Chapter 1
The panoramic windows of the downtown skyscraper restaurant framed a glittering Manhattan skyline, but inside the private dining alcove, the atmosphere was thick with malice. Valeria sat at the pristine white tablecloth, her posture rigid, her beige blazer buttoned over a sharp green dress. Across from her stood Julian, her ex-husband of exactly seventy-two hours, looking thoroughly miserable in his tailored grey suit. Clinging tightly to Julian’s arm was Clara, her long dark hair cascading over a vibrant burgundy midi dress. Clara’s white watch gleamed under the soft recessed lighting as she leaned in, her voice dripping with venomous amusement.
"Three days divorced and you already found a rich older man?" Clara sneered, her eyes sweeping over the table set with crystal wine glasses and a silver bread basket.
Valeria didn't flinch. She maintained a calm, neutral expression, staring straight into Clara's mocking eyes. Clara reached across the table, her fingers tapping mockingly against Valeria’s wrist.
"Careful, sir, Valeria is very good at looking innocent," Clara added, directing her performance at the older man seated beside Valeria.
Julian stared fixedly down at his plate, unable to meet anyone's gaze. His knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the mahogany table. The humiliation radiating from him was palpable, a testament to the poor choices that had led him straight into Clara’s superficial web.
Valeria slowly withdrew her hand from Clara's reach, turning her steady, composed gaze toward Julian. The pity she felt for him was entirely devoid of warmth.
"You don't have to expose yourself like this, Valeria," Julian muttered, his voice cracking with embarrassment. "Dad, let's go."
Valeria offered a faint, chilling smile.
"Dad, let's go," she repeated, addressing the silver-haired man in the dark blue suit sitting to her left.
The older man, Arthur Sterling, the formidable real estate mogul and Valeria’s biological father, slowly pushed back his chair. He adjusted his suit jacket button with deliberate, unhurried precision, his icy blue eyes locking onto the cowering couple.
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"To avoid further confusion, Valeria is my daughter," Arthur stated firmly, his deep baritone cutting through the ambient restaurant noise like a scalpel.
Clara’s mocking smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a look of absolute, unadulterated horror as she realized whose fortune she had just insulted.
