The call connected instantly.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I already started following him. Nine years of experience—I won’t lose him,” Michael Jobs’ voice came through, steady and confident.

“Send me everything,” she ordered.

“Of course.”

Selene ended the call and inhaled deeply. Her next stop was the medicine cabinet, then work.

House of Ward was no ordinary company. What had started as her passion project had grown into an empire worth nearly a billion. $980 million to be precise. Each branch carried her name, her fingerprints. Different on the surface, but all connected—threads she had spun into one powerful brand.

First was Ward & Co. Interiors, a luxury interior design company known for its modern and stylish work. It had a long list of famous clients, including celebrities, politicians, and elite families. The company quickly became known for its class and exclusiveness.

Next was Ward Strategies, a small PR and image company. With a reputation for turning even the most troubled public figures into success stories, many saw it as the secret tool for anyone who wanted to take back control of their story.

Then there was Selene Co., a wellness brand that sold high-quality skincare, gave lifestyle coaching, held motivational events, and had a state-of-the-art fitness center.

Not far behind was S. Ward Gallery, an art space and creative agency full of new ideas. It showed modern art, held unique shows, and worked with both new and well-known artists. It wasn’t just a place to hang art. It helped artists grow and try new things.

And last was Slice of Heaven, a popular bakery and dessert spot known for its rich treats and calm, simple style. It was the sweetest part of her business.

And beyond that stood The W’s, her family’s empire worth hundreds of billions. Selene hadn’t built it, but she guarded it fiercely. Between her inheritance and her own creations, she was a woman sitting on top of an empire—though at times, it felt like the weight might crush her.

Work swallowed her whole the moment she arrived. She had postponed most of her tasks because of the anniversary party, and now, everything came crashing down.

Eileen hadn’t exaggerated—her schedule was a battlefield. Meetings overlapped, calls bled into paperwork, and documents piled like an avalanche. Selene barely ate, her “lunch” interrupted by yet another problem: the upcoming art exhibition.

By four, her head throbbed. By seven, she was still bent over contracts, Eileen across the desk taking notes, when her phone lit up with a call. Selene didn’t recognize the number at first, but as soon as she answered, the voice on the other end made her spine go stiff.

“Ma’am, I’ve got the pictures ready. Should I email them, or present them directly? I’m outside your building.”

Michael Jobs.

Selene’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I’ll send Eileen to get you.”

She hung up, her heart pounding, then looked at Eileen. “Michael’s downstairs.”

Eileen nodded and slipped out.

The office fell quiet. Selene tried to focus on the file in front of her, but the words blurred, her thoughts spiraled. She snapped the folder shut and began pacing, biting at her thumb, glancing at the door every few seconds.

Seven minutes dragged by. Maybe more. She couldn’t tell.

Then the door opened.

Eileen stepped in first. Behind her was Michael Jobs, tall, serious, carrying a black folder under his arm.

Selene’s gaze locked on it. Her chest clenched.

This was it

The moment she’d been bracing for. Whatever Michael had found was about to be laid out in front of her.

The truth—whatever it was—had finally come to meet her.